Memento Vivere

The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet

2010-10-19T03:05:00.000-07:00

I don't write reviews and this isn't really one. The only time I wrote anything remotely resembling a review, was a book report for a high school English class and I got an appalling mark for it (a C if you're wondering. I never felt the need to apply myself in languages).

I first spotted The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet in Exclusives Books in Domestic Departures at Cape Town International. It's my habit to browse bookshops in airports but despite my warnings to myself that I rarely leave bookshops empty-handed, that I have no more space for books, that Exclusive's books are generally overpriced and that I cannot afford an overpriced book and that I already have a pile of unread books, I still ventured in. To browse. Just browse. Right?

I'd already noticed several books that peaked my interest (the new Niffenegger, the new Mieville) but luckily their exorbitant price tags frightened me off.

It was the cover of The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet that grabbed my attention (see above).* A few times I've been attracted to books with appealing covers but luckily, unlike some terrible wines I've picked based on attractive labelling, I'd never bought a book that was terrible but had an attractive cover and decided to have a closer look. I turned the book over to read the synopsis. It was the first part of the first sentence that sold the book:

T.S Spivet is a genuis mapmaker...

I glanced down at the price tag hoping beyond hope that it wouldn't frighten me off as was the case with the other books despite knowing subconsciously that I had to have the book no matter the price. Surprisingly, and to my relief, the price wasn't all that frightening and the fact that I had a R20 discount voucher in my wallet was enough justification to leave the bookshop less than empty-handed.

I was drawn into the book by the unconventional style it was written in. The illustrations are not just for the benefit of the cover but compromise about two-thirds of the book. Margin notes and illustrations are lead off from the main text by arrows and often serve as more than mere footnotes, containing integral information about both story and character.**

While I might enjoy reading their stories, there are few dysfunctional (and young) characters I identify and empathise with to the extent that I did with 12 year old T.S. Spivet. I make maps but I'm not a genius at it (or anything else for that matter). I've come a long way since 12 too.

There was more empathising than identifying with T.S. We have mapmaking in common, albeit of a different sort. We're both incredibly observant of the world and analyse it neurotically. We find adult behaviour quite strange (often I find my own adult behaviour quite strange). And T.S. is surrounded by people that don't quite understand him. But that's it as far as similarities go. T.S. is very odd and uses his obsessive mapmaking, which goes beyond that of your typical topographical map, as a coping mechanism for his lack of understanding of the world. He's also not your average 12 year old. His vocabulary is far too large and so is his grasp of philosophical and metaphysical concepts, and he has insight that most adults lack.***

T.S.'s story is one of inquisitiveness, discovery, imagination, and adventure but is also filled with longing, melancholy, loneliness and guilt.

The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet is by no means a perfect debut for writer Reif Larsen and I was quite surprised (and sometimes confused) by the turns the book took in the second and last thirds but I accepted the story the writer wanted to tell and the open-ended conclusion. It's a sad ending**** despite T.S. apparently finding the belonging he was looking for. The saddest ending for me since Flowers for Algernon, A Scanner Darkly and Firmin.

I'm grateful to the author for writing a book in an original, quirky style and for writing such a rich character. The book, despite its faults, is important to me***** but I cannot really convey in words what it means to me. It was something to with the oddities of people, life and the world in general and how we all try and make sense of it in our way.

* This was my first introduction to the book. It was after finishing the book and looking it up online that I discovered that there was considerable hype surrounding the release of the book last year. I was quite surprised that I was completely oblivious to it.

**Some reviews have noted that this is distracting. Especially when having to turn the book sideways to read them. I loved it though. I found it engaging and it made me feel a bit like a kid again to be honest.

***Well, he is a genius after all. While it might seem unrealistic, I felt that this further emphasised T.S.'s oddness but made it easier for me to identify with him than other young characters.

****This is open to interpretation.

*****The reason for this blog post.

For proper reviews go here and here.

http://www.tsspivet.com/

Plan, plans, planning

2010-09-01T10:34:00.000-07:00

At some point I decided it would be cool to work in museum. Not right now. But someday when I'm a suitable age to be an eccentric museum curator. Yes, I've even created a persona for myself. It involves wearing tweed, bow ties, and smoking a pipe (I don't really like pipes so I'll substitute the pipe with a fake one. Possibly one that blows bubbles. Come to think of it, I don't really like tweed or bow ties either. Ok, clearly the persona needs some work).

I applied for a museum job once. The museum interview was a few days before the interview for my current job and it went horrible. All my carefully planned answers went down the drain once seated in front of the interview panel. I can't explain why I was the nervous, stammering wreck that I was that day compared to a few days later when I breezed through the interview for my first job at the company I work at now. The pop psychologist in me says that I wanted that job more and screwed up the museum one purposely.

Lately I was thinking how different it would have been if it'd been the other way round. Well, there are plenty of ways it would have been different but more importantly I realised that I wouldn't mind working in a museum (especially when I reach that enigmatic, suitable age). Alas, I also realised that I'm not suitably qualified to work in a museum. Sure, I have a more than suitable degree (Archaeology), but that's part of the problem. I only have one degree and most museum curators have some postgraduate qualification. Which got me looking at museum qualifications. Yes, this does exist as a valid degree. You can even get multiple degrees in it!

Just, not in South Africa. Museum studies are not offered at any South African institutions. I knew this already and my first line of inquiry was internationally but was none the less disappointed when double-checking the local universities.

Studying overseas is quite a long-term plan and a convenient way of realising a vague aspiration to live overseas for a bit provided I can scrape together ~~some~~ A LOT! of money (donations welcome). And volunteer experience since quite a few of the postgrad programs require work experience.

I emailed the local museum (the national one) and my first volunteer shift was this morning. And yes, I was doing glorified sorting and packing but, man!, did I love it. I'm volunteering in pre-colonial archaeology and it was just marvelous (I reckon my eccentric museum curator would use the word 'marvelous') being surrounded by all the artefacts. The stone tools, the ostrich egg shells, the unidentified fauna fragments. I had a thought that archaeology can be a morbid profession, studying the remnants of someone's life and the items that once gave it meaning.

The store room at the museum is massive and smells like cardboard (the boxes everything is packed in) and dust and is filled with the excavated remains of all those significant archaeological sites that I read about in so many articles but never visited. I even found a few boxes whose contents my old professor dug up.

Even if my long term plan of studying overseas doesn't happen (long term is, well, long and things can change, especially my mind), volunteering at the museum would still be an amazing experience. As I exited through the museum, past the whale exhibition, just shy of the dinosaur one, I felt exhilarated.

Yes, museum, this the start of a beautiful relationship.

SoTD/LoTD

2010-08-26T11:18:00.000-07:00

The Arcade Fire - Ready to Start

Businessmen drink my blood
Like the kids in art school said they would
And I guess I'll just begin again
You say can we still be friends

If I was scared, I would
And if I was bored, you know I would
And if I was yours, but I'm not

All the kids have always known
That the emperor wears new clothes
But to bow to down to them anyway
Is better than to be alone

If I was scared, I would
And if I was bored, you know I would
And if I was yours, but I'm not

Now you're knocking at my door
Saying please come out against the night
But I would rather be alone
Than pretend I feel alright

If the businessmen drink my blood
Like the kids in art school said they would
Then I guess I'll just begin again
You say can we still be friends

If I was scared, I would
And if I was pure, you know I would
And if I was yours, but I'm not

Now I'm Ready to Start

If I was scared, I would
And if I was pure, you know I would
And if I was yours, but I'm not

Now I'm Ready to Start

Now I'm Ready to Start
I would rather be wrong
Than live in the shadows of your song
My mind is open wide
And now I'm ready to start

Now I'm Ready to Start
My mind is open wide
Now I'm Ready to Start
Not sure you'll open the door
To step out into the dark
Now I'm ready!

