Yesterday, as the day was drawing to a close, I was sitting in my lab, trying to look productive in the hopes that, should anyone who actually gave a crap walk in, I might seem to be terribly efficient and hard at work. In truth, my brain had seized up like a poorly lubricated motor and wasn't planning on doing anything vaguely constructive any time soon.
While staring at my computer, contemplating whether it was actually okay to scoot off, seeing as I had nothing left that I could do, I heard a sound coming from the lab opposite mine. This lab is occupied by two of the most fantastic people I know: Sneha, by far the most kind-hearted, gentle soul I have ever met, and Megan, a genius in her own right and about as nutty as a jar of Skippy's.
On this particular evening, it was Megan who was in the lab. She has been working like an absolute slave lately, lecturing at our university to medical students and, at the same time, lecturing at another university entirely, on the other side of town. She was busy packing herself up and getting ready to head off home. I walked in to say hi, and we got chatting.
After a brief discourse over what examples she had used to illustrate some of her points to the medical students (most of which would be considered by most to be wildly inappropriate, such as phantom limb patients experiencing orgasms in both their genitalia and in their phantom limbs!), the conversation somehow ended up on synesthesia.
Now, for those who are normal, and have not memorised some of the more obscure psychological and neurological conditions which exist, synesthesia is a bizarre situation where people have linked senses. For example, in an individual that experiences this, sight and taste may be linked. In such a case, the individual in question will experience a taste when they see a particular colour, as real to them as it is to you when you taste something.
It is thought that the condition arises at a stage of brain development where the brain's neurons grow out and create new pathways. At a later stage, the brain begins to 'prune' some of these connections, severing those that are not needed or and not supposed to be there. The idea with synesthetics is that their brains have failed to sever all of the connections between the sensory centers, leaving links between senses that normally, are not linked.
The point of this diatribe is that during this discussion, I began to realise just how difficult life for a synesthetic must be. Imagine experiencing smells every time that you see something, over and above the already present smells in the air! And the smells wouldn't necessarily be pleasant! Imagine, for example, that every time you saw the colour blue, you tasted bile! And imagine how difficult it must be to try to describe to someone, what an amazing place the world must be when everything you see comes with it's own musical soundtrack that your brain generates and plays to you, as if it were really there. It must be a truely amazing and beautiful curse...
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Saturday, May 03, 2008
In memory of Josh
On Thursday, 1 May 2008, Joshua the chimpanzee was euthanized, following a harrowing day and a half of medical attention and emotional trauma.
On Wednesday morning, something happened. There have been various stories that I have heard from different people about what exactly happened, but I'll give you the official story that was published in the newspapers. Two of the adult males in the chimp group at Johannesburg Zoo got into a fight. Unfortunately, as is a common thing in these sorts of scenarios, Joshua was dragged into the fight. I think that why he was dragged in was that, he never really learned to avoid the adults when they fought. If he got scared, he would usually just curl up on the floor, hugging as much straw under him as he could. So, he would probably have been easily accessible to the males who would have readily grabbed him and incorporated him into their displays or even used him as a weapon.
He was found by keepers and, after being removed from the enclosure, was rushed off to the zoo hospital. There vets examined him for injuries and, finding only a few, they suspected a head injury. He was then rushed to Milpark Clinic, a local (human) hospital. There he was x-rayed and eventually went in for a cat-scan to examine the extent of his head trauma. From the scan, it was found that he had multiple fractures to the skull and had swelling of the brain. As a result, he was moved to Onderstepoort Veterinary hospital where he was placed on a respirator as he was no longer able to breathe on his own.
There, sedated, he spend the night, surrounded by zoo staff and his human mother, Althea Guinsberg. The next day, following several tests to look at his brain activity, he was found to be completely brain dead and, around 12:12 pm, I was informed that he had been put down.
Now, I would like to do something that, for me anyway, is somewhat unorthodox. I would like to ask any of you who read this, please, to keep Althea in your thoughts and prayers. She loved Josh very much and, for her, he was her baby. It's just like losing a human child, only, here, it comes coupled with all the guilt of knowing that she was in charge of introducing him to the main group and that as a result of this, she feels his death is on her shoulders. As a friend and a scientist, I know that she's not to blame herself at all! It was a real risk that came with the intro and, had she kept Josh with her for longer, things would just have been harder for him in the long run. So please, think of her.
Goodbye Josh. You were an amazing individual who afforded me some very special experiences and the priveledge of getting to know you. You will always be remembered and missed dearly.
On Wednesday morning, something happened. There have been various stories that I have heard from different people about what exactly happened, but I'll give you the official story that was published in the newspapers. Two of the adult males in the chimp group at Johannesburg Zoo got into a fight. Unfortunately, as is a common thing in these sorts of scenarios, Joshua was dragged into the fight. I think that why he was dragged in was that, he never really learned to avoid the adults when they fought. If he got scared, he would usually just curl up on the floor, hugging as much straw under him as he could. So, he would probably have been easily accessible to the males who would have readily grabbed him and incorporated him into their displays or even used him as a weapon.
He was found by keepers and, after being removed from the enclosure, was rushed off to the zoo hospital. There vets examined him for injuries and, finding only a few, they suspected a head injury. He was then rushed to Milpark Clinic, a local (human) hospital. There he was x-rayed and eventually went in for a cat-scan to examine the extent of his head trauma. From the scan, it was found that he had multiple fractures to the skull and had swelling of the brain. As a result, he was moved to Onderstepoort Veterinary hospital where he was placed on a respirator as he was no longer able to breathe on his own.
There, sedated, he spend the night, surrounded by zoo staff and his human mother, Althea Guinsberg. The next day, following several tests to look at his brain activity, he was found to be completely brain dead and, around 12:12 pm, I was informed that he had been put down.
Now, I would like to do something that, for me anyway, is somewhat unorthodox. I would like to ask any of you who read this, please, to keep Althea in your thoughts and prayers. She loved Josh very much and, for her, he was her baby. It's just like losing a human child, only, here, it comes coupled with all the guilt of knowing that she was in charge of introducing him to the main group and that as a result of this, she feels his death is on her shoulders. As a friend and a scientist, I know that she's not to blame herself at all! It was a real risk that came with the intro and, had she kept Josh with her for longer, things would just have been harder for him in the long run. So please, think of her.
Goodbye Josh. You were an amazing individual who afforded me some very special experiences and the priveledge of getting to know you. You will always be remembered and missed dearly.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Blame it on the weatherman
Today was marked by two extraordinary events. Both occurred at Wits. The first occurred while I was doing my marking at my desk in my office. I was busy going through one of the students answers that followed the mundane senselessness that is typical of the response of a completely uninspired student. You know the kind. The sort of answer to a question where the question is something like, 'If birds have wings, how do they help them fly?'. Naturally, students tend to respond with something like, 'Birds have wings. They help them fly. That's why birds have wings. To help them fly, because that's what wings do. They are there to help them fly. Flying is what birds do with their wings...' and so on, ad nauseum.
The best is when students write something like that, and after receiving their marked work back, demand to have it explained why exactly they didn't get full marks for the question...
Suddenly a face appeared at my door. He appeared just above my line of sight while I was marking, which added to the surprise, as I'm not used to having people appear at my door, half-way up. I looked up from my marking into a face that I instantly recognised as being one of some significance, but for the life of me, couldn't be placed. Now, this is fairly normal for me. I periodically run into people who I recognise visually, but can't remember their names.
So, I greeted him and he greeted me, continuing to ask if I had seen one of the lecturers in the corridor at all. I responded in the negative, all the while trying to figure out how the hell I knew this person. He simply thanked me and said that he'd keep looking for him. He then turned and left just as silently as he had arrived.
I resumed my marking, grateful that he hadn't referred to me by name, as this would have lead to a situation that required me to do the same. A moment later, it dawned on me who this fellow actually was!
It was Simon Gear, the weatherman from TV! It was really surreal to have had the weatherman appear at my door unexpectedly, looking for Ed, the lecturer. So Sarah, be sure to tell your grandmother that I have met Simon and that he is a very polite and quietly sneaky man.
The second incident occurred about an hour and a half later. I was walking down to my car, on my way to fetch my mother from work. On my way down the seemingly endless hill to my vehicle, I passed one of the female residences. There was a small crowd of girls standing outside the res, chatting. I didn't pay them much mind as this is a fairly consistent thing to see on campus. As I walked past them one of the girls broke away from the group. He walked over and greeted me.
This is the sad part. I immediately thought to myself, 'Oh crap...she probably wants to make a religious convert of me or is trying to pick my pockets...' which makes me feel terrible that I would think the worst of someone like that! She intercepted me and linked arms with me. As she did so, she said, 'I just wanted to touch you'. I, being very bad at thinking on my feet, responded with the cracking line, 'Uh...okay?'.
She seemed to see that I really hadn't got what she was trying to say and so, repeated herself, in a tone that implied complete earnestness. I responded with another 'Okay' and smiled at her. She then broke away from me, gently placing her hand on my shoulder and smiling. She then turned and walked back to her friends.
It was weird. I figure, either she was tripping on something, or she was coming onto me and I just didn't pick up on it at all...But it was a fitting end to my day!
PS. For anyone who has been wondering, Joshua, the baby chimp has now been introduced to the main chimp group save for one adult male, and everything has gone swimmingly! He's fully integrated and there are no signs of trouble at all!
The best is when students write something like that, and after receiving their marked work back, demand to have it explained why exactly they didn't get full marks for the question...
Suddenly a face appeared at my door. He appeared just above my line of sight while I was marking, which added to the surprise, as I'm not used to having people appear at my door, half-way up. I looked up from my marking into a face that I instantly recognised as being one of some significance, but for the life of me, couldn't be placed. Now, this is fairly normal for me. I periodically run into people who I recognise visually, but can't remember their names.
So, I greeted him and he greeted me, continuing to ask if I had seen one of the lecturers in the corridor at all. I responded in the negative, all the while trying to figure out how the hell I knew this person. He simply thanked me and said that he'd keep looking for him. He then turned and left just as silently as he had arrived.
I resumed my marking, grateful that he hadn't referred to me by name, as this would have lead to a situation that required me to do the same. A moment later, it dawned on me who this fellow actually was!
It was Simon Gear, the weatherman from TV! It was really surreal to have had the weatherman appear at my door unexpectedly, looking for Ed, the lecturer. So Sarah, be sure to tell your grandmother that I have met Simon and that he is a very polite and quietly sneaky man.
The second incident occurred about an hour and a half later. I was walking down to my car, on my way to fetch my mother from work. On my way down the seemingly endless hill to my vehicle, I passed one of the female residences. There was a small crowd of girls standing outside the res, chatting. I didn't pay them much mind as this is a fairly consistent thing to see on campus. As I walked past them one of the girls broke away from the group. He walked over and greeted me.
This is the sad part. I immediately thought to myself, 'Oh crap...she probably wants to make a religious convert of me or is trying to pick my pockets...' which makes me feel terrible that I would think the worst of someone like that! She intercepted me and linked arms with me. As she did so, she said, 'I just wanted to touch you'. I, being very bad at thinking on my feet, responded with the cracking line, 'Uh...okay?'.
She seemed to see that I really hadn't got what she was trying to say and so, repeated herself, in a tone that implied complete earnestness. I responded with another 'Okay' and smiled at her. She then broke away from me, gently placing her hand on my shoulder and smiling. She then turned and walked back to her friends.
It was weird. I figure, either she was tripping on something, or she was coming onto me and I just didn't pick up on it at all...But it was a fitting end to my day!
PS. For anyone who has been wondering, Joshua, the baby chimp has now been introduced to the main chimp group save for one adult male, and everything has gone swimmingly! He's fully integrated and there are no signs of trouble at all!
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Waiter...there's a fly in my California Iced Tea!
So yesterday was Helen's birthday (Happy Birthday again Helen!) and to celebrate, we went out to dinner in Fordsberg. Now, Fordsberg is a little dodgy area, mostly Indian and Arab inhabitants, that is very close to Wits. We were first introduced to it by a friend during our honours year, 2006 (Eebee, you is ROX!!!). The area is absolutely over-run with indian resturants, which is why we go there.
The food there is fantastic and is ridiculously cheap! So, as students, it is just our cup of tea...not literally.