Shameless self-promotion

2010-06-10T03:58:00.000-07:00

Memento Vivere readers meet The F Number (hint: click on the link).

The F number is my photography blog where I will post daily (hopefully!) photos. I started it in an effort to use my camera more and to improve my photography.

Have a look around and please comment.

I biked here!

2010-06-07T08:23:00.000-07:00

Woah! 2 posts in one day! Well, when I saw the video below I had to share it. As well as an incredibly embarrasing video of me riding a bike in Utrecht. Thankfully traffic wasn't as bad when I was riding. Good thing since I almost went over the handle bars every time I stopped, crashed into a pavement once (I managed to get off the bike before falling) and couldn't turn left (mental block?!). The traffic in Amsterdam is worse.

The weekend that was

2010-06-07T06:14:00.000-07:00

It started innocently enough. It always does doesn't it. But in all fairness we did take a cab to Long Street so that I can avoid drunken driving. I shouldn't be surprised by how it turned out.

"Can you take a picture of us" was how it started. This was after we'd already had 3 drinks including tequila shots but we were still fairly well behaved. Foreign accents are always a conversation started and I guess that's why we ended up in conversation with 3 local guys who probably wanted to know where my housemate is from (US by the way). While uhming and ahhing a lot about heading to the Pink Strip in Green Point more drinks were bought by our new friends as well an American tourist who felt the need to buy us Jagermeisters for some reason or the other.

Wait. I'm leaving out some details like a new lesbian friend trying to score the straight guy and straight guy remarking what a terrible lesbian she makes. Sister Mary James promoting ~~his~~ her new show and freaking out Jagermeister American. Jagermeister American being pregnant, balancing a drink on his pregnant "belly" and giving birth somewhere in Cape to Cuba (the baby didn't make it he told us). None of this was strange to us at that point.

Eventually terrible lesbian convinces us to go to Beaulah's the lesbian club in Green Point and the only one in Cape Town. 7 of us pile into a cab. It's a Tazz. Yes, that's right. Seven. In a Tazz. The driver has to take back routes to avoid being stopped by the cops. I'm sitting in the front on the lap of one of the guys. The music was pumping and I briefly thought about dancing but that would've been highly inappropriate in the lap of a married man. Also, I couldn't really move being scrunched up against the ceiling. Some very unflattering pictures were taken that you won't be seeing on this blog but might pop up on Facebook some time. At some point I wondered exactly what the hell we're doing but didn't care too much since all the double whiskeys, tequilas and that one Jagermeister had entered my bloodstream by then. Eventually we reached Green Point and married guy opened the door while he assured me that he was not trying to touch my arse and I, quite gracefully, tumbled out of the cab, landing on my feet.

Terrible lesbian was adamant that Friday nights are the best nights at Beaulah's but when we got there it was quite empty. Very few lesbians in sight but my couchsurfer managed to attract immediate attention from the few that were there. Terrible lesbian got upset that straight guy wasn't into her. He has a valid reason though. He has a girlfriend and he's faithful. I stuck to the bar and chatted to the boys and my new housemate while others braved the dancefloor. I'll be damned if I can remember what we talked about though. The naughtiness scale was mentioned. Someone claimed to be a 10 but I contended that I am a 3.

I did brave the dancefloor but not for long and soon afterward found myself being swung around on the empty bit where people would've been dancing had there been more than 10 people present. This was despite my protests that I cannot dance. I'm not entirely sure how I'm was still able to stand at this point never mind handle being swung around.

Terrible lesbian had left with another guy but she wasn't to be the only one with that title for the evening. When alcohol and high heel thresholds were reached and just before we headed home I ended up snogging a guy. Yes, trust me to score a guy in a lesbian club. And thus, I was the butt of jokes on the cab ride home.

The hangovers the next day were severe and our plan to leave early for a trip to the winelands didn't quite materialise. We had delicious pizzas at Bohemia in Stellenbosch (next to the famous Mystic Boer) with lots of water to drink with our meal. I'm was so dehydrated that despite all the water I've had I didn't need to pee. We were too late to go to wine farms since most of them closed at 4pm but managed to find one still open. The wine tasting was unsuccessful since all of our bodies rebelled against the smell and taste of anything remotely alcoholic. It wasn't so much a drunken weekend as a drunken Friday night but the booze we drank was enough for an entire weekend.

The winelands were peaceful as always except for a flock of noisy ibises. We left, me a bottle of Quoin Rock Chardonnay richer, to have an alcohol and meat free braai at home.

Sunday was uneventful, my surfer left much to my disappointment and my housemate was working. I slept for most of the day and tidied up the mess that had accumulated over the week, later settling in to read and watch TV while I waited for my next surfer.

28 years

2010-05-12T03:42:00.000-07:00

28 years ago (give or take some seconds) I was born into this world. I've always identified with (and lived vicariously through) the Dresden Dolls' Girl Anachronism. I wonder if I would've been different had I been born naturally (not that that was an option anyway).

you can tell
from the scars on my arms
and cracks in my hips
and the dents in my car
and the blisters on my lips
that i'm not the carefullest of girls

you can tell
from the glass on the floor
and the strings that're breaking
and i keep on breaking more
and it looks like i am shaking
but it's just the temperature
and then again
if it were any colder i could disengage
if i were any older i could act my age
but i don't think that you'd believe me
it's
not
the
way
i'm
meant
to
be
it's just the way the operation made me

and you can tell
from the state of my room
that they let me out too soon
and the pills that i ate
came a couple years too late
and ive got some issues to work through
there i go again
pretending to be you
make-believing
that i have a soul beneath the surface
trying to convince you
it was accidentally on purpose

i am not so serious
this passion is a plagiarism
i might join your century
but only on a rare occasion
i was taken out
before the labor pains set in and now
behold the world's worst accident
i am the girl anachronism

and you can tell
by the red in my eyes
and the bruises on my thighs
and the knots in my hair
and the bathtub full of flies
that i'm not right now at all
there i go again
pretending that i'll fall
don't call the doctors
cause they've seen it all before
they'll say just
let
her
crash
and
burn
she'll learn
the attention just encourages her

and you can tell
from the full-body cast
that i'm sorry that i asked
though you did everything you could
(like any decent person would)
but i might be catching so don't touch
you'll start believing you're immune to gravity and stuff
don't get me wet
because the bandages will all come off

and you can tell
from the smoke at the stake
that the current state is critical
well it is the little things, for instance:
in the time it takes to break it she can make up ten excuses:
please excuse her for the day, its just the way the medication makes her...

i don't necessarily believe there is a cure for this
so i might join your century but only as a doubtful guest
i was too precarious removed as a caesarian
behold the worlds worst accident
I AM THE GIRL ANACHRONISM

Some photos

2010-05-11T04:54:00.000-07:00

I have not blogged in a long time. I have no valid excuses and will make none. Have some photos instead (I've discovered it's much easier to blog in photos).

A while back I announced the acquisition of my DSLR (at last!). Since then I have taken many many photos but have not necessarily uploaded them to my blog (some can be found on my Picasa account).

Since acquiring the camera I've gotten more and more into photography. I hate calling myself a photographer though because that's not what I am. I just happen to own a camera and I like taking pictures. Lately, I've been reading a lot about photography and studying other people's work. I've become a little obsessed. Only a little. I'm starting to worry about myself.

I recently attended a photography roadshow and *gasp* enjoyed it. What a geek thing to do. I'm drawing the line at joining a photography club though. Seriously, that would be the absolute worst. I mentioned reading a lot about photography and one of the sites I spend a lot of time on it Digital Photography School. It's an excellent resource. They have weekly themed competitions on their forum. I haven't uploaded anything yet and didn't think about it until I saw this week's theme: toys. Yes, last night I spent hours sitting in my kitchen taking pictures of a pair of horror smurfs I bought in Swakopmund. I also had a great idea for last week's theme: Film Noir. I've resigned myself to being 80% geek after uploading the toy pictures to the forum. i'll only be 100% upon joining a photography club).

And for good measures I included some photos of a merry-go-round at Ratanga Junction where the photography roadshow was held. I will spare you the technical details of the photos but most have gone through post-processing (At some point I will sing the praises of Photoshop Lightroom 3 Beta 2).

Don't these horses look just terrified?!

LotD/SotD

2010-04-14T01:35:00.000-07:00

Peter Gabriel - Mercy Street

looking down on empty streets, all she can see
are the dreams all made solid
are the dreams all made real

all of the buildings, all of those cars
were once just a dream
in somebody's head

she pictures the broken glass, she pictures the steam
she pictures a soul
with no leak at the seam

lets take the boat out
wait until darkness
let's take the boat out
wait until darkness comes

nowhere in the corridors of pale green and grey
nowhere in the suburbs
in the cold light of day

there in the midst of it so alive and alone
words support like bone

dreaming of mercy st.
wear your inside out
dreaming of mercy
in your daddy's arms again
dreaming of mercy st.
swear they moved that sign
dreaming of mercy
in your daddy's arms

pulling out the papers from the drawers that slide smooth
tugging at the darkness, word upon word

confessing all the secret things in the warm velvet box
to the priest-he's the doctor
he can handle the shocks

dreaming of the tenderness-the tremble in the hips
of kissing Mary's lips

dreaming of mercy st.
wear your insides out
dreaming of mercy
in your daddy's arms again
dreaming of mercy st.
'swear they moved that sign
looking for mercy
in your daddy's arms

mercy, mercy, looking for mercy
mercy, mercy, looking for mercy

Anne, with her father is out in the boat
riding the water
riding the waves on the sea

Introducing Abra

2010-03-27T01:19:00.000-07:00

So for a fairly long time I was browsing through the kitten section on Gumtree and a few times I actually took the next step to see if the kitten was available for adoption. Usually they weren't and it took a really long time to actually adopt; there are tons of kittens available for adoption but it turns out I'm quite picky about cats.

I've had Abra for 3 months now and didn't blog about him due to the laziness aspect but also he doesn't sit still long enough to get a decent picture of him. Now, however, with my new, improved, super camera I managed to snap some decent pics.

Abra is quite possibly the
biggest asshole cat on the
planet. I original got him as
company for Noname but I
fear Noname is suffering more
at the hands, er, paws, claws
and teeth of Abra. Abra is still little and Noname wins most of the fights but soon Abra will be big and that might not be the case anymore. I'm sorry Noname. I thought I was doing a good thing.

Abra doesn't just pick fights with Noname. My hands and feet bear the scars. At one point so did my face and neck. Abra feels the need to hide under cars outside when it's time to go inside. He's especially good at this when you're in a hurry. And lets not mention the waste product this cat produces. I swear he just waits for me to get home or to start eating before squatting down. For some bizarre reason he feels the need to announce to the world what he's about to do. Perhaps he's apologises for the stink he is about to create. Perhaps it's a "Fuck you, muthafuckers. I'm gonna stink it up in here". Who knows.

Threats of putting him up for adoption don't work. I'm trying to sell him to cover the cost of my camera.

Photos have been edited in PS Lightroom 3 Beta 2.

Sunset Chasers

2010-03-25T02:12:00.000-07:00

Driving home from Langebaan* on Monday we witnessed the most spectacular sunset. We weren't able to get any photographs since by the time we stopped at a suitable location the sun had for the most part already disappeared below the horizon. Yesterday, not willing to risk missing another remarkable sunset, my housemate** and I set off to the best. This was of course a perfect opportunity to test drive my new camera. The sunset was less than spectacular and my shots aren't the greatest since I was still testing out the camera. I also took some shots other than the sunset and with the 55-250mm zoom lens finally managed to get decent photos of the moon.

The sunset chaser herself

* I didn't blog about this because I was too lazy. My housemate wanted to go kitesurfing so we went off to laze on the beach while she got dragged around by a kite. It was a really nice day despite getting sand everywhere (yes, everywhere) and getting sunburned.

** Yes, I have a housemate now. She moved in end of January and will be staying until end of April.

I have a new toy!

2010-03-24T07:50:00.000-07:00

I am now the proud owner of a Canon 450D. I didn't have the money to purchase it but saving R4 000 on an extra zoom lens, 8Gb memory card and a bag meant I just had to do it. Where did I get the money you ask? I sold my body you say? No. I stole some cocaine from a Colombian drug lord and sold it at an inflated price to some desperate ad execs you say? No.

I have the best mother in the world. And I will be selling my ~~soul~~ cats in order to pay her back.

Photos, lots of them, to follow.

The Tell-Tale Heart

2010-03-16T02:22:00.000-07:00

And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled.
Was it possible they heard not?
Almighty God! -- no, no?
They heard! -- they suspected! -- they KNEW!
They were making a mockery of my horror!
This I thought, and this I think.
But anything was better than this agony!
Anything was more tolerable than this derision!
I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer!
I felt that I must scream or die!
And now -- again -- hark!
Louder! Louder! Louder! LOUDER!
"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more!
I admit the deed! -- tear up the planks!
Here, here! -- it is the beating of his hideous heart!"

The Tell-Tale Heart is one of favourite tales. I came across this short story from 1953 which disappointingly does not contain the lines above.

Another one of my favourites, the EBM track by Diorama does contain the demented ending to the Poe story (no official music video).

SoTD/LoTD

2010-03-04T02:28:00.000-08:00

I've got news and interesting things to share but I've been too lazy/tired to post. So here, have some lyrics instead. Check out this bands. I really like 'em.