So Duncan, Helen, Tom and I all piled into my car and we sped off into the night. We soon arrived at the resturant that we usually go to and after a slightly confusing conversation with the car guard (he seemed to think that I wanted him to wash my car) we went off to get food! Our food was really good and once the meal was over and we had paid the bill, I suggested that we go somewhere else to pass some time as I didn't feel like going home yet.
So we piled back into the car and sped off into the Johannesburg darkness once again. After some constination, it was suggested by Tom that we try out a new bar that had just opened up in Greenside, called 'Gin'. After a distinct lack of any opinion from everyone, it was decided that this was to be our destination.
We arrived and parked in a conveniently placed open parking bay (directly outside the bar!). We all piled out and scampered into the bar. The place was interesting and, for me anyway, played good music. All things were looking well and we went out onto the balcony that overlooks the road over the rest of the bar. We got ourselves a table right on the edge of the balcony and parked off. It was a little chilly but we managed to keep warm by bobbing about to the music which was very Vogue supermodel-ish.
Eventually, a waiter appeared and we called him over. He wasn't all that clued up on the menu and after we asked him for the cocktail menu, he reluctantly went downstairs to fetch it. He then reappeared with a large signboard with the cocktail menu written on it. We all felt bad for having asked him to go and fetch it. It did look a bit heavy and certainly not the size thing that you would want to be carting up and down a narrow staircase. And after much discussion about what cocktails were blue on the list, we placed our orders.
A while later, and after much jiggling to the music, he emerged from downstairs with our drinks. As it turned out, mine was the only blue cocktail, which upset Helen. Mine was also drinkable because hers was about 70% tequila, 29% Gin and 1% colouring. None the less, we all started drinking our booze and having a merry old time.
About a third of the way through mine, I noticed something swishing around at the bottom of my glass. I figured that it had to be a lemon pip as my drink was very tangy and definitely contained lemon juice. I didn't think much of it.
Then it swished up to the side of the glass and I realised, to my horror, that the lemon pip was black and had a pair of wings...
It was so revolting! I called the waiter over and pointed it out to him. He was somewhat incredulous but upon inspection of the 'pip' admitted that it was indeed a fly. He appologised and disappeared, only to reappear with another one, on the house.
At this point, I was really not going to drink anything that he brought me, free or not! Helen, seeing an opportunity was thrilled and took the blue cocktail. The irony was that the new cocktail tasted almost identicle to her first one. The only difference was that they had changed the food colouring for a blue one. So, after about 3 sips, Helen decided that it was enough and we all concluded that we should call it a night.
Moral of the story: AVOID GIN!!!
The food there is fantastic and is ridiculously cheap! So, as students, it is just our cup of tea...not literally.
So Duncan, Helen, Tom and I all piled into my car and we sped off into the night. We soon arrived at the resturant that we usually go to and after a slightly confusing conversation with the car guard (he seemed to think that I wanted him to wash my car) we went off to get food! Our food was really good and once the meal was over and we had paid the bill, I suggested that we go somewhere else to pass some time as I didn't feel like going home yet.
So we piled back into the car and sped off into the Johannesburg darkness once again. After some constination, it was suggested by Tom that we try out a new bar that had just opened up in Greenside, called 'Gin'. After a distinct lack of any opinion from everyone, it was decided that this was to be our destination.
We arrived and parked in a conveniently placed open parking bay (directly outside the bar!). We all piled out and scampered into the bar. The place was interesting and, for me anyway, played good music. All things were looking well and we went out onto the balcony that overlooks the road over the rest of the bar. We got ourselves a table right on the edge of the balcony and parked off. It was a little chilly but we managed to keep warm by bobbing about to the music which was very Vogue supermodel-ish.
Eventually, a waiter appeared and we called him over. He wasn't all that clued up on the menu and after we asked him for the cocktail menu, he reluctantly went downstairs to fetch it. He then reappeared with a large signboard with the cocktail menu written on it. We all felt bad for having asked him to go and fetch it. It did look a bit heavy and certainly not the size thing that you would want to be carting up and down a narrow staircase. And after much discussion about what cocktails were blue on the list, we placed our orders.
A while later, and after much jiggling to the music, he emerged from downstairs with our drinks. As it turned out, mine was the only blue cocktail, which upset Helen. Mine was also drinkable because hers was about 70% tequila, 29% Gin and 1% colouring. None the less, we all started drinking our booze and having a merry old time.
About a third of the way through mine, I noticed something swishing around at the bottom of my glass. I figured that it had to be a lemon pip as my drink was very tangy and definitely contained lemon juice. I didn't think much of it.
Then it swished up to the side of the glass and I realised, to my horror, that the lemon pip was black and had a pair of wings...
It was so revolting! I called the waiter over and pointed it out to him. He was somewhat incredulous but upon inspection of the 'pip' admitted that it was indeed a fly. He appologised and disappeared, only to reappear with another one, on the house.
At this point, I was really not going to drink anything that he brought me, free or not! Helen, seeing an opportunity was thrilled and took the blue cocktail. The irony was that the new cocktail tasted almost identicle to her first one. The only difference was that they had changed the food colouring for a blue one. So, after about 3 sips, Helen decided that it was enough and we all concluded that we should call it a night.
Moral of the story: AVOID GIN!!!
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The monkeys got the better of me...
For those of you who are new to this blog, or alternatively have no clue what I do, I am a zoologist in training. Specifically, I work on primates. I'm currently doing my masters on chimpanzee behaviour in captivity, but two years ago, I did my honours on baboon foraging behaviour in the wild. My research was based in a smallish reserve found south of Johannesburg, called the Suikerbosrand Nature Reserve. It's named after a particular type of Protea tree that is found in the area, called the Suikerbos (translated into English from the Afrikaans, it means 'sugarbush').
My honours project spanned a year. It entailed driving around this reserve's one road, looking for troops of baboons, and on the rare occasion that one was found, observing their behaviour and recording it. The major problem was that the baboons were so hard to find in this reserve that after a full year of driving around, looking for the animals, I came away with the equivalent of about 2 hours worth of observation time.
The reserve only has one road that runs through it. The road is treated as a one-way road and, as I'm sure you can imagine, it does tend to get a little tedious after about the fifth day of driving on it. So, to liven things up a little, and simultaneously live on the wild side, we used to occasionally drive along the road, the wrong way! (We are such rebels...)
Anyway, today, I went back to Suikerbosrand with a group of people from two Roots and Shoots groups from Soweto. Roots and Shoots is a program run through the Jane Goodall Institute that focuses on uplifting impoverished communities, alleviating the suffering of animals and generally doing good. So I was asked to join the little expedition as an 'experienced individual with knowledge of the area'. Truth be told, I don't actually know all that much and I'm not really a fan of the place given my experiences in honours.
Despite this, I went along. All in all, the day was a great success. It was enjoyed by all the others and, apart from an incident with a very hairy caterpillar in my pants (a story for another day) and an overenthusiastic individual, determined to drown me in conversation after an exhausting day on the bus, myself too. In fact, the reserve is really quite a pleasant place when you are not looking for baboons to study. However, one thing that really killed me about this trip was that we saw baboons.
Not only did we see baboons, but we saw 4 troops of baboons! That was more than I would see in a week when I was there last time and this was on ONE DAY!!!
So, I have decided to relinquish my crown and admit defeat. The baboons have broken me and won. I shall not research those baboons ever again...
My honours project spanned a year. It entailed driving around this reserve's one road, looking for troops of baboons, and on the rare occasion that one was found, observing their behaviour and recording it. The major problem was that the baboons were so hard to find in this reserve that after a full year of driving around, looking for the animals, I came away with the equivalent of about 2 hours worth of observation time.
The reserve only has one road that runs through it. The road is treated as a one-way road and, as I'm sure you can imagine, it does tend to get a little tedious after about the fifth day of driving on it. So, to liven things up a little, and simultaneously live on the wild side, we used to occasionally drive along the road, the wrong way! (We are such rebels...)
Anyway, today, I went back to Suikerbosrand with a group of people from two Roots and Shoots groups from Soweto. Roots and Shoots is a program run through the Jane Goodall Institute that focuses on uplifting impoverished communities, alleviating the suffering of animals and generally doing good. So I was asked to join the little expedition as an 'experienced individual with knowledge of the area'. Truth be told, I don't actually know all that much and I'm not really a fan of the place given my experiences in honours.
Despite this, I went along. All in all, the day was a great success. It was enjoyed by all the others and, apart from an incident with a very hairy caterpillar in my pants (a story for another day) and an overenthusiastic individual, determined to drown me in conversation after an exhausting day on the bus, myself too. In fact, the reserve is really quite a pleasant place when you are not looking for baboons to study. However, one thing that really killed me about this trip was that we saw baboons.
Not only did we see baboons, but we saw 4 troops of baboons! That was more than I would see in a week when I was there last time and this was on ONE DAY!!!
So, I have decided to relinquish my crown and admit defeat. The baboons have broken me and won. I shall not research those baboons ever again...
Monday, April 14, 2008
Spending all my hard earned cash...
Today I went off shopping. Normally I loath shopping and try to avoid it whenever possible. But this shopping was different. I was going shopping for my GPS!
My uncle had promised to buy me a GPS for my birthday. He had gone looking around and had decided that it was probably a better plan to leave it up to me and just provide the funding. I certainly wasn't going to object to that plan! So this morning, I got up and went off to the shops with my sister.
We got to the store and went to the GPS shelves in the hopes that, with sufficient gazing at the items on display, some over-enthusiastic store clerk might come swooping over to us to see if we could be helped. Apparently the enthusiasm levels of the store clerks are either just sufficient, or below what they should be, because nobody came over to help us.
So my sister jokingly thought it would be best if we waved one of them down, and decided to demonstrate what she meant. As it would so happen, just as she began to perform her over-exaggerated 'I'm a customer in need of help' wave, one of the clerks turned around and, looking a little confused but still keeping on his I'm-confident-and-know-how-this-place-works face, walked over to aid us.
He was very nice and after I had confirmed that I really did want the bright yellow one, he disappeared into the back room to fetch a new one for me. He soon reappeared with a box and we went off to pay at the till. The lady behind the till was very diligent and had the device rung up in no time. But, she seemed to have overcharged me by about R300! So, not wanting to be completely ripped off, I pointed this out to her. She looked at me and the box, equally incredulously and then bellowed to the clerk to check the price.
Once he had confirmed that we were, in fact, not insane, she redid the price and took our money. She then said, 'Sorry about that' with the tone of a woman who, while walking through a park has just had someones dog urinate on her shoe and had the owner arrive and congratulate the dog. So, determined to be the bigger person, I put on a charming smile (at least, it felt charming...) and said, 'Have a nice day!' and walked out.
Then it was off to Mr. Price! Mr. Price is a clothing store that stocks the kinds of clothes that will last you a few years but cost practically nothing. I really like their stuff! So, armed with R1000 of the money which I was given by the National Research Fund/Foundation (I'm not 100% sure about what the 'F' in NRF stands for...), I went a-shopping! It was actually quite fun! I never like clothes shopping, in fact, I detest it. But this time it was fun somehow. And I ended up with a whole bunch of clothes that, once home, I actually liked, as opposed to the kind that you buy in the store, get home and realise that you must have momentarily lost all sense of class and taste and bought a pair of bright red cargo pants...(True story I'm afraid...)
So that was my day! I'll have to take some pics of me in my brand-spanking new clothes to post here...coming soon!
My uncle had promised to buy me a GPS for my birthday. He had gone looking around and had decided that it was probably a better plan to leave it up to me and just provide the funding. I certainly wasn't going to object to that plan! So this morning, I got up and went off to the shops with my sister.
We got to the store and went to the GPS shelves in the hopes that, with sufficient gazing at the items on display, some over-enthusiastic store clerk might come swooping over to us to see if we could be helped. Apparently the enthusiasm levels of the store clerks are either just sufficient, or below what they should be, because nobody came over to help us.
So my sister jokingly thought it would be best if we waved one of them down, and decided to demonstrate what she meant. As it would so happen, just as she began to perform her over-exaggerated 'I'm a customer in need of help' wave, one of the clerks turned around and, looking a little confused but still keeping on his I'm-confident-and-know-how-this-place-works face, walked over to aid us.