Shout Out Louds - Walls

You just know it there's a wall and you just ran through it
You had too much to drink and all those telephone bills but it´s worth it.
Victoria I knew I would end up in Victoria
I took too many pills and wrote my will just to get to you
So go

I need a pencil
Piece of paper
Lock and a cage
Feels so much better now getting rid my rage
I'm suspicious
So suspicious
Can't get my mind straight
I just see them when I sleep nowadays
So sleep now
And go

It's so new
Being the one building all the roads
Can't wait to crack all of your codes
Learn to ally
Allies know how they love
And show you how it looks up there but it looks like a bug
So go

Whatever they say we're the ones buildings walls
Whatever they say we're the ones who never say no
To get to know yourself you gotta run away
Never trust anyone so run away
Run run run run run run

The weekend that was, in photos

2010-02-11T01:46:00.000-08:00

Day 5 & 6: Final days

2010-01-18T23:52:00.000-08:00

I decide to sleep in today being tired from going to bed after 5am. Again, I'm surprisingly not hungover. Astrid's already gotten up so I have the tent to myself. The previous night we were moved to a bigger tent with proper beds at no extra charge.

The sun is up and it's getting hotter but I'm reluctant to leave the bed even though sleep is proving elusive. I toss and turn and eventually in my frustration I start to cry. Not because I can't sleep but because I have to leave the next day. Because I'm so incredibly grateful for, but also in disbelief of, this wonderful experience.

At around lunch time I pull myself together and head towards the communal area. We've booked a basket weaving workshop and horse riding for the afternoon. I'm still tired and lazy and I welcome Astrid's to not go basket weaving anymore. We would need to walk to the workshop and I'm just not up to it. However, some American Peace Corps volunteers are also going and I figure if I can get a ride in their car I'd still go. But they're walking. So I sit down, get myself a drink and order some lunch. When it starts raining the Americans return to fetch their car and I change my mind again since I can now get a lift with them. I give my drink away and leave instructions to have my lunch boxed.

The baskets in the workshop are gorgeous and I have brief dreams of making something similar. There's a reason my dreams were so brief. It's not easy. It's also slow and monotonous and the Americans don't seem to talk much. I get a bit bored after the first hour and realise that I'm not going to have much of a basket at the end of the workshop. I shouldn't trade my day job for basket weaving just yet. After 3 hours I have a "basket" about 5cm in diameter. I'm all the more appreciative of the beauty of the baskets knowing the time and hard work that goes into it.

Yes, it took me 3 hours to make this

After the workshop we head back to the backpackers so that I can yet again take on something I've never done before: horseriding. Again, I'm terrified and asking myself why I'm doing this. Again, I don't chicken out. We're driven to the horse stables in a big ol' Landy. The roads are muddy with big pools of water in the road. Thankfully the Landy handles the mud and pools a lot better than Americans' car did.

My terror has not subsided by the time we get to the stables but I get on the horse anyway. It's a lot easier than I thought it would be. I'm given instructions on how to handle the horse (be firm, show him who's in charge, etc) but it doesn't help that I got the most stubborn horse ever and my firmest command only reluctantly gets him to move.

We take the route along the river. I'm getting the hang of it and am slightly more at ease. What? The horse, San, is afraid of water? I'm regretting the decision to go along the river. At some point we have to go into the river to avoid thorn trees. San seems intent on sticking to ground and doesn't give a damn about the rider being scratched to shit.

We head back through a smallish forest. There are brilliant flashes of lightning in the distance. We're on solid ground so San is handling better. But not for long. He seems to be reluctant to even walk through the pools that formed from the early afternoon rains. Bastard. Again I'm heading for thorn trees except now I'm at risk from more than a few scratches as a branch wraps around my throat. The more I'm trying to steer the horse away the closer he goes to the tree. I have brief visions of my throat being slit be the vicious thorns until I finally decide that it's in my best interest to remove the branch wrapped around my neck with my bare hands before getting the horse under control. After all, some punctures in my hand is preferably to punctures in my neck. I managed to get San under control and he seems more complacent now. Probably since his attempt to murder me failed and he's given up until next time. There won't be a next time.

Back at the stables I dismount ungracefully. In fact, I wouldn't even call it dismount. I'm congratulated by the owner on handling the murderous horse so well. Is she being sarcastic? I should sue.

Back at the backpackers I take a shower to rid myself of horse smell. Halfway through there's a power failure and I'm left showering in the dark. Now, I'm not afraid of the dark. Or of the frogs and lizards that share the outdoor showers. But I am afraid of stepping on a frog or lizard in the dark, falling and breaking my neck. And probably killing the frog/lizard to boot. Luckily my shower is incidentless.

I head to the bar to get something to eat. Have to line the stomach before the Last-night-in-Maun celebrations starts. Jens thought it appropriate (and so did I for that matter) that we say our goodbyes with bottles of booze. The power is still out and I'm annoyed. And it really has nothing to do with darkness or my perceptions that the bar service is slow or that I might miss dinner because the kitchen has no power. I'm annoyed because I'm sad. I'm sad because I'm leaving.

I work through my annoyance with a drink, delicious ribs and mash (thank god for gas cookers) and some ice cream. The power comes back on, there is much rejoicing and Jens goes to fetch the first bottle of booze. Thankfully (for my liver) he only got 2. Also thankfully, the American Peace Corps volunteers join us. We start with the tequila and having it with pineapple instead of lemon or lime since it's better this way. Everyone's a bit skeptical but after the first shot and segment of pineapple we're all congratulating Jens on his genius pairing of pineapple and tequila. Astrid initially did not want to drink but I made up the rule that the pineapple can only be had with tequila and well that was it.

We work through the tequila quite quickly after my suggestions to take it slowly were shot down. I've managed to develop the alcohol resistance of professional drinker. Graham hasn't and is drunker than anyone else. Much hilarity ensues, mostly at the expense of Graham (or Gray Ham as he affectionately became known).

Everyone is quite exhausted and soon after finishing the second bottled (Spiced Gold) we say out goodbyes and head of to bed. I feel sorry for those who have to get up early to leave and I'm grateful that I'll be able to spend a few more hours staring lazily and melancholically at that peaceful river.

I'm fairly well organised the next morning (it's no longer a surprise that I'm not hungover) and manage to pack everything without having a nervous breakdown. I got a few extra hours of sleep after Astrid left which helped a lot. Our goodbyes were short. I'll see her again in Cape Town before the year ends.

After breakfast and another nap it's time to go. I've accepted the inevitable and am no longer harbouring fantasies of abandoning my normal life. I don't even take it as a sign that I should stay when our plane breaks down right before we are to leave and have to wait for a further 2 hours for another plane to arrive. Ok, well maybe I consider it a sign for at least a second or so.

This was the last entry. I wrote this mostly for myself even though I've forced a few of you to read it anyway. I wrote it in case I forgot. And because I thought that something this special should be recorded somewhere. But I doubt I'll ever forget and this trip came at the perfect time to cement what I've learned about the world and myself over the last year and even taught me that I'm capable of more than I thought previously.

Day 3 & 4: Mokoro Trip

2010-01-12T05:15:00.000-08:00

I'm terrified. And at this stage I'm not afraid to admit it. They make us sign an indemnity form before departing and I exclaim loudly: I'm going to die. I tell anyone who cares to listen (they don't have much choice) what to do in the event of my death. I want a gravestone, even if there are no remains. If I'm crushed by hippos, my gravestone must state this. If I'm eaten by crocodiles, my gravestone must state this. In the all too likely event that I'm crushed by hippos and then eaten by crocodiles, well, you get the picture.

We're going to be spending 2 days in mokoros, canoes dug out from trees. The evening we'll be camping in the wild. As in, where wild animals roam. I pray that the mokoro doesn't sink or capsize. We head off to the mokoro station in a motor boat loaded with all out camping gear. On the way I finally manage to snap that fish eagle.

The are people moving from one village to another and they've got their goats tied up on the banks ready to load into their mokoros.

At the mokoro station, at the first glimpse of mokoros filled with water I ask myself: Why am I doing this again? Time and again the answer: For the adventure, to do something new and exciting, just isn't enough. But I can't chicken out. I won't let myself.

If I thought getting in and out of the motorboat without losing my balance was challenging, getting into the mokoro - especially when you have to use other mokoros as 'stepping stones' to get to yours, is a downright nightmare. I manage to get in without any mishaps. Our guide is Andrew who is incredibly sweet. We have 4 mokoros for a 5 people, 1 for luggage. The guides need to go back to their village to fetch their overnight bags. Everyone else gets out to go view the village. I stay put since I'm not up for the incredible mission that is climbing out and back in again.

We set off. My terror has subsided to mild nervousness. Little movements set the mokoro swaying but Andrew assures that the mokoro is quite steady and won't tip over. Not like the newer fibreglass ones. We got the authentic, carved-from-a-tree ones that won't tip over but that also leak and water occasionally needs to be scooped out. I trust Andrew and relax a little and start to appreciate the experience. The delta's dead silence is interrupted only by the buzz of insects, the gurgle of water and the varied calls of the many bird species. And occasionally our singing including Björk's It's oh so quiet and german christmas tunes from Jens.

After about an hour we reach the island where we'll be camping. I'm greatful since the sun has really been beating on me. The guides set up the tents and start making a fire. They also set up the toilet. I'm incredibly grateful for the toilet. I won't have to squat. Technically, it's not ours but belongs to the 'British' couple, Marg and Pete, who we met on the sunset boat ride the previous day and decided to share the trip with. They'd taken the catered option, which comes with toilet, duvet, pillows, food and cook. We only share the toilet with them.

Astrid, Jens and I have our tinned food and some bread for lunch which we share with our guides. Marg and Pete's cook brought sandwiches from the backpackers for them. Marg is Scottish and Pete is Manx but they both sound English since they've been living in England for 40 years. I never knew the Isle of Man was independent.

After lunch and some rest we set off for a game walk. The game is scarce (wrong time of year) but the birdlife is abundant. We see and hear storks, kites, herons, plovers. We see lots of spoors but the animals responsible for making them have moved on either the night before or early in the morning before the harsh sun made an appearance.

Warthog

Hyena

Marg and Pete's guide, Pilot, is incredibly knowledgeable. I reckon he must be the smartest man in the delta. He knows all the birds, insects and spoors. The walk is long and it's hot. I remind myself that next time I will opt for a game drive instead. The flatness of the delta is broken intermittently by tall palm trees.

We keep walking and spotting other people out on their walks. We notice a bunch of them crowded around a pool but we're not walking in that direction. I want to tell Pilot that we should go in that direction since I'm sure there's a hippo there. I'll be damned if I'm going back without seeing any animals. Although I could do with seeing animals less ferocious than a hippo. Pilot hears a hippo call and we finally head in that direction. Soon we're standing less than 50 metres away from a territorial hippo. He knows we're there and putting on show telling us to steer clear from his pool. At some point it looked like he was coming out of the water and I was ready to make a break for it despite the rule to keep still.

Pilot tells us we have to get going since the sun is setting and we don't want to be here when it's dark. Well, that's encouraging.

We get back to camp safely. Not even a catered trip comes with a shower so I settle for changing my shirt and dousing myself in deodorant. The mosquitoes come out in full force after sunset and I start applying insect repellant. Big mistake. On the game walk I'd gotten sunburned without realising. The flesh is being seared off my cheeks. That's what it feels like anyway. It's still burning even after rinsing with water. Trust something like this to happen to me. I decide to quit all use of insect repellant. Eventually the burning stops. I am, however, being eaten alive by mosquitoes.

We eat our tinned food: spaghetti in tomato sauce with cheese. Marg and Pete get freshly cooked spaghetti bolognaise. We chat and sing camp songs. Except I don't know any camp songs.

The sky is a mess of stars and I even manage to spot a satellite orbitting and 3 shooting stars. Pilot points out Orion's Belt, Pleiades and other stars to us. There are fireflies in a nearby bush trying to mimick the sky.

We retire to bed after Pilot discusses the plan for the next day with us. I'm exhausted, happy but exhausted, and briefly protest getting up at the ungodly hour of 5am. I'm contemplating letting everyone else go on the early morning walk while I sleep in but I'm too scared to stay at the camp by myself.

We still don't see any animals on the walk the next day except for more birds and some bugs. Including a dung beetle that tried to use Jens' shoe as a hiding place when we wanted to take photos.

We'll leave early from camp to avoid an incoming storm. The storms here are short but it rains hard and you don't want to get caught in it. Astrid and Jens go to swim but I'm too lazy. Also I'm not keen on muddy water filled with reeds. And then there's the ever problem of hippos and crocodiles even though the guides make sure it's safe to swim.

We head back to the mokoro station in the late afternoon. By now I'm quite comfortable walking from mokoro to mokoro to get back on land. Upon getting into the motorboat I spot a coolerbox that's not one of ours (our luggage went on another boat) and the boat driver says the magic words: There's cold beer in the coolerbox. I'm ecstatic. After spending a night in the wild, a night with no booze mind you, an ice cold beer couldn't be a more perfect bonus.

Back at the backpackers, David, welcomes me with a tequila (after I've helped myself to another beer from the boat). And so starts an epic night. My dear Romeo is at the bar. He's there everyday and if you're there early enough, he might still be sober. I wasn't that lucky when I met him on my first night there. He is the most belligerent drunk I have ever met and my tattoos seemed to upset him and for some reason made him think I was lesbian. He still bought me a drink though. I tell him this now but he can't remember. I've moved on to Savanna now and David instructs the barman to ring the bell. I've been waiting for this since my first night here. Ringing the bell means everyone at the bar gets a free round. So I have another Savanna.

We meet some filmmakers from Johannesburg who've smuggled 12 bottles of Spiced Gold from South Africa through Namibia and into Botswana. They have 4 bottles left and we help them finish it. I'm so wired from all the coke I had with the Spiced Gold that I cannot sleep and stay up til 5am with an Aussie, and one of the filmmakers that I've taken a liking to. I give up on the idea of him after I find out that he's 21. The security guard comes round multiple times to shush us and I decide to go to bed before the sun rises.

I still can't sleep and neither can Astrid so we stay up chatting for a while but manage to fall asleep eventually.

Day 2: Write off

2010-01-08T06:32:00.000-08:00

I'm surprisingly not hungover and make my way over to the bar area for breakfast after the customary visits to the bathroom. Later, showering in the morning will become optional. Though feeling fine there doesn't seem to be much chance of doing anything this day. We settle for hanging out next to river on the comfy day beds. Only one person is still passed out on one of the 3 beds. Tomcat, who was ridiculously funny the night before and had on one the most hideous pair of boardshorts I have ever seen. He's still wearing them. Astrid and I are having more them a giggle at him and break down laughing when he rolls over, reaches into his pants and scratches his balls.

Tomcat and hideous boardshorts

We actually manage to do some reading today, alternated by naps on the day beds. It's far too hot to even think about sleeping in our tents. Even if it's in the shade.