He was very nice and after I had confirmed that I really did want the bright yellow one, he disappeared into the back room to fetch a new one for me. He soon reappeared with a box and we went off to pay at the till. The lady behind the till was very diligent and had the device rung up in no time. But, she seemed to have overcharged me by about R300! So, not wanting to be completely ripped off, I pointed this out to her. She looked at me and the box, equally incredulously and then bellowed to the clerk to check the price.
Once he had confirmed that we were, in fact, not insane, she redid the price and took our money. She then said, 'Sorry about that' with the tone of a woman who, while walking through a park has just had someones dog urinate on her shoe and had the owner arrive and congratulate the dog. So, determined to be the bigger person, I put on a charming smile (at least, it felt charming...) and said, 'Have a nice day!' and walked out.
Then it was off to Mr. Price! Mr. Price is a clothing store that stocks the kinds of clothes that will last you a few years but cost practically nothing. I really like their stuff! So, armed with R1000 of the money which I was given by the National Research Fund/Foundation (I'm not 100% sure about what the 'F' in NRF stands for...), I went a-shopping! It was actually quite fun! I never like clothes shopping, in fact, I detest it. But this time it was fun somehow. And I ended up with a whole bunch of clothes that, once home, I actually liked, as opposed to the kind that you buy in the store, get home and realise that you must have momentarily lost all sense of class and taste and bought a pair of bright red cargo pants...(True story I'm afraid...)
So that was my day! I'll have to take some pics of me in my brand-spanking new clothes to post here...coming soon!
Sunday, April 13, 2008
10 things I hate about you...NOT!
So Helen dedicated a post to all her friends and in the style of chain e-mails the world over has asked that they post a similar post with ten things that we, her friends, love about our own friends. So here goes...
- They are all just as crazy, if not more so, as I am. It's great knowing that if I feel compelled to go and moon the cashier who is unfortunate enough to be working the drive through that evening, I have a small possy who will come tag along and, more than likely, join in.
- They are all really supportive, in more ways than one. If I really need to talk to someone at 2:37 am, I know that I can give at least one of them a call and they'll talk to me. Granted, this doesn't apply to all of them...most would probably say things that I shan't publish on a web page that potentially could be visited by children and slam the phone down on me :) I love you guys! ;P
- They all have a wicked sense of humour. Practical jokes abound and wit reigns supreme amongst my friends and, most anyway, are more than happy to laugh at themselves.
- I can have a decent discussion with all of my friends. No matter what I want to talk about, be it the political crisis in Zimbabwe (Robert Mugabe is a total lunatic...and not in a good way mind you!) or the merits of examining the imprints on building windows left by misguided pigeons, I know that I can have a fruitful chinwag with them.
- Whenever one of us makes that fateful mistake of trying to use our atrophied muscles, and is feeling it the next morning, I know that we can all count on one another to tell us that we were stupid to think that those spindly strands that were once muscles would actually work again and sympathise.
- Another thing that I can always depend on my friends for is honesty. They all speak their minds, or at least, I think that they do...
- The majority of us have become hooked on Geocaching and this naturally leads to hours of getting lost together and enjoying the experience!
- We all compliment one another. I often feel that I bring a sense of rationality to many of my friends and they too each bring something to the table.
- My friends are all tallented, amazing people. Having them around inspires me and drives me to improve myself.
- All of my friends like Creme soda. That's about all that I'd have to know to be friends with them... :D
Ta-DAH! Now, if you are not jelous about me having the friends I have, there's something wrong with you... ;)
PS. For those who are wondering, the answer is NO, I did not just discover smileys. I just like using them :P
Friday, April 11, 2008
On moving out and not buying milk :D
I think that ever since I left high school, I've been thinking of moving out. It's not that I feel particularly uncomfortable at home, it's more that I really want to be independent. I get along with my sometimes overly-nutty family and, sure, every now and again, they really get on my nerves, but I love them very much and certainly don't want to get away from them. Like I said, I just want a place that's all mine, to do with as I will and to invite people over to whenever I feel like it.
This has just dragged my mind onto another thought path entirely...just how sad it is that I, a man of 24 years of age, still lives at home...
Coming back to the point of this story, I had a bizarre epiphany today while helping my mother unpack the weekly shopping. I suddenly realised that if I lived alone, I would never have to buy milk!
This may seem insane, but I am a strict vegetarian (or so I'm told...). While vegetarianism doesn't require that I abstain from dairy products (if I did I'd probably be a vegan...something else) I am really not a fan of milk. I find it really sweet and off-putting. Granted, the fact that I'd be drinking the mammary fluids of a bovid species doesn't exactly whet my appetite for the stuff, but I don't think that I'd drink it anyway. So, when I have cereal, I have it with fruit juice or sometimes, depending on how hard things are, even just plain water. It's actually not as revolting as one might think!
But then I thought to myself, what if I had people come over who want tea or coffee (two more things that I don't consume...but at least they are not going to go off over a matter of days, so I can stock them) and want it with milk? Then what?
So I decided that, when I have my own place, all my friends and visitors, will just have to bring their own milk. It'll be like a bring-n-braai, just with tea and milk. Just think how much fun that'll be!
So, this thought has to be added to my list of advantages to living alone in your own place. These include:
This has just dragged my mind onto another thought path entirely...just how sad it is that I, a man of 24 years of age, still lives at home...
Coming back to the point of this story, I had a bizarre epiphany today while helping my mother unpack the weekly shopping. I suddenly realised that if I lived alone, I would never have to buy milk!
This may seem insane, but I am a strict vegetarian (or so I'm told...). While vegetarianism doesn't require that I abstain from dairy products (if I did I'd probably be a vegan...something else) I am really not a fan of milk. I find it really sweet and off-putting. Granted, the fact that I'd be drinking the mammary fluids of a bovid species doesn't exactly whet my appetite for the stuff, but I don't think that I'd drink it anyway. So, when I have cereal, I have it with fruit juice or sometimes, depending on how hard things are, even just plain water. It's actually not as revolting as one might think!
But then I thought to myself, what if I had people come over who want tea or coffee (two more things that I don't consume...but at least they are not going to go off over a matter of days, so I can stock them) and want it with milk? Then what?
So I decided that, when I have my own place, all my friends and visitors, will just have to bring their own milk. It'll be like a bring-n-braai, just with tea and milk. Just think how much fun that'll be!
So, this thought has to be added to my list of advantages to living alone in your own place. These include:
- Cheaper electricity and water bills
- Cheaper shopping bills (you only buy what you need)
- Getting to decorate your own space (Our current house has the most revolting 'brown and beige' colour scheme
- Getting to buy your own furniture (apparently it's great fun. Can't comment yet, but I'll let you know how it turns out)
- Having your own internet (not having to share a stitch of bandwidth! YAY!)
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Synchronised dreams...?
Lately I've noticed a strange trend amongst people that I know. Several of us (those within my circle of friends) will have dreams on the same nights! It's bizarre! For example, the other day, I had a dream, about a family outing.
In my dream, we were going to visit some family friends who happened to live in the Free State (for non-south african readers, this post may be confusing or unbelievably boring...sorry!). They were Italians who lived on a farm there, in a commune, with a whole lot of other people. The reason why they had all banded together to live in a commune was because they believed that all technology that had been invented after the Boer war was sent by the devil and was under no circumstances to be permitted in their lives. The fact that we arrived there in a car didn't seem to be a problem but as soon as I produced a cell phone from my pocket, all hell broke loose. Not literally...
On that same night, my mother had a dream about a rat leaping out of a cake that she had baked for some reason. Admittedly, she has got an absurdly neurotic fear of rodents in all shapes and sizes so nightmares about them would be expected, but on the same night as mine? Also, my sister had a dream that took on the same sort of nutty quality, but alas, I can't recount it to you...
That same night, my cousin had a dream about being in the Matrix (as in Keanu Reeves) and there being Nazi's after him and using star ships from Star Wars. All of this on the same night.
Then, last night, I had a really bizarre dream about being able to get around on little flying chairs (it was AWESOME!!!). While the majority of the dream was fantastic, I at some point had to defend myself from some asian scalpel wielding man (don't ask me why he was asian...) and ended up driving an axe into his head! It was horrible! It freaked me out so much that when I woke up I was all panicked and I was really worried! It was terrible!!
Then, a slightly less disturbing incident, on the same night, Helen had some pretty strange brain activity going on because she ended up sleep-walking and woke up in her brothers ex-room with various injuries of unknown origin! It's just very odd...
Well, now that I have officially freaked everyone out, I will sign off. Sweet dreams... ;P
In my dream, we were going to visit some family friends who happened to live in the Free State (for non-south african readers, this post may be confusing or unbelievably boring...sorry!). They were Italians who lived on a farm there, in a commune, with a whole lot of other people. The reason why they had all banded together to live in a commune was because they believed that all technology that had been invented after the Boer war was sent by the devil and was under no circumstances to be permitted in their lives. The fact that we arrived there in a car didn't seem to be a problem but as soon as I produced a cell phone from my pocket, all hell broke loose. Not literally...
On that same night, my mother had a dream about a rat leaping out of a cake that she had baked for some reason. Admittedly, she has got an absurdly neurotic fear of rodents in all shapes and sizes so nightmares about them would be expected, but on the same night as mine? Also, my sister had a dream that took on the same sort of nutty quality, but alas, I can't recount it to you...
That same night, my cousin had a dream about being in the Matrix (as in Keanu Reeves) and there being Nazi's after him and using star ships from Star Wars. All of this on the same night.
Then, last night, I had a really bizarre dream about being able to get around on little flying chairs (it was AWESOME!!!). While the majority of the dream was fantastic, I at some point had to defend myself from some asian scalpel wielding man (don't ask me why he was asian...) and ended up driving an axe into his head! It was horrible! It freaked me out so much that when I woke up I was all panicked and I was really worried! It was terrible!!
Then, a slightly less disturbing incident, on the same night, Helen had some pretty strange brain activity going on because she ended up sleep-walking and woke up in her brothers ex-room with various injuries of unknown origin! It's just very odd...
Well, now that I have officially freaked everyone out, I will sign off. Sweet dreams... ;P
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Friends like these...
Lately I've not been really enjoying my life. There was a recent incident involving the school that I'm teaching at, at the moment, which put a dampner on things. It was mostly because I lost my temper at my class and, while it was incredibly satisfying to punish them after they made my lesson hell, it resulted in a parent phoning in to complain about me. It also hasn't helped that I've had the worst cold of my life over the last two weeks which just will not give up and makes my head feel like it is always about to explode at any second. But, this is not the focus of this post. This post is about friends and how they often surprise us in the most unexpected of ways.
Last night I went off to dinner with Helen, Duncan and Tom. We went to Soi (YAY!!) in Melville which is one of my favourite restaurants of all time (and space). I arrived, in my sniffly, not entirely cheerful state. I parked my car in the street, the corner of which, Soi is located on. As I stood up out of my vehicle, I thought it odd that I was not immediately accosted by a car guard coming to ensure that I knew he was going to keep an eye on my car. I brushed it off and went in search of the trio who were to spend the evening with me.
I was late. It was entirely my own fault. I'd thought that I couldn't go off and enjoy a dinner knowing that my mouses cage stank like it did. So just before leaving I decided to give it a change. I'm very glad I did now! But the point is that I was late and so I had to go and find them. I found them with ease (they were practically the only people in the place at the time) and we settled down to our dinner.
The evening was really great! We had such a ball and the cocktails were really good (something with kiwi and pineapple for anyone who is interested)! And, after some really crude and silly jokes about sugar sachets, we called it a night. Later, at home, I recieved a message from Tom saying that he had really enjoyed the evening, and it got me thinking.
I somehow always have this experience and every time I do, it seems like such a revelation, which is really stupid. I love my friends! They really lifted my spirits and I got home feeling great! I realised that I am really blessed with the people in my life that I have and I am really grateful for all of them and what they do and have shaped me into. So this post is dedicated to all of you. I want to thank you for being part of my life and for being who you are. There may be times that I want to kill some of you, and there will be times I'll want to kiss you, but through the good and the bad, I want you all to remember that I love you.
And this doesn't just apply to those who attended dinner on Saturday! ;)
So, a big up to all my peeps! You all is ROX!!!
Last night I went off to dinner with Helen, Duncan and Tom. We went to Soi (YAY!!) in Melville which is one of my favourite restaurants of all time (and space). I arrived, in my sniffly, not entirely cheerful state. I parked my car in the street, the corner of which, Soi is located on. As I stood up out of my vehicle, I thought it odd that I was not immediately accosted by a car guard coming to ensure that I knew he was going to keep an eye on my car. I brushed it off and went in search of the trio who were to spend the evening with me.