We need to go into town to buy food for the mokoro trip we'll be taking the following day. Town is some ways out. There are 4 of us and it'll cost each of us 10 pula (a little over R10) to get a taxi. But everyone else wants to hitchhike. I'm not keen. I'm not in the mood to walk in the heat and even less in the mood to stand waiting by the side of the road until we get picked up. Also, I've never jitchhiked before. I bow to peer pressure. Just outside the gate of the backpackers a bakkie is pulling away and Graham, a 20 year old Brit looking for work as a scenic flight pilot in the Delta, gets us a ride. This was too easy. I get the front seat since I'm the prissy city girl.

The driver is Reuben. He's not from Maun but is helping with the construction work at the airport. A Chinese company is responsible for the construction and Reuben is not happy working with them. They are taking jobs away from locals, their work is of inferior quality and many of them do not speak English.

Reuben drops us in town and we head to Choppies which I reckon must be the cheapest grocery store in Botswana. The equivalent of Shoprite in South Africa. We buy a lot of water, some tinned food and bread. We only have a short walk before getting another ride and this time I actually sit in the back of the bakkie. We're dropped off and have to walk some to get back to the backpackers. I get to walk over the old bridge that the backpackers is named after. It's made from logs and packed earth.

The old bridge

Once back we get a couple of drinks to take with us on a sunset boat ride. The boat ride is free but not because we went out too early to see the sunset.

Now I've been on a few boats. And I quite like being on the water. But all the boats I've been on moved a little slower than this one. Also this boat was completely open and I was terrified of falling overboard (and being eaten by crocodiles). The rest of the passengers, including Astrid, Jens and Graham, a 20 year old Brit pilot who'd joined us sometime the previous night, and an elderly 'British' couple, were highly amused at my yelps and gasps everytime the boat veered right or left and at my complete unsteadiness getting in and out of the boat.

The surrounds are beautiful. There are tons of waterlilies on the river. And at times the river is a near perfect mirror.

Mirror mirror

There are cars parked all along the river. Some are playing music. Weekend recreation for the locals.

We go around a corner and spot a giraffe grazing on the trees. I'm in awe.

We also spot a fish eagle but it flies away before I can take a photo.

Back at the backpackers thunder makes promises of a storm that would relieve the heat. We have a few drinks but make it an early night in preparation for the mokoro trip that starts early the next day. The storm breaks later that evening after we'd all gone to bed already. I'm woken by a combination of thunder, lightning, loud rain drops on my tent and by Astrid closing her tent flaps. I'm woken again later by the loudest clap of thunder I've ever heard. For a brief moment not even my love of storms can keep me from being scared but my tiredness and bliss win out and I drift back into peaceful sleep.

Maun Day 1: Getting there

2010-01-08T05:52:00.000-08:00

It took 3 planes to get me to Maun. 4 for Astrid. On the plane from South Africa we meet Joss, a student from Stellenbosch who's going home to Francistown for the holidays. Joss is more than a little hungover.We get off the plane at Gaborone airport and the heat is unbearable. I make a beeline for some shade but this takes longer than it should since the airport is under construction. I think that if the temperature remains as high as it is there is no chance I'm going to survive in this country.

We spend some time with Joss while we wait for our respective flights. He's done the smart thing and gotten a beer. I've been craving beer for the last 6 hours but have made a resolution to stay sober until I reach my final destination. We say our goodbyes to Joss, who has another 3 hours to wait - in the unairconditioned airport, for his flight to Francistown. We take the long walk back to the plane in the sweltering heat. We do not smell like flowers anymore.

An hour later we land in Maun and I phone the backpackers who have arranged for someone to come and pick us up. The backpackers is some way out of town which is good since it's a pretty bleak town.

The Old Bridge Backpackers is situated on the tranquil Thamalakane river (I sound like I'm writing a brochure for this place).

David, the owner, welcomes us and offers us something cold to drink. I've made it. I can finally relax and graciously accepts his offer. If I wasn't exhausted I probably would have rejoiced by jumping up and down and shouting Hallelujah at the top of my lungs. I collapse into the nearest chair while waiting for our booking to be sorted out. I realise things work at a different pace here which is all good with me.

About 5 minutes after we arrive Jens walks in. He's from southern Germany and after our brief introduction we go to our respective tents to freshen up. Later we meet back at the bar and all being tired decide to fetch our books and spend some quiet time reading. That was not to be.

We've been trying to decide what to do while we're here and been getting advice from the other backpackers. Richard, a Peace Corps volunteer in Botswana, recommends we talk to own of the locals since she's quite clued up about what to do. It's her and 2 other girls' birthday. There was going to be a party. Did someone say party? So, of course, we join in the celebration of these total strangers' anniversary of their birth. Soon the books are lying forgotten on one of the table corners as the table is populated with beer cans and bottles.

The bar/restaurant area

Everybody is having an amazing time. Every is talking to everyone else and occasionally our books are mentioned and then dismissed. This is by far the best introduction to a place I have ever had and already I'm reflecting about what a fantastic place this is and how much I love it.

No, it had nothing to with the booze.

Okavango Delta

2010-01-05T22:52:00.000-08:00

I've been back in South Africa for a while now and have almost completely adjusted back to my normal life again. At first it was strange taking a shower indoors, putting on make-up and perfume, having clean feet. I was only in the Delta for 6 days and you might ask how it's possible for me to have trouble adjusting to normal life after such a short time away but time moved much slower there. You lost track of days and after 2 days it felt like I was there for 3. After 3 days, it felt like a week.

I keep asking myself why did I come back. Of course I have family, a life, work here that I had to return to but I still allow myself the fantasy of missing my flight back on purpose, finding a bartending job at one of the lodges or backpackers (preferably the one where we stayed) and living out the rest of my life in an Africa a little rougher than what I'm used to.

At the risk of sounding sentimental and melodramatic, if there's something like a soul, I left a significant part of mine in the Delta. I'm regretting my decision to stay for such a short period. I wasn't sure what to expect and thought there might be a chance that I'd be miserable 'roughing' it. That I'd have difficulty coping with the heat and the insects. That wasn't the case, much to my surprise.

My heart started breaking on my second last day there and I failed miserably once or twice at keeping the tears back.

Over the next few days I'll recount my days spent in one the perfect places on earth.

...next to Bill Murray, in questionable hotel somewhere in Asia, and he's saying to me: "No one will ever believe you."

2009-12-12T05:40:00.001-08:00

It's Saturday and I'm sitting here bored, in my pajamas, listening to the mixed CD I made for my car, waiting for the wind to die down, for me to get hungry enough and for the thought of having baked beans for supper to make me sick enough that I get changed and actually leave the house.

I'm stumbling because I'm lazy and my attention span is proving short. I "stumble" across this:

Fifty People, One Question: Brooklyn from Fifty People, One Question on Vimeo.

My first answer was my bed since it's become my best friend over the last week or two. My next answer, after a bit of thought, was the title of this post which was brought on by reading the Bill Murray stories on No One Will Ever Believe You.

A part of me wishes (maybe just a little too hard) that at least some of the stories are true. Then there'll at least be a chance, infinitesimally small, that something similarly, awesomely, surreal might happen to me one day. It's not like I want to have his children and my walls aren't plastered with posters of him, but Bill Murray is made of awesomeness and who wouldn't wanted him to whisper those sweet, six words to them? Oh ok, just me then...