I was late. It was entirely my own fault. I'd thought that I couldn't go off and enjoy a dinner knowing that my mouses cage stank like it did. So just before leaving I decided to give it a change. I'm very glad I did now! But the point is that I was late and so I had to go and find them. I found them with ease (they were practically the only people in the place at the time) and we settled down to our dinner.
The evening was really great! We had such a ball and the cocktails were really good (something with kiwi and pineapple for anyone who is interested)! And, after some really crude and silly jokes about sugar sachets, we called it a night. Later, at home, I recieved a message from Tom saying that he had really enjoyed the evening, and it got me thinking.
I somehow always have this experience and every time I do, it seems like such a revelation, which is really stupid. I love my friends! They really lifted my spirits and I got home feeling great! I realised that I am really blessed with the people in my life that I have and I am really grateful for all of them and what they do and have shaped me into. So this post is dedicated to all of you. I want to thank you for being part of my life and for being who you are. There may be times that I want to kill some of you, and there will be times I'll want to kiss you, but through the good and the bad, I want you all to remember that I love you.
And this doesn't just apply to those who attended dinner on Saturday! ;)
So, a big up to all my peeps! You all is ROX!!!
Sunday, February 10, 2008
My big fight with the cops
Today, while heading off to the zoo, I was pulled over by a pair of Metropolitan Police officers for speeding. They were trapping on Broadway, near Eastgate, between Queen St and Allum Rd. As I neared them, the male of the pair stood out in the road and waved me down with a clipboard. I began to curse under my breath as I was not (is one ever?) in the mood for a traffic fine and I hadn't been paying attention to the speed I was doing so I was fairly certain that they may have really got me.
I pulled over to the side of the road and the female of the pair walked over to my car. I instinctivly removed my drivers license to show her when she arrived and braced myself for the upcoming conversation. I always feel so nervous when I'm being checked by cops, even when I have done nothing wrong and they are just checking peoples licenses and stuff. So being pulled over for an actual offense makes me feel about the size of a pea.
Our conversation went something like this:
Cop: Good day sir. Do you realise you were doing 79 in a 60 zone?
Me: What? Really?
Cop: Would you like to see the picture?
Me: No, it's fine. But, this isn't a 60 zone.
Cop: Yes it is. There is a sign down there [Points ahead of me down the road] saying that the speed limit is 60km an hour.
Me: But I'm not past that sign.
Cop: Yes, but this is a 60 zone.
Me: No it's not! If I remember correctly from my learners liscense test, the speed limit only changes when one passes a sign indicating that it has changed. The last sign that I saw was a sign saying 80km/h and I've still not passed the 60km/h sign, so this is still an 80 zone!
Cop: If you remember from your test, they said that any built up area is a 60 zone. This is a built up area.
Me (Getting a little annoyed now): No it's not! Even if it were, there would need to be a sign indicating that there is a change in the speed limit!
Cop: Well this is a built up area so the limit is 60.
Me: No it's NOT! There are no signs saying so, so how you expect me to magically sniff that the speed limit has changed is beyond me!
Cop (In a very matter-of-fact kind of voice): You don't have to sniff anything. It's a 60 zone.
Me (half stiffling giggles at the cop saying that sniffing wasn't necessary): That's rubbish!
Cop (Now oozing with attitude): Oh! So now you are saying that what we do is rubbish?!
Me (Very calmly): No, I think that what you do is great! It's brilliant that people like you do this job! I'm mearly stating that I don't think that what you are doing here is fair...and I don't believe that it is entirely legal!
At this point the cop put away the pen and clipboard rapidly and said, 'You have a good day sir,' without issuing me with a fine! I was so relieved that I thanked her and drove off. In hindsight, I should have gotten her name and demanded that she show me all the various necessary certification for the camera's functionality and the cops proficiency in using said camera, all of which cops are legally obliged to produce on request in these situations. She was probably hoping that I would not realise that the speed limit hadn't changed and she'd be able to get me to bribe her into not giving me a fine, which I REFUSE to do!
All in all it was terrifying, but it was so cool at the same time!
I pulled over to the side of the road and the female of the pair walked over to my car. I instinctivly removed my drivers license to show her when she arrived and braced myself for the upcoming conversation. I always feel so nervous when I'm being checked by cops, even when I have done nothing wrong and they are just checking peoples licenses and stuff. So being pulled over for an actual offense makes me feel about the size of a pea.
Our conversation went something like this:
Cop: Good day sir. Do you realise you were doing 79 in a 60 zone?
Me: What? Really?
Cop: Would you like to see the picture?
Me: No, it's fine. But, this isn't a 60 zone.
Cop: Yes it is. There is a sign down there [Points ahead of me down the road] saying that the speed limit is 60km an hour.
Me: But I'm not past that sign.
Cop: Yes, but this is a 60 zone.
Me: No it's not! If I remember correctly from my learners liscense test, the speed limit only changes when one passes a sign indicating that it has changed. The last sign that I saw was a sign saying 80km/h and I've still not passed the 60km/h sign, so this is still an 80 zone!
Cop: If you remember from your test, they said that any built up area is a 60 zone. This is a built up area.
Me (Getting a little annoyed now): No it's not! Even if it were, there would need to be a sign indicating that there is a change in the speed limit!
Cop: Well this is a built up area so the limit is 60.
Me: No it's NOT! There are no signs saying so, so how you expect me to magically sniff that the speed limit has changed is beyond me!
Cop (In a very matter-of-fact kind of voice): You don't have to sniff anything. It's a 60 zone.
Me (half stiffling giggles at the cop saying that sniffing wasn't necessary): That's rubbish!
Cop (Now oozing with attitude): Oh! So now you are saying that what we do is rubbish?!
Me (Very calmly): No, I think that what you do is great! It's brilliant that people like you do this job! I'm mearly stating that I don't think that what you are doing here is fair...and I don't believe that it is entirely legal!
At this point the cop put away the pen and clipboard rapidly and said, 'You have a good day sir,' without issuing me with a fine! I was so relieved that I thanked her and drove off. In hindsight, I should have gotten her name and demanded that she show me all the various necessary certification for the camera's functionality and the cops proficiency in using said camera, all of which cops are legally obliged to produce on request in these situations. She was probably hoping that I would not realise that the speed limit hadn't changed and she'd be able to get me to bribe her into not giving me a fine, which I REFUSE to do!
All in all it was terrifying, but it was so cool at the same time!
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
My first Wits Rant of 2008!
I too think that it is surprisingly early in the year for a rant but it appears that Wits is determined to really piss people off early this year. Good old Wits!
As I am sure many avid blog fundi's who love and worship my blog (big up to you guys!) will know, I have a particular grip with the people who run the university. That is parking. Parking at Wits has always been a very big problem. Several SRC's (Student Representitive Council) have been elected into power based on the premise that they would be the one to sort out the issue of parking on campus. All have failed dismally...
The problem is that the parking office sells more parking permits to students than they actually have parking bays available on campus. Naturally, while the parking office doesn't mind because it ensures them a steady income of money and to practically no cost whatsoever on their part, this leaves the students of the campus in a smidgen of a messy situation. The problem is always made worse at the beginning of the year because that is when everyone is on campus. All the new 1st years are around, most of which drop out by the mid-year exams, and all the postgrads feel that they must make an appearance to prove that they do exist and are working (even when they are not).
So, this year, in a flash of sheer genius that only the bovine, incompetant cretins of the parking office are capable of, it was decided that the already-scarce parking would be limited further as the staff of the small shopping centre on campus needed to have parking allocated specifically to them. So, who lost their parking you must be wondering?
Well, to compliment the bovine incompetance of the previous decision, it was decided that the postgraduate parking would be forfeit for the sake of the employees of the Matrix (shopping centre). So, the 300 odd parking bays which were available to postgrads were reserved for the 15 odd workers at the matrix. So what happens to the postgrads? The story gets better!
The postgrads, have been religated to park in the parking on the other side of campus which has always been the parking of the undergraduates. So this means that now we share all the parking of undergraduates between the undergrads and the postgrads, naturally leading to rage, conflict and the occasional bumper-bashing in the parking lots. In a vain attempt to ease the pressure on the postgrads, it was decided that the parking was to be shared between all students from 2nd year up. All first years have been told to park in a parking area that is miles away from everything. While I don't object to this, what I do object to is the distinct lack of any plan to prevent the 1st years from abusing the system and doing whatever the hell they want.
So, the current situation is thus: Postgrads all over the university are furious; many of whom are considering not coming in to campus at all simply because it is too stressful to even try. Undergraduates are fuming because their available parking has been reduced by about a third, leaving them between a rock and a hard place. The parking office is sitting on a large pile of money paid to them for parking permits and is refusing to discuss or acknowledge the problems of the other parties (personal observation - I actually went to discuss the sitaution with them. They didn't give a shit...).
Ah the joys and freedoms of the student life...
As I am sure many avid blog fundi's who love and worship my blog (big up to you guys!) will know, I have a particular grip with the people who run the university. That is parking. Parking at Wits has always been a very big problem. Several SRC's (Student Representitive Council) have been elected into power based on the premise that they would be the one to sort out the issue of parking on campus. All have failed dismally...
The problem is that the parking office sells more parking permits to students than they actually have parking bays available on campus. Naturally, while the parking office doesn't mind because it ensures them a steady income of money and to practically no cost whatsoever on their part, this leaves the students of the campus in a smidgen of a messy situation. The problem is always made worse at the beginning of the year because that is when everyone is on campus. All the new 1st years are around, most of which drop out by the mid-year exams, and all the postgrads feel that they must make an appearance to prove that they do exist and are working (even when they are not).
So, this year, in a flash of sheer genius that only the bovine, incompetant cretins of the parking office are capable of, it was decided that the already-scarce parking would be limited further as the staff of the small shopping centre on campus needed to have parking allocated specifically to them. So, who lost their parking you must be wondering?
Well, to compliment the bovine incompetance of the previous decision, it was decided that the postgraduate parking would be forfeit for the sake of the employees of the Matrix (shopping centre). So, the 300 odd parking bays which were available to postgrads were reserved for the 15 odd workers at the matrix. So what happens to the postgrads? The story gets better!
The postgrads, have been religated to park in the parking on the other side of campus which has always been the parking of the undergraduates. So this means that now we share all the parking of undergraduates between the undergrads and the postgrads, naturally leading to rage, conflict and the occasional bumper-bashing in the parking lots. In a vain attempt to ease the pressure on the postgrads, it was decided that the parking was to be shared between all students from 2nd year up. All first years have been told to park in a parking area that is miles away from everything. While I don't object to this, what I do object to is the distinct lack of any plan to prevent the 1st years from abusing the system and doing whatever the hell they want.
So, the current situation is thus: Postgrads all over the university are furious; many of whom are considering not coming in to campus at all simply because it is too stressful to even try. Undergraduates are fuming because their available parking has been reduced by about a third, leaving them between a rock and a hard place. The parking office is sitting on a large pile of money paid to them for parking permits and is refusing to discuss or acknowledge the problems of the other parties (personal observation - I actually went to discuss the sitaution with them. They didn't give a shit...).
Ah the joys and freedoms of the student life...
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Ode to the cleaning lady
I've been working at a private school for the last two weeks. I was filling in for another teacher who was unable to teach for that time due to other commitments that he had. So, I was asked if I would be interested in giving teaching a try.
While the teaching job itself was certainly an eye-opener, one of the things that most left an impression on me was a particular member of the cleaning staff, not only because I saw her daily and that we got along rather well, but more that she was just incredibly weird.
My introduction to this cleaning lady was at the end of my first day. I had met and taught my grade 9 and 10 classes, which had left me terrified, frazzled and outright miserable at the prospect of having to teach them for the next two weeks. The grade 10's are actually delightful kids who really engage with what goes on in the classroom, or at least, fake engaging very, very well. The grade 9's on the other hand left one wondering whether we've been wrong about hell being hot and that it was, in fact, really full of teenagers and that somehow, you had ended up in it. I decided that the best thing for it was to just collect all the things I'd need to take home to prepare for the lessons the next day.
The door of my classroom was ajar and it was just then that a dark, round face appeared about half way up the door. As I looked up, the face split in two with a large, white grin and the owner of the face spoke in a strange accent.