PS. If you haven't seen Zombieland, do so.

Hiatus

2009-11-22T11:49:00.000-08:00

My resolution to blog regularly has gone the same way as my resolutions to go to gym regularly, to eat more healthily, to save money, to drink less. What can I say? I'm just not good at these things? Or rather, I'm good at these things over short periods of time given that there is a suitable reward. I'm a simple creature really.

I've had plenty to say but no real motivation/time to write anything. I'm not going to write about everything that has happened over the last few weeks in detail (you're surely not that interested in my life). However, I will mention a few things I've learned:

-It's possible to have a perfectly satisfying fake date with a colleague and to leave it at that.
-I cannot go to Long Street, have one cider, and be home before midnight.
-I can have a good time with complete strangers who are male, no expectations, no pressure, dance the night away, talk about love, life and everything else, never see them again and leave it at that.
-Noname is my glue*.
-Being competent at work attracts unwanted attention.
-Johannesburg is not as awful as I once thought. In fact it's more than pleasant**.
-Drinking many Tequilas and Jagermeisters and then getting into a car that will eventually move is a bad idea.
-Tequila and Amarula shooter is surprisingly quite tasty.
-I ~~accost~~ talk to random strangers when drunk.
-I'm morbidly fascinated by websites dedicated to the horror that is the fake tan.

* I need to expand on this a bit. Noname is currently in hospital after I discovered a deep scratch on his chest. I overreacted and the thought of losing him really made me feel like falling apart and that I could not cope with other stressors. I've been to visit him twice now and besides the hole in his chest, he is doing really well: purring and meowing. His hospital card says that his a "bit wild", "scratches" and something about "escape". How dare they say this about my angel! Seeing Noname has really put me at ease, knowing that I'll have him back in a day and after calming down and realising he's not going to die, I just cannot picture not having him around anymore. I decided that he's the glue keeping everything from falling apart. His second name will henceforth be Gluhwein since he's a bit of a whiner as well. How I've missed that whine this weekend.

**Only certain areas, of course, like Melville and Greenside. Pictures to follow.

This is a local place for local people (or Saturday that was)

2009-10-28T00:11:00.000-07:00

Saturday morning, after having a few too many at the local bar Friday evening and wanting to escape the wrath of the vacuum cleaner the cleaning lady was intent on unleashing on me, I went to the local coffee café, Frangipanis, for breakfast.

It's simple, local pleasures like having a lazy breakfast, noticing the trees crowding the small gardens of the Victorian homes, watching the world go by and people doing their every day things, that are most enjoyable.

After breakfast, I needed to go to the local, family-run grocery to store get some bread and milk but was distracted by one of the many local antiques stores which had on display what I thought was the perfect bookcase. It was a display cabinet, not the elusive perfect bookcase, but upon further browsing I found a lovely retro drinks table. It was overpriced but I had to have it and managed to get a R150 discount.

Once home, I did my new, favourite thing and sat down on my lounger on the balcony with a cider, watching the going-ons of the harbour and baking in the sun.

After a nap it was time to venture further afield. It was time to leave the comfort of local and I met up with a friend and his friends from Johannesburg in Long Street. After mediocre Mexican food and cocktails I was not really in the mood for dancing but didn't want to go home. I pub/club hopped with the group but was soon overwhelmed by the crowds and smoke. After midnight I allowed my transformation into a pumpkin and headed home.

De Kelders photos

2009-10-20T04:29:00.000-07:00

Telling a friend about the prawn and salmon sashimi* I had last night reminded me of a photo I insisted on taking while weekending in De Kelders:

Western Cape's D9?

The rest of the photos:

Why do some people think that dead animal heads make for good decor? Ernest is the wildebeest and Hans is on the right. He was named Hans because his antlers made him look german. I forget the name of the one in the middle.

How could someone kill Pumbaa?

Danger Point lighthouse

Dead bird I named the beach after

Some of De Kelders (caves) the town is named after

Sea sponge with coral

Shell carpet

*His response was "Fokken prawns"

The quiet weekend that wasn't

2009-10-05T00:18:00.000-07:00

I had made the decision that the only way to remedy my tiredness of late was the spend the entire weekend in my bed. It was to be a quiet weekend. It didn't help that I woke up bored on Saturday. And after much yes no-ing I finally settled on no. And sent a text to WikidKnickers: I'm not going to make. Go on without me. Save yourselves. Tell my wife I love her. WikidKnickers replied: *sulks*. It was the most effective *sulk* ever. So I threw on some cloths, painted my face and set off for Fiddle East.

Fiddle East is a Balkan themed party. A smaller and more regular version of Balkanology. You can hear "a fusion of Gypsy, Serbian, Macedonian, Bulgarian and Romanian melodies". It's held at one of Cape Town's hidden gems and one of my favourite venues, The Albert Hall in my 'hood, Woodstock. While I've never made it to a Balkanology, this was my third time at a Fiddle East party. It was the best one so far. The problems of a too packed venue and a waiting time of thirty minutes at the bar were solved by opening the backyard of Albert Hall and setting up an extra bar. Vintage lamps were strung up, persian carpets hung and an abundance of cushions strewn. The energy from the DJs were infectious. And I danced my hiney off. Until my feet were begging me: No more!

Ghostly Gypsy couple

BabyAcid & WikidKnickers

The Juggler

Me and an awesome new friend

Sunday I had the same problem. I woke up bored and wanted to get out and do something. I decided that it'd be shopping. So I called up my favourite shopping partner, my mum. She was having lunch with her brother but she'd be able to go shopping after lunch. My plan was to buy some of the supplies for Rocking the Daisies, to window shop and to buy other small things. This plan was effectively ruined when I walked into the second shop and found my lounge chair had been "Priced to go" knocking R700 off the price. I had to get it. As well as a more portable lounger that I could take with to RtD. The lounger took up most of the space in the car and I fore went the rest of the shopping trip in favour lugging the rather large, rather heavy lounger home before taking my mother back and visiting family to borrow some supplies for camping (an airbed and an electronic pump).

All together a very happy weekend. I like getting what I want. I like getting it on sale even better.

I like 3s, 4s, 5s, 6s, 7s and 10s

2009-09-30T01:48:00.000-07:00

Someone asked me to define crazy when I said that I attract crazy people. Being lazy I figured that I'd just copy the Dictionary.com definition. It's actually pretty comprehensive.

crazy
[krey-zee], -zi⋅er, -zi⋅est, noun, plural -zies.
–adjective

1.	mentally deranged; demented; insane.

2.	senseless; impractical; totally unsound: a crazy scheme.

3.	Informal. intensely enthusiastic; passionately excited: crazy about baseball.

4.	Informal. very enamored or infatuated (usually fol. by about): He was crazy about her.

5.	Informal. intensely anxious or eager; impatient: I'm crazy to try those new skis.

6.	Informal. unusual; bizarre; singular: She always wears a crazy hat.

7.	Slang. wonderful; excellent; perfect: That's crazy, man, crazy.

8.	likely to break or fall to pieces.

9.	weak, infirm, or sickly.

10.	having an unusual, unexpected, or random quality, behavior, result, pattern, etc.: a crazy reel that spins in either direction.