"Spring cleaning?"
It was a hard statement to interpret because, while it appeared to be just that, a statement, there was a hint of uncertainty in the voice, making it sound as if the person, while fully aware that they were supposed to be cleaning, wasn't entirely sure that it was a safe thing to be doing after all. It also left me a little flabbergasted as to the appropriate response. It was more because of the strange way it had been said but was also partly because I always think of 'spring cleaning' as being one of those things that is restricted to spring, not really something to be conducted willey-nilley whenever the fancy takes hold of one.
So I looked at the lady in the door, smiled and said, 'Okay, thanks.'
This seemed to be the correct response because the cleaning lady seemed thrilled that I had said that and, with the efficiency of someone who has been at the same job for the last 30 years of their life, came bustling in to start cleaning.
The first thing she did was walk around the room collecting small scraps of paper that the students had thrown onto the floor. Once those seemed to have been completely eliminated, she turned and scanned the room for a plug point. Once she had located a suitable point, she looked at me questioningly and said, 'Hoova?'
As a south African, I am not really used to vacuum cleaning being referred to as hoovering, so when she asked me, I was really lost. I stared at her in utter confusion for a split second but luckily, avoiding any notably embarrassing situations, my brain kicked into gear and I understood what it was that she had asked. I said that that would be fine and continued to pack up my belongings. In a matter of minutes, she unravelled a chord from the backpack-sized machine on her back, plugged it in, rushed around the room, sucking up all manner of dirt, and unplugged just as fast. Then, with a 'Thank-oo teesha', which soon became our way of saying goodbye, she was gone.
Each day, she would return in this manner to clean my classroom. At one point, I had a 2L carton of milk that I wasn't going to use, so I gave it to her, which appeared to have cemented her friendship to me. I was very happy to have her on my side, as one could imagine that cleaning staff who are not your friends could make life very difficult.
At some stage, I ran into her in one of the corridors. She began to rattle off at me in Zulu (or at least, what I assume to be Zulu), and given that I don't really understand it, not much was getting into my head. She seemed to notice this and began to gesture frantically while continuing to drown me in very rapid Zulu. From a combination of the tone of voice, the gestures and a good dollop of sheer luck I figured out that she was enquiring as to the whereabouts of the previous teacher who had been in the position that I was currently filling. I explained that she had left to work elsewhere and that I was now teaching instead of her. This, as with the milk, appeared to please her a great deal and after another, 'Okay! Thank-oo teesha!', she collected her vacuum-pack and waddled off down the corridor looking very pleased with herself. Later I would realise that this encounter would lead her to believe that I was, in fact, fluent in Zulu and understood a great deal more than I let on, which was, for me anyway, entirely untrue!
One of my favourite moments with her, which I think summed up the complete lack of communication between us very well was my last conversation with her before I left. I wanted to thank her for all her cleaning and to say goodbye. But before I got to say anything, she said, 'See-oo Monday?' I responded in the negative and explained that my time at the school was over and that I wouldn't be returning the next week. She appeared to think about this for a moment and then, slowly, smiled. I then thanked her again and said goodbye. Grinning, she said, 'Okay! See-oo monday, teesha?'
Feeling a little lost as to what to do, I simply confirmed that I'd see her on Monday and walked off to my classroom to pack up.
While the teaching job itself was certainly an eye-opener, one of the things that most left an impression on me was a particular member of the cleaning staff, not only because I saw her daily and that we got along rather well, but more that she was just incredibly weird.
My introduction to this cleaning lady was at the end of my first day. I had met and taught my grade 9 and 10 classes, which had left me terrified, frazzled and outright miserable at the prospect of having to teach them for the next two weeks. The grade 10's are actually delightful kids who really engage with what goes on in the classroom, or at least, fake engaging very, very well. The grade 9's on the other hand left one wondering whether we've been wrong about hell being hot and that it was, in fact, really full of teenagers and that somehow, you had ended up in it. I decided that the best thing for it was to just collect all the things I'd need to take home to prepare for the lessons the next day.
The door of my classroom was ajar and it was just then that a dark, round face appeared about half way up the door. As I looked up, the face split in two with a large, white grin and the owner of the face spoke in a strange accent.
"Spring cleaning?"
It was a hard statement to interpret because, while it appeared to be just that, a statement, there was a hint of uncertainty in the voice, making it sound as if the person, while fully aware that they were supposed to be cleaning, wasn't entirely sure that it was a safe thing to be doing after all. It also left me a little flabbergasted as to the appropriate response. It was more because of the strange way it had been said but was also partly because I always think of 'spring cleaning' as being one of those things that is restricted to spring, not really something to be conducted willey-nilley whenever the fancy takes hold of one.
So I looked at the lady in the door, smiled and said, 'Okay, thanks.'
This seemed to be the correct response because the cleaning lady seemed thrilled that I had said that and, with the efficiency of someone who has been at the same job for the last 30 years of their life, came bustling in to start cleaning.
The first thing she did was walk around the room collecting small scraps of paper that the students had thrown onto the floor. Once those seemed to have been completely eliminated, she turned and scanned the room for a plug point. Once she had located a suitable point, she looked at me questioningly and said, 'Hoova?'
As a south African, I am not really used to vacuum cleaning being referred to as hoovering, so when she asked me, I was really lost. I stared at her in utter confusion for a split second but luckily, avoiding any notably embarrassing situations, my brain kicked into gear and I understood what it was that she had asked. I said that that would be fine and continued to pack up my belongings. In a matter of minutes, she unravelled a chord from the backpack-sized machine on her back, plugged it in, rushed around the room, sucking up all manner of dirt, and unplugged just as fast. Then, with a 'Thank-oo teesha', which soon became our way of saying goodbye, she was gone.
Each day, she would return in this manner to clean my classroom. At one point, I had a 2L carton of milk that I wasn't going to use, so I gave it to her, which appeared to have cemented her friendship to me. I was very happy to have her on my side, as one could imagine that cleaning staff who are not your friends could make life very difficult.
At some stage, I ran into her in one of the corridors. She began to rattle off at me in Zulu (or at least, what I assume to be Zulu), and given that I don't really understand it, not much was getting into my head. She seemed to notice this and began to gesture frantically while continuing to drown me in very rapid Zulu. From a combination of the tone of voice, the gestures and a good dollop of sheer luck I figured out that she was enquiring as to the whereabouts of the previous teacher who had been in the position that I was currently filling. I explained that she had left to work elsewhere and that I was now teaching instead of her. This, as with the milk, appeared to please her a great deal and after another, 'Okay! Thank-oo teesha!', she collected her vacuum-pack and waddled off down the corridor looking very pleased with herself. Later I would realise that this encounter would lead her to believe that I was, in fact, fluent in Zulu and understood a great deal more than I let on, which was, for me anyway, entirely untrue!
One of my favourite moments with her, which I think summed up the complete lack of communication between us very well was my last conversation with her before I left. I wanted to thank her for all her cleaning and to say goodbye. But before I got to say anything, she said, 'See-oo Monday?' I responded in the negative and explained that my time at the school was over and that I wouldn't be returning the next week. She appeared to think about this for a moment and then, slowly, smiled. I then thanked her again and said goodbye. Grinning, she said, 'Okay! See-oo monday, teesha?'
Feeling a little lost as to what to do, I simply confirmed that I'd see her on Monday and walked off to my classroom to pack up.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Just because I can :) Cont...
As another random aside before I start the actual post, my mother found a CD of bagpipe music today and bought it for my dad. As I type, the CD's horrendous noise is stampeding down our passage, permiating everything!
*Ahem*
One of the caches that we went in search of was a type of cache where the coordinates published are not those of the cache itself, but of a clue that then leads you to the cache. Given that this was the second cache that we had gone in search of, it is understandable that we were rather excited and enthusiastic about finding it.
We arrived at the site. We were a little confused at first because the clue on the internet had said something about a bird sanctuary sign and, while we could find a whole range of signs about ecosystems and the importance of conservation, we had, at that stage, not been able to find the bird sanctuary sign. To compound the problem, the area was crawling with muggles, the geocaching term for non-geocachers. Part of the fun of the game is trying to find and access the caches without being spotted. So, unable to spot our sign immediately, we decided to follow the GPS coordinates to the sign. They seemed to suggest that we follow a path that went off into the bush. So, trusting in the all-knowing GPS, we headed off into the bush.
About 5 min into our walk along the path, we realised that the site we were looking for was now behind us, in the direction from which we had come. We decided that we should head back, and did so. Once back at the start of the trail, we looked around again for the sign, with the not-quite-so-trusted-as-before GPS in mind. After about 2 min, Duncan exclaimed that he had successfully located the sign. It had turned out that it was obscured by some brush and that we had to walk along a small, easy to miss path to get to it.
At this point I must note that Duncan is eerily good at this sport. He seemed to have some sort of ESP about where the caches or clues would be located and 9 times out of 10 would be the one to find things. And he never used the GPS…
We found the clue and with it, the coordinates to the location of the cache. The coordinates pointed to the opposite side of the lagoon, on the banks of which, we were then standing. That side of the lagoon is a nature reserve that is accessible only from one side as the lagoon flows out into the sea and there are not bridges across into the reserve. After I volunteered to swim across, examined the water and its contents and retracted the offer, it was decided that we would drive around to the other side and walk to the location along the shore of the lagoon.
After driving around, parking, and walking through the somewhat dodgy camping ground at the reserve, we embarked along the banks of the lagoon in search of our prize. At the time, the tide was in, which meant that the water level in the lagoon was high, leaving little of the sand beaches exposed. Eventually we reached a point where there were trees growing along the edge that extended out over the water. The vegetation in the area is very thick and bushy, making traversing it a bit of a mission. So, the only option available was to walk through the water.
While this may seem harmless enough, it wasn’t. The ground of the lagoon-side dropped off sharply after the edge and given the recent rains in the area, the water was a dark brown, like black tea, from all the dissolved tannins of the trees upstream. This made it impossible to see through the water any time that there was more than 15cm of water below you. To make matters worse, the lagoon tends to receive all manner of charming little things that usually come down with the floodwaters. These little estuarine delicacies included all manner of trash, faecal material, and more unmentionables.
It was for this reason that Duncan, very wisely, decided not to join the remainder of the expedition in search of the cache. This left Helen and I to find the hidden treasure.
We began to walk our way through the water, along the edge of the lagoon. We experienced the usual sensations associated with travelling through alluvium: squishing between the toes, the occasional creature scuttling across your foot, the odd poke in the sole from some unidentified pointy thing hidden in the mud. But we soon managed to get around the trees and reach the beach on the other side. However, once we got there we realised that shortly along the beach was another tree that had grown over the edge of the water. As we looked further along, we realised that there were quite a number of such trees. It appeared that we would have to walk through the silt for almost all of the rest of the way there. I was not looking forward to that in the least! But, with the determination of stupid first-timers, we trudged on.
The next tree pass was different to the first. And not in a good way.
This time, the tree extended quite a bit further out than the last one. As before, the colour of the water made it near impossible to be able to judge depth, nor was it possible to be able to see what it was that you were standing on. We continued none the less and, about halfway to the edge of the tree, to our horror, the ground gave way to a very steep slope down into the depths. Helen had gone ahead of me and seeing how she suddenly plummeted down into the water, I decided to leave my T-shirt behind on the shore. Once I removed it and draped it over a bush, I too began my rounding.
I went in and around the same place as Helen, dropped into the depths. The water was about chest height now, and as water in large bodies usually is, the top part was not unpleasantly cool, while the lower reaches felt bitterly cold. To make things worse, the lagoon is home to all manner of creatures (including the rare Knysna seahorse!), many of which live within the grass-like seaweed that grows on the bottom. This seaweed has a slimy, but at the same time, raspy texture and is not at all fun to swim in.
I for one don’t enjoy the slimy, raspy, creepy-crawlies of the lagoon and, for lack of a less colloquial term, it freaks me out! So when I was walking around the edge of the tree and I put my foot into a large patch of seaweed, I instinctively released a squeal and dropped into the water, having decided to swim the rest of the way. This naturally had Helen in hysterics because, as most would tell you, this is not a particularly manly response to an aquatic plant…
This process of walking and periodically squealing and dropping into the water to doggy-paddle to the next beach continued until, eventually, we reached our destination. The GPS is water-resistant for a depth of up to 1m so it was fine with all the swimming. But, just to play it safe, we had kept it switched off for most of the swim. Now that we were at the beach, we switched it back on and waited expectantly for the all-knowing GPS to guide us.
Now, as anyone who has ever used a hand-held GPS would tell you, they are not 100% accurate. They can get you to within a few meters of your destination, but usually can only handle a resolution of about 5-10m. 3m on a VERY good day. Naturally, the resolution all depends on the type of GPS being used, but in this case, these were the stats we had to work from.
We gazed expectantly at the GPS. It just looked yellow and thoughtful. Once started up we saw that we were within 10m of the cache but the GPS was pointing back over the lagoon towards the bird sanctuary. We soon realised that the GPS was also saying that what we knew to be north was in fact west. So we decided to ignore it completely and to go looking around on the beach and the banks of the lagoon.
After about 20min of searching, and revealing little more that an empty Fanta bottle and a human turd, I suggested to Helen that we admit defeat and head back. Helen had other plans in mind. She was determined to find the cache no matter what. We continued to argue for some time and eventually, she agreed that we should head back. So we turned to return to the camping ground.
We hadn’t realised this on our way to the beach but the current had been on our side then and was certainly not cutting us any slack for the return journey. So we swam upstream, trying to walk wherever the seaweed had been denied a place to root. Eventually we arrived at the beach where my shirt had been left. I collected it and we walked around the last tree, now smelling a bit like a very salty septic tank. After meeting up with Duncan, we decided to have a quick shower at the beach to wash off. Once we were both as clean as we were going to get, we decided to go after one last cache. It was one at Gerike’s point, a small island-like lump of rock that stuck out from the point of the bay. While the weather threatened us, we went ahead. Duncan once again decided to remain behind and sit this one out.
About half way to the point, the drizzle began. By the time we reached the point, we were getting very wet. So it was decided that we would turn back, ending our rather unsuccessful geocaching day.
*Ahem*
One of the caches that we went in search of was a type of cache where the coordinates published are not those of the cache itself, but of a clue that then leads you to the cache. Given that this was the second cache that we had gone in search of, it is understandable that we were rather excited and enthusiastic about finding it.
We arrived at the site. We were a little confused at first because the clue on the internet had said something about a bird sanctuary sign and, while we could find a whole range of signs about ecosystems and the importance of conservation, we had, at that stage, not been able to find the bird sanctuary sign. To compound the problem, the area was crawling with muggles, the geocaching term for non-geocachers. Part of the fun of the game is trying to find and access the caches without being spotted. So, unable to spot our sign immediately, we decided to follow the GPS coordinates to the sign. They seemed to suggest that we follow a path that went off into the bush. So, trusting in the all-knowing GPS, we headed off into the bush.
About 5 min into our walk along the path, we realised that the site we were looking for was now behind us, in the direction from which we had come. We decided that we should head back, and did so. Once back at the start of the trail, we looked around again for the sign, with the not-quite-so-trusted-as-before GPS in mind. After about 2 min, Duncan exclaimed that he had successfully located the sign. It had turned out that it was obscured by some brush and that we had to walk along a small, easy to miss path to get to it.
At this point I must note that Duncan is eerily good at this sport. He seemed to have some sort of ESP about where the caches or clues would be located and 9 times out of 10 would be the one to find things. And he never used the GPS…
We found the clue and with it, the coordinates to the location of the cache. The coordinates pointed to the opposite side of the lagoon, on the banks of which, we were then standing. That side of the lagoon is a nature reserve that is accessible only from one side as the lagoon flows out into the sea and there are not bridges across into the reserve. After I volunteered to swim across, examined the water and its contents and retracted the offer, it was decided that we would drive around to the other side and walk to the location along the shore of the lagoon.
After driving around, parking, and walking through the somewhat dodgy camping ground at the reserve, we embarked along the banks of the lagoon in search of our prize. At the time, the tide was in, which meant that the water level in the lagoon was high, leaving little of the sand beaches exposed. Eventually we reached a point where there were trees growing along the edge that extended out over the water. The vegetation in the area is very thick and bushy, making traversing it a bit of a mission. So, the only option available was to walk through the water.
While this may seem harmless enough, it wasn’t. The ground of the lagoon-side dropped off sharply after the edge and given the recent rains in the area, the water was a dark brown, like black tea, from all the dissolved tannins of the trees upstream. This made it impossible to see through the water any time that there was more than 15cm of water below you. To make matters worse, the lagoon tends to receive all manner of charming little things that usually come down with the floodwaters. These little estuarine delicacies included all manner of trash, faecal material, and more unmentionables.
It was for this reason that Duncan, very wisely, decided not to join the remainder of the expedition in search of the cache. This left Helen and I to find the hidden treasure.
We began to walk our way through the water, along the edge of the lagoon. We experienced the usual sensations associated with travelling through alluvium: squishing between the toes, the occasional creature scuttling across your foot, the odd poke in the sole from some unidentified pointy thing hidden in the mud. But we soon managed to get around the trees and reach the beach on the other side. However, once we got there we realised that shortly along the beach was another tree that had grown over the edge of the water. As we looked further along, we realised that there were quite a number of such trees. It appeared that we would have to walk through the silt for almost all of the rest of the way there. I was not looking forward to that in the least! But, with the determination of stupid first-timers, we trudged on.
The next tree pass was different to the first. And not in a good way.
This time, the tree extended quite a bit further out than the last one. As before, the colour of the water made it near impossible to be able to judge depth, nor was it possible to be able to see what it was that you were standing on. We continued none the less and, about halfway to the edge of the tree, to our horror, the ground gave way to a very steep slope down into the depths. Helen had gone ahead of me and seeing how she suddenly plummeted down into the water, I decided to leave my T-shirt behind on the shore. Once I removed it and draped it over a bush, I too began my rounding.
I went in and around the same place as Helen, dropped into the depths. The water was about chest height now, and as water in large bodies usually is, the top part was not unpleasantly cool, while the lower reaches felt bitterly cold. To make things worse, the lagoon is home to all manner of creatures (including the rare Knysna seahorse!), many of which live within the grass-like seaweed that grows on the bottom. This seaweed has a slimy, but at the same time, raspy texture and is not at all fun to swim in.
I for one don’t enjoy the slimy, raspy, creepy-crawlies of the lagoon and, for lack of a less colloquial term, it freaks me out! So when I was walking around the edge of the tree and I put my foot into a large patch of seaweed, I instinctively released a squeal and dropped into the water, having decided to swim the rest of the way. This naturally had Helen in hysterics because, as most would tell you, this is not a particularly manly response to an aquatic plant…
This process of walking and periodically squealing and dropping into the water to doggy-paddle to the next beach continued until, eventually, we reached our destination. The GPS is water-resistant for a depth of up to 1m so it was fine with all the swimming. But, just to play it safe, we had kept it switched off for most of the swim. Now that we were at the beach, we switched it back on and waited expectantly for the all-knowing GPS to guide us.
Now, as anyone who has ever used a hand-held GPS would tell you, they are not 100% accurate. They can get you to within a few meters of your destination, but usually can only handle a resolution of about 5-10m. 3m on a VERY good day. Naturally, the resolution all depends on the type of GPS being used, but in this case, these were the stats we had to work from.
We gazed expectantly at the GPS. It just looked yellow and thoughtful. Once started up we saw that we were within 10m of the cache but the GPS was pointing back over the lagoon towards the bird sanctuary. We soon realised that the GPS was also saying that what we knew to be north was in fact west. So we decided to ignore it completely and to go looking around on the beach and the banks of the lagoon.
After about 20min of searching, and revealing little more that an empty Fanta bottle and a human turd, I suggested to Helen that we admit defeat and head back. Helen had other plans in mind. She was determined to find the cache no matter what. We continued to argue for some time and eventually, she agreed that we should head back. So we turned to return to the camping ground.
We hadn’t realised this on our way to the beach but the current had been on our side then and was certainly not cutting us any slack for the return journey. So we swam upstream, trying to walk wherever the seaweed had been denied a place to root. Eventually we arrived at the beach where my shirt had been left. I collected it and we walked around the last tree, now smelling a bit like a very salty septic tank. After meeting up with Duncan, we decided to have a quick shower at the beach to wash off. Once we were both as clean as we were going to get, we decided to go after one last cache. It was one at Gerike’s point, a small island-like lump of rock that stuck out from the point of the bay. While the weather threatened us, we went ahead. Duncan once again decided to remain behind and sit this one out.
About half way to the point, the drizzle began. By the time we reached the point, we were getting very wet. So it was decided that we would turn back, ending our rather unsuccessful geocaching day.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Just because I can :)
As a random aside, I'm tempted to use the new blogger features and convert my blog to arabic or cantanese, just because I can :)
*Ahem...*
Dearest blog
I regret that I have once again neglected you. Alas, it is due to the rather fast-paced and hectic life that I live. Of course, the fact that I have not been near an easily accessible internet connection for at least the last two months hasn’t really helped much in that regard…
So what has been happening? Well, following Christmas (YAY!) and New years (Not so yay…but only because most things fall short when compared to Christmas!), I went down to the coast for a lovely week of holiday with Duncan and Helen. We went to stay in Duncan’s grandmother’s holiday house in a little town called Sedgefield, on the southern coast of South Africa, near Cape Town.
It’s an amazing place! It’s close enough to the cape to not be as hot and humid as areas like Durban, which can become unpleasantly humid during summer. But at the same time, it’s hot enough for you to have the full summer beach-side experience: swimming, sunbathing, sun burning, mosquitoes…
It was made especially awesome because this holiday we engaged in an amazing new sport! Well, it’s not exactly a new sport, as it’s been around for some time. But it was a new sport to us. It was…*Drumroll*, GEOCACHING! It’s awesome! I totally love it!
The idea is this. People create a cache (a small container that will have knick-knacks and things in it, usually not of any considerable value) and hide it somewhere. Then, they record the GPS coordinates of where the cache has been hidden, and publish these coordinates on the internet, on a website. Others can then go and download the coordinates and go seek out the cache. Once found, the person must then remove an item from the cache, and replace it with a new item. This way, items can get passed on all over the world (it’s an international thing…).
Some of these items, called travel bugs, are tagged. This means that they literally have a little dog tag attached to them that has been engraved with a number. This number can then be checked on the internet site and the item’s movements around the world can then be tracked. Each cache’s discovery is supposed to be logged on the site and that way, the site is constantly updated so that any caches that are moved or removed can still be accessed. Or at least, that’s how it’s supposed to work…
To be continued...
*Ahem...*
Dearest blog
I regret that I have once again neglected you. Alas, it is due to the rather fast-paced and hectic life that I live. Of course, the fact that I have not been near an easily accessible internet connection for at least the last two months hasn’t really helped much in that regard…
So what has been happening? Well, following Christmas (YAY!) and New years (Not so yay…but only because most things fall short when compared to Christmas!), I went down to the coast for a lovely week of holiday with Duncan and Helen. We went to stay in Duncan’s grandmother’s holiday house in a little town called Sedgefield, on the southern coast of South Africa, near Cape Town.
It’s an amazing place! It’s close enough to the cape to not be as hot and humid as areas like Durban, which can become unpleasantly humid during summer. But at the same time, it’s hot enough for you to have the full summer beach-side experience: swimming, sunbathing, sun burning, mosquitoes…
It was made especially awesome because this holiday we engaged in an amazing new sport! Well, it’s not exactly a new sport, as it’s been around for some time. But it was a new sport to us. It was…*Drumroll*, GEOCACHING! It’s awesome! I totally love it!
The idea is this. People create a cache (a small container that will have knick-knacks and things in it, usually not of any considerable value) and hide it somewhere. Then, they record the GPS coordinates of where the cache has been hidden, and publish these coordinates on the internet, on a website. Others can then go and download the coordinates and go seek out the cache. Once found, the person must then remove an item from the cache, and replace it with a new item. This way, items can get passed on all over the world (it’s an international thing…).
Some of these items, called travel bugs, are tagged. This means that they literally have a little dog tag attached to them that has been engraved with a number. This number can then be checked on the internet site and the item’s movements around the world can then be tracked. Each cache’s discovery is supposed to be logged on the site and that way, the site is constantly updated so that any caches that are moved or removed can still be accessed. Or at least, that’s how it’s supposed to work…
To be continued...
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Festivities
Welcome to 2008!
Well, as usual, it's been ages since I last blogged anything. It's been a bit of a hectic last few weeks though! Over the last few weeks, I have slept in 3 different houses, including my own. I've been house sitting for my family. It's been really hectic! There was the cat's with cancer, my terrible shower experience, the slaughter of the bird in the bathroom and the subsequent use of a washing machine (more on that later). And, there was the window ghost...
So the first house that I was looking after had two cats. Both cats had scabs on their noses which I assumed was from a fight. However, when the one started to sneeze up blood (it was horrible!) I got very concerned and took her to the vet. As it turned out, it was cancer from the sun and the cat would either need to go for radiation treatment (R1000 a session, 3 times a week, for 12 months ~ R20 000) or could be locked up at all times when the sun is out. So for the full duration of my sitting the house, I had to ensure that the cat's didn't see a drop of sunlight. Catching cats to lock away at 6am is not fun...
Then at the second house, which also has two cats (both lack the cancer though) one of the cats had murdered a bird on the bathroom floormat on the first day. It was amazing! It really looked like the bird had been placed down and the cat had somehow punched out the middle bit! The wings were perfectly aligned with each other on the floor and the tail was in place, just, the torso and head were gone and in their place was a bloody mess on the carpet. Lovely...
The big problem with this particular situation was that the mat required washing. Now, for most people, this isn't a hastle. But I, and I am ashamed to be in this state, have no clue how to use a washing machine! I just don't get them. They baffle me! But, somehow, I managed to figure out how to use this one and managed to wash the bathmat! Yay for me!
Hmm...this post is very dull. I'll stop writing this one and write more later.
Well, as usual, it's been ages since I last blogged anything. It's been a bit of a hectic last few weeks though! Over the last few weeks, I have slept in 3 different houses, including my own. I've been house sitting for my family. It's been really hectic! There was the cat's with cancer, my terrible shower experience, the slaughter of the bird in the bathroom and the subsequent use of a washing machine (more on that later). And, there was the window ghost...
So the first house that I was looking after had two cats. Both cats had scabs on their noses which I assumed was from a fight. However, when the one started to sneeze up blood (it was horrible!) I got very concerned and took her to the vet. As it turned out, it was cancer from the sun and the cat would either need to go for radiation treatment (R1000 a session, 3 times a week, for 12 months ~ R20 000) or could be locked up at all times when the sun is out. So for the full duration of my sitting the house, I had to ensure that the cat's didn't see a drop of sunlight. Catching cats to lock away at 6am is not fun...
Then at the second house, which also has two cats (both lack the cancer though) one of the cats had murdered a bird on the bathroom floormat on the first day. It was amazing! It really looked like the bird had been placed down and the cat had somehow punched out the middle bit! The wings were perfectly aligned with each other on the floor and the tail was in place, just, the torso and head were gone and in their place was a bloody mess on the carpet. Lovely...
The big problem with this particular situation was that the mat required washing. Now, for most people, this isn't a hastle. But I, and I am ashamed to be in this state, have no clue how to use a washing machine! I just don't get them. They baffle me! But, somehow, I managed to figure out how to use this one and managed to wash the bathmat! Yay for me!
Hmm...this post is very dull. I'll stop writing this one and write more later.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
God is a DJ...?
Hey blog-readers!
I hope you have your ranting-caps on, because here comes a little rant...
Last night I watched the documentary 'Jesus Camp'. It was really scary! I was horrified to see what they are doing to children in the states and, undoubtedly, other parts of the world! While I am a christian and I believe in evangelism, what they were doing on this camp really was very saddening and very maddening at the same time.
One of the arguments put forward for why they should be indoctrinating their children at a bible camp was that '...the muslims are doing it, so why shouldn't we?' (Muslims was pronounced Muzz-limbs). Firstly, I would like to point out just how incredibly short-sighted that point of view is. Just because they are doing it, doesn't mean that it is right! Are they saying that since Muslims extremists are willing to train up their children from a young age in the ways of Islam and sacrifice them as suicide bombers, that we christians should be prepared to do the same?! Where, pray, in the bible does it say ANYTHING about raising up our children to murder innocent civilians in this manner? For those who are not familair with the christian bible, it certainly says nothing like this at all! Jesus christ was once asked by a man which of the ten commandments were the most important. Jesus replied with 'Love the lord your God with all your heart, soul and mind. Love your neighbour as you love yourself.' Now, how exactly is blowing up innocent people an act of love?
The second point I'd like to make about what was said is that God gave all of mankind the amazing gift of free will. This means that we, as people, must choose whether we want to serve God, accept Christ as our lord and live as God intended for us, or not. I have HUGE problems with anyone who thinks that they are saving their child by indoctrinating them! I believe that it is right to teach our children about the ways of God and how to live their lives according to godly principals but at the end of the day, it is up to them to decide whether they want to follow that path or not. No matter how much we love our children, or how much we don't want them to go to hell, it is not our choice to make and we must accept that and let them choose.
There were so many things in this movie that upset me. Another example was a little girl who was part of a dance-worship team. She would practice her dancing for God every day and when asked about her dancing said that she loved to dance for God, but found that sometimes, she struggled to keep her dancing focused on him. She added that she knew that dancing just for fun was ungodly because, as an act of worship, it would not be focused on him. This distressed me intensely! I think that it is so sad that a child should be taught that it is wrong to dance for fun! There is no place in the bible, to my knowledge, where it says that a person must dance for God alone and forgo any pleasure that may be derived from dancing just for the fun of it!
There was another segment where the children were being preached to about the evil that is abortion. While I myself remain divided on the issue, I feel that there was a more disturbing underlying problem with what was being taught to these children. Many of these kids were between the ages of 5 and 12. Now, I may have just forgotten this, but I have serious doubts that children of age 5 will know how human reproduction works, never mind the details of abortion! What kind of people force children to learn about the practice of abortion and how evil it is when these same children probably don't understand how that baby got there in the first place!
The final part that I shall rant about (for there is SO much more!) is about how incredibly naive they all are! One of the main reasons cited for the bible camps was that children are so open to what you have to tell them which makes them great for moulding as tools to do what you want them to do. Psychologically this is a very valid point, however, I find it terrifying that someone could consiously think like that and not see the horrible potential for the situation to get WAY out of control! The other thing is that these kids just accept whatever is being thrown at them as the truth! And they think that anything that seems vaguely related to God is good. This is very worrying because, I believe, people were given brains for a reason - to use them! Thinking and reasoning are part of what makes human beings so unique amongst the other species that share our world! What good is that if we don't use it? And, what greater way to slap God in the face than to say, 'Sure, you gave me the most amazing brain on the planet, but I'd prefer to not really use it. My life is just a lot easier that way...' This kind of thinking reminded me of something my mother said once. I was listening to the song, 'God is a DJ' by Faithless tonight while cooking my dinner (hence the title) and it too, reminded me of this conversation.
I had just recieved the CD 'Sunday 8pm' (Faithless) for christmas and I was listening to it one day. My mother happened to be in the room and 'God is a DJ' played, followed by another song 'Touched by the hem of his garment', both songs with obvious religious connotations. However, this is where the problem comes in. My mother was very impressed with the music because it was *obviously* about God. But the fact of the matter is that it is NOT at all! 'God is a DJ' is about how for the youth af the time, what mattered to them, their church, was the rave and dance scene. It was a place where they could go and just be themselves, free of the contraints of society and religion. Now the point that I'm trying to make is that my mother just blindly accepted the music as good because it had the word God in it! It is this kind of blind faith that I find scary and wish that I could somehow change.
I am sorry for offending you, if you feel offended by this post. However, I am not sorry for what I have written here. These are my thoughts on the matter and I believe that they are backed up by the bible and good, old-fashioned common sense. Take it or leave it...it's up to you...
P.S. The preacher man at the end of the movie, who preaches about how evil homosexuality is has apparently come out of the closet and has been excommunicated from the church. I find it all hysterically ironic!
I hope you have your ranting-caps on, because here comes a little rant...
Last night I watched the documentary 'Jesus Camp'. It was really scary! I was horrified to see what they are doing to children in the states and, undoubtedly, other parts of the world! While I am a christian and I believe in evangelism, what they were doing on this camp really was very saddening and very maddening at the same time.
One of the arguments put forward for why they should be indoctrinating their children at a bible camp was that '...the muslims are doing it, so why shouldn't we?' (Muslims was pronounced Muzz-limbs). Firstly, I would like to point out just how incredibly short-sighted that point of view is. Just because they are doing it, doesn't mean that it is right! Are they saying that since Muslims extremists are willing to train up their children from a young age in the ways of Islam and sacrifice them as suicide bombers, that we christians should be prepared to do the same?! Where, pray, in the bible does it say ANYTHING about raising up our children to murder innocent civilians in this manner? For those who are not familair with the christian bible, it certainly says nothing like this at all! Jesus christ was once asked by a man which of the ten commandments were the most important. Jesus replied with 'Love the lord your God with all your heart, soul and mind. Love your neighbour as you love yourself.' Now, how exactly is blowing up innocent people an act of love?
The second point I'd like to make about what was said is that God gave all of mankind the amazing gift of free will. This means that we, as people, must choose whether we want to serve God, accept Christ as our lord and live as God intended for us, or not. I have HUGE problems with anyone who thinks that they are saving their child by indoctrinating them! I believe that it is right to teach our children about the ways of God and how to live their lives according to godly principals but at the end of the day, it is up to them to decide whether they want to follow that path or not. No matter how much we love our children, or how much we don't want them to go to hell, it is not our choice to make and we must accept that and let them choose.
There were so many things in this movie that upset me. Another example was a little girl who was part of a dance-worship team. She would practice her dancing for God every day and when asked about her dancing said that she loved to dance for God, but found that sometimes, she struggled to keep her dancing focused on him. She added that she knew that dancing just for fun was ungodly because, as an act of worship, it would not be focused on him. This distressed me intensely! I think that it is so sad that a child should be taught that it is wrong to dance for fun! There is no place in the bible, to my knowledge, where it says that a person must dance for God alone and forgo any pleasure that may be derived from dancing just for the fun of it!
There was another segment where the children were being preached to about the evil that is abortion. While I myself remain divided on the issue, I feel that there was a more disturbing underlying problem with what was being taught to these children. Many of these kids were between the ages of 5 and 12. Now, I may have just forgotten this, but I have serious doubts that children of age 5 will know how human reproduction works, never mind the details of abortion! What kind of people force children to learn about the practice of abortion and how evil it is when these same children probably don't understand how that baby got there in the first place!
The final part that I shall rant about (for there is SO much more!) is about how incredibly naive they all are! One of the main reasons cited for the bible camps was that children are so open to what you have to tell them which makes them great for moulding as tools to do what you want them to do. Psychologically this is a very valid point, however, I find it terrifying that someone could consiously think like that and not see the horrible potential for the situation to get WAY out of control! The other thing is that these kids just accept whatever is being thrown at them as the truth! And they think that anything that seems vaguely related to God is good. This is very worrying because, I believe, people were given brains for a reason - to use them! Thinking and reasoning are part of what makes human beings so unique amongst the other species that share our world! What good is that if we don't use it? And, what greater way to slap God in the face than to say, 'Sure, you gave me the most amazing brain on the planet, but I'd prefer to not really use it. My life is just a lot easier that way...' This kind of thinking reminded me of something my mother said once. I was listening to the song, 'God is a DJ' by Faithless tonight while cooking my dinner (hence the title) and it too, reminded me of this conversation.
I had just recieved the CD 'Sunday 8pm' (Faithless) for christmas and I was listening to it one day. My mother happened to be in the room and 'God is a DJ' played, followed by another song 'Touched by the hem of his garment', both songs with obvious religious connotations. However, this is where the problem comes in. My mother was very impressed with the music because it was *obviously* about God. But the fact of the matter is that it is NOT at all! 'God is a DJ' is about how for the youth af the time, what mattered to them, their church, was the rave and dance scene. It was a place where they could go and just be themselves, free of the contraints of society and religion. Now the point that I'm trying to make is that my mother just blindly accepted the music as good because it had the word God in it! It is this kind of blind faith that I find scary and wish that I could somehow change.
I am sorry for offending you, if you feel offended by this post. However, I am not sorry for what I have written here. These are my thoughts on the matter and I believe that they are backed up by the bible and good, old-fashioned common sense. Take it or leave it...it's up to you...
P.S. The preacher man at the end of the movie, who preaches about how evil homosexuality is has apparently come out of the closet and has been excommunicated from the church. I find it all hysterically ironic!
Sunday, December 16, 2007
My terrible shower experience
No, this post has nothing to do with dropping the soap...
I am currently house-sitting for my aunt and uncle, who have gone on holiday to Cape Town. The job really just entails staying at the house to make it appear that there has been no change in the habitation and to ensure that all the pets are fed and okay. It's a great job because it means that I get to stay on my own for a while, get paid and essentially have a private mini-holiday.
The other night, I went to have a shower. Now, my aunt and uncle have a sliding-door in their shower. The frame of the door is a dark brown colour and runs as a wide band around the glass panel. On this fateful night, I climbed into the shower, after a rather stressful day, feeling a little frazzled and very grateful for the hot needles of water falling onto me from the shower nozzle.
As I stood under the rushing water, I noticed that there was a really bad smell in the air. I immediately thought that the cats must have taken a dump in the shower. I immediately began to look at the floor to see if the cats had, indeed, left a little 'package' for me on the shower floor. But there was nothing there.
The stench persisted and I began to wonder if the smell was from something that I had stood in. I looked out of the shower at the floor and noticed that my shoes were nowhere to be seen. I had left them in the bedroom, down the hall. I certainly hadn't stood in anything with my bare feet, because I'd only taken off my shoes when I'd decided to have a shower.
I then thought that perhaps the smell had wafted in from outside and I turned to check if the window was open. It was not.
By this stage, the smell was still as potent as ever and I had no idea where it was coming from. Then, I heard a scratching noise coming up from the edge of the shower door. I looked down and to my horror, there was a PARKTOWN PRAWN!
Now, for any of you that are not South African's, nor have you ever been to Johannesburg, Parktown Prawns are MASSIVE king crickets, that live in and around Johannesburg. They are revolting creatures that make most sensible people decidedly uneasy in their presence. One of the natural defenses of these hideous beasts, apart from kicking out with their strong and barbed back legs, is to release a foul-smelling, black gunge from their abdomen. It was this that I realised had been sprayed onto the floor of the shower, and was, in fact, the source of the stench!
I realised that I was now faced with a choice. Either, I could hurtle through the house, naked, and find something to catch this disgusting creature with, or I could remain in the shower and just be very careful about where I put my toes. I opted for the latter option and had one of the most awkward showers of my life. I'd wash my face as quickly as possible so that I could keep track of the whereabouts of this insect. And, to make things much worse, every time I'd look at the thing, a chill would shoot up my spine.
Eventually, I finished what felt like one of the longest showers of my life, and caught the beast in an old margarine tub. It was almost as bad as the time I put on a shoe to discover that there was one sitting where my toes were supposed to go...
This one seems a little smaller than they usually are...
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Why on earth am I up this early?!
Good-day internutters :)
I'm currently house-sitting for my aunt and uncle. It's really nice because it gives me a chance to get away from home and relax alone for a while. It's been one hell of a year and so I've really glad that I have gotten this opportunity to just chill. Of course, I would much prefer to be going to the coast with the rest of my family, but alas, this was not to happen. The reason being is thus...
I've been asked to do two talks to kids about monkeys. I know, this sounds ridiculous, but it is true. It seems that most people think that anyone who is at a university is always free and willing to do talks, no matter how mundane they are. While this may be partly true, and I certainly can't say that I would pass up the opportunity to give talks simply because I enjoy it, this does tend to lead to some rather frustrating situations. Such as the one that I am currently in.
Now, it appears that, for most situations anyway, the norm for a talk is a Powerpoint presentation. I am, not boasting, rather good at those and I have learned how to make them so that they provide the watcher with enough information not to be boring and not to be overwhelming at the same time, while still acting as a sort of speech card for me. It's also a really good way to do things because, you can add in videos and sounds and that sort of thing, which is always fun.
But, this time, they expect me to give a talk without the aid of the digital realm. I could handle this, but to make things worse, the crowd that I'm talking to are between the ages of 5 and 12 years old! So now, I've had to plan a whole series of games and things to keep these kids entertained! I'm so freaking out right now! I'm doing my first talk today at 1pm at Southgate. Then the second (and final one!) will be at Clearwater Mall at 1pm.
The one thing that is keeping me sane is that I have enlisted the help of my cousin, Sarah. She's a school teacher who works with the youngest kids, so she will be in her element when she helps out with these talks! Ten points to Sarah! ;D
And now, I must head to the shops to buy things for my talks. That's why I am awake at 7:30 on a Saturday morning...
I'm currently house-sitting for my aunt and uncle. It's really nice because it gives me a chance to get away from home and relax alone for a while. It's been one hell of a year and so I've really glad that I have gotten this opportunity to just chill. Of course, I would much prefer to be going to the coast with the rest of my family, but alas, this was not to happen. The reason being is thus...
I've been asked to do two talks to kids about monkeys. I know, this sounds ridiculous, but it is true. It seems that most people think that anyone who is at a university is always free and willing to do talks, no matter how mundane they are. While this may be partly true, and I certainly can't say that I would pass up the opportunity to give talks simply because I enjoy it, this does tend to lead to some rather frustrating situations. Such as the one that I am currently in.
Now, it appears that, for most situations anyway, the norm for a talk is a Powerpoint presentation. I am, not boasting, rather good at those and I have learned how to make them so that they provide the watcher with enough information not to be boring and not to be overwhelming at the same time, while still acting as a sort of speech card for me. It's also a really good way to do things because, you can add in videos and sounds and that sort of thing, which is always fun.
But, this time, they expect me to give a talk without the aid of the digital realm. I could handle this, but to make things worse, the crowd that I'm talking to are between the ages of 5 and 12 years old! So now, I've had to plan a whole series of games and things to keep these kids entertained! I'm so freaking out right now! I'm doing my first talk today at 1pm at Southgate. Then the second (and final one!) will be at Clearwater Mall at 1pm.
The one thing that is keeping me sane is that I have enlisted the help of my cousin, Sarah. She's a school teacher who works with the youngest kids, so she will be in her element when she helps out with these talks! Ten points to Sarah! ;D
And now, I must head to the shops to buy things for my talks. That's why I am awake at 7:30 on a Saturday morning...
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
I'm an INFJ!
Hello blog-readers.
I recently took a personailty test on the advice of a friend. I enjoy taking these internet tests. Most of them are SO way off that you end up laughing yourself silly. I once did a psychic test and it turns out I have precognitive abilities! How exciting! Now, if only I actually knew how to use them...
This test was different though. It was the first internet test that has gotten me down pretty good! It was actually a little scary! It turns out that I am an INFJ (Introvert iNtuitive Feeling Judging) personality. It was very interesting to see just how spot-on this was! This is what it had to say:
The Portait of the Counselor (INFJ)
The Counselor Idealists are abstract in thought and speech, cooperative in reaching their goals, and enterprising and attentive in their interpersonal roles. Counselors focus on human potentials, think in terms of ethical values, and come easily to decisions. The small number of this type (little more than 2 percent) is regrettable, since Counselors have an unusually strong desire to contribute to the welfare of others and genuinely enjoy helping their companions. Although Counsleors tend to be private, sensitive people, and are not generally visible leaders, they nevertheless work quite intensely with those close to them, quietly exerting their influence behind the scenes with their families, friends, and colleagues. This type has great depth of personality; they are themselves complicated, and can understand and deal with complex issues and people.
Counselors can be hard to get to know. They have an unusually rich inner life, but they are reserved and tend not to share their reactions except with those they trust. With their loved ones, certainly, Counselors are not reluctant to express their feelings, their face lighting up with the positive emotions, but darkening like a thunderhead with the negative. Indeed, because of their strong ability to take into themselves the feelings of others, Counselors can be hurt rather easily by those around them, which, perhaps, is one reason why they tend to be private people, mutely withdrawing from human contact. At the same time, friends who have known a Counselor for years may find sides emerging which come as a surprise. Not that they are inconsistent; Counselors value their integrity a great deal, but they have intricately woven, mysterious personalities which sometimes puzzle even them.
Counselors have strong empathic abilities and can become aware of another's emotions or intentions -- good or evil -- even before that person is conscious of them. This "mind-reading" can take the form of feeling the hidden distress or illnesses of others to an extent which is difficult for other types to comprehend. Even Counselors can seldom tell how they came to penetrate others' feelings so keenly. Furthermore, the Counselor is most likely of all the types to demonstrate an ability to understand psychic phenomena and to have visions of human events, past, present, or future. What is known as ESP may well be exceptional intuitive ability-in both its forms, projection and introjection. Such supernormal intuition is found frequently in the Counselor, and can extend to people, things, and often events, taking the form of visions, episodes of foreknowledge, premonitions, auditory and visual images of things to come, as well as uncanny communications with certain individuals at a distance.
Mohandas Gandhi, Sidney Poitier, Eleanor Roosevelt, Jane Goodall, Emily Bronte, Sir Alec Guiness, Carl Jung, Mary Baker Eddy, Queen Noor are examples of the Counselor Idealist (INFJ).
Anyone who knows me will be able to tell you that this is pretty darn close to me as far as the personailty predicitons go! Now, I'm cool with most of those, except Mary Baker Eddy, who, as it turns out, was a bit of a nut-job. The end!
I recently took a personailty test on the advice of a friend. I enjoy taking these internet tests. Most of them are SO way off that you end up laughing yourself silly. I once did a psychic test and it turns out I have precognitive abilities! How exciting! Now, if only I actually knew how to use them...
This test was different though. It was the first internet test that has gotten me down pretty good! It was actually a little scary! It turns out that I am an INFJ (Introvert iNtuitive Feeling Judging) personality. It was very interesting to see just how spot-on this was! This is what it had to say:
The Portait of the Counselor (INFJ)
The Counselor Idealists are abstract in thought and speech, cooperative in reaching their goals, and enterprising and attentive in their interpersonal roles. Counselors focus on human potentials, think in terms of ethical values, and come easily to decisions. The small number of this type (little more than 2 percent) is regrettable, since Counselors have an unusually strong desire to contribute to the welfare of others and genuinely enjoy helping their companions. Although Counsleors tend to be private, sensitive people, and are not generally visible leaders, they nevertheless work quite intensely with those close to them, quietly exerting their influence behind the scenes with their families, friends, and colleagues. This type has great depth of personality; they are themselves complicated, and can understand and deal with complex issues and people.
Counselors can be hard to get to know. They have an unusually rich inner life, but they are reserved and tend not to share their reactions except with those they trust. With their loved ones, certainly, Counselors are not reluctant to express their feelings, their face lighting up with the positive emotions, but darkening like a thunderhead with the negative. Indeed, because of their strong ability to take into themselves the feelings of others, Counselors can be hurt rather easily by those around them, which, perhaps, is one reason why they tend to be private people, mutely withdrawing from human contact. At the same time, friends who have known a Counselor for years may find sides emerging which come as a surprise. Not that they are inconsistent; Counselors value their integrity a great deal, but they have intricately woven, mysterious personalities which sometimes puzzle even them.
Counselors have strong empathic abilities and can become aware of another's emotions or intentions -- good or evil -- even before that person is conscious of them. This "mind-reading" can take the form of feeling the hidden distress or illnesses of others to an extent which is difficult for other types to comprehend. Even Counselors can seldom tell how they came to penetrate others' feelings so keenly. Furthermore, the Counselor is most likely of all the types to demonstrate an ability to understand psychic phenomena and to have visions of human events, past, present, or future. What is known as ESP may well be exceptional intuitive ability-in both its forms, projection and introjection. Such supernormal intuition is found frequently in the Counselor, and can extend to people, things, and often events, taking the form of visions, episodes of foreknowledge, premonitions, auditory and visual images of things to come, as well as uncanny communications with certain individuals at a distance.
Mohandas Gandhi, Sidney Poitier, Eleanor Roosevelt, Jane Goodall, Emily Bronte, Sir Alec Guiness, Carl Jung, Mary Baker Eddy, Queen Noor are examples of the Counselor Idealist (INFJ).
Anyone who knows me will be able to tell you that this is pretty darn close to me as far as the personailty predicitons go! Now, I'm cool with most of those, except Mary Baker Eddy, who, as it turns out, was a bit of a nut-job. The end!
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