I could deal with 1s but only if their mental illness is under control somehow and if they have a bit of 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, or 10 in them. I'm complete unwilling to deal with 2s in any way, shape or form. I could be supportive of 8s and 9s but find them taxing. 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, or 10 is just perfectly descriptive of some of the qualities I like in my crazies.

The weekend (and Monday) that was

2009-09-29T04:12:00.000-07:00

The weekend started on Thursday but Thursday was spent removing cat hair from all surfaces, baking, and being firmly attached to my bed. The plan was to go to Betty's Bay for the rest of the weekend but my urge to do something else and go somewhere different took over and we found ourselves in De Kelders. We was myself, Trix and boyfriend and a couchsurfer from Germany. Trix found us a comfy, albeit horrendously decorated, low cost apartment. It was the Whale Festival and accommodation was not easy to be found. And not cheap either.

De Kelders is now my new favourite seaside town. We didn't get to explore the caves since they were closed but did get to hang out at the beach. I decided to brave the chilly waters even though I was more afraid of dead bird cooties than the cold. The water was decidedly pleasant and soon the dead bird was forgotten as I floated, staring up at the blue, cloud spotted sky. The beach later became known as Dead Bird's Beach but the I think the real name is actually Stanford's Bay. Whatever. I like Dead Bird's Beach better.

Later, after a few glasses of wine, there was the salad dressing drinking incident and other hilarities. We went to bed first ensuring that all animal skin carpets were out of sight and I woke up far too late the next morning but luckily no one had finished the delicious peanut butter cheesecake I had made. After finding the caves closed and the weather turning foul we decided to head off to Hermanus. We'd spotted a few whales before heading off and saw even more in Hermanus. There were even more whales frolicking in the ocean in Hermanus. I say frolicking but they were probably having sex.

After the long drive home I once again firmly attached myself to my bed until late Sunday afternoon, missing lunch with my mother but making it in time for afternoon tea. Supper was with an old friend from university that I haven't seen in far too long.

Monday proved to be utterly miserable. It's difficult to adjust to work after a 4 day weekend. My couchsurfer had to stay an extra night and wanted to take me to the movies to make up for it. We had sushi at Sevruga and I found it difficult to move after insisting on eating the last 3 pieces of sushi.

We watched Public Enemies and I can highly recommend this movie for reasons other than perving over Johnny Depp and Christian Bale. It's a top notch crime movie. It has a stellar cast but I wasn't mad about the female lead and would much rather have had some of the actresses playing cameos to have played the lead. Some of the scenes are far too long. And the movie was shot in HD. While some scenes are beautifully shot, others -incidently the ones that could have been cut, looked like they were scenes from some horrible cheap, crime reenactment show. It's hard not to fall in love with John Dillinger and some of his lines in the movie are entirely quotable.

What do you want?
Everything. Right now.

We're having too good a time today. We ain't thinking about tomorrow.

Things falling into place

2009-09-24T13:53:00.000-07:00

You know when nothing goes right. When you make decisions and change things and you think, hey this is all for the better, and then it turns out not to be. And it's just worse. And you think how can things still be bad? How is it that I had this idea and it was suppose to be perfect and it's very far from perfect?

It'll be three years ago in a few months that I made a decision. A resolution. I'm not big on new year's resolutions but this time I made one. It was one of those typical one. I was going to get a new job. I made this decision when it became apparent that I was not going to be promoted into a senior position anytime soon. And that no position I wanted or was qualified for at my current place of work was going to become available soon. I was impatient. And bored. My job was fine but not particularly challenging after a while.

It took me 5 and a half months to get a new job. I was ecstatic. And that's where it all started.

Things never go the way you want them to. I had a new job and a fancy new title. I would finally be earning enough money to afford my own place, and to pay for my car and student loan. My work was sending me to Slovenia within a month and a half of joining the company. But I didn't get my passport in time because government workers decided to go on strike that month. So I sat alone in the office, looking for flats, while the rest of the new employees were off having a ball on the Mediterranean coast.

Flat hunting was not fun. None of the places were what I expected. And the ones that I wanted were out of my price range. I finally settled. I had to. My mother was now going to stay with me after I finally convinced her that she's better off divorcing my father.

So we moved into a flat complex with three hundred flats. We didn't have a lot of furniture and what we had was mostly borrowed. We were broke. The neighbours were inconsiderate. The flat was too close to the train tracks. And we couldn't get rid of the cockroaches. My rats died one after the other, from old age. Then one of my dogs died too. I couldn't get along with my mother. I had a major car accident with a car rented for work. My passenger and colleague crack bones in her back, shoulder and pelvis. I had a few bruises but I was shattered. I went to Barcelona later that year. I was promoted despite the accident and had to attend a meeting as part of my new responsibilities. I was glad since the promotion meant that I wouldn't have to drive that much anymore. While I was in Barcelona the geyser back home burst and my mother was slightly electrocuted. She didn't tell me about the electrocution until I got back but I'd already put plans in place to move. I had had enough. My mother went to stay with a brother and I found a great, new place in a neighbourhood I always wanted to live in.

The neighbours were even more inconsiderate here. I was still broke. The walls might as well have been nonexistent. I could hear my neighbours watching TV, washing the dishes, flushing the toilet. I didn't need to set my alarm clock in the morning since I was woken at four every morning my the beeping trucks outside. The bedroom and bathroom got no light at all and everything got mouldy. At least there were no cockroaches. Yet. One of the pipes for the pool on the roof burst and started leaking into my flat. The paint went black with mould. The cat I had decided to give a home was proving impossible. He'd run away and it would take me hours to catch him again. He would meow at the top of his lungs to be let out and destroyed the blinds trying to escape through a window. I hated the new job I'd gotten. I was bored and my social life was unsatisfying.

I moved again at the beginning of the new year. And that's when it ended. And something else started. I again started a new job but with the same company. The one I wanted when I had started with the company two years back but thought that I would need at least five years experience to get it. Despite crashing a few cars and hating my job I guess I still did really well and people noticed. I guess that moment when the carpet repairers left the door of my new place open and Noname sat outside, just looking, not running away, was when I first knew that this was it. When I was told that I got the job I knew then that the neurotic mess I was for an entire month was just a waste of energy. Because things had already started falling into place.

And maybe things started happening before moving to my current place, without me realising what it was at the time. My mom's divorce went well and she was able to support herself and pay off her debt with the money she got from her share of the house. Our relationship improved. I wasn't as broke anymore and started doing new, different things and meeting more people.

And things aren't perfect now. And it never will be. But it's as perfect as it can be. And I'm thinking if the pride I'm feeling right now is justified. Why should I feel proud if it's just a hodge-podge of things falling apart and then falling into place? Did I really do anything to be where I am now? I did, I guess. Even if it was only weathering the storm. I kept trying even though I was just so incredibly tired.

And I still don't know if it's worth it. If it's worth going through all that shit, for so long, then having some moments of happiness before things start falling apart again. Is it inevitable that things will start falling apart again? Is it something you cause? Is there anything you can do besides just weathering the storm?

These are metaphysical, existential questions for another day. My optimism right now is not allowing me to consider such questions for more than a trifling second.

I will just be. And things will be handled when they happen.

The weekend that was

2009-09-15T01:21:00.000-07:00

Friday was a write off. I knew that from the second I stepped in my door, headed straight for bedroom and face planted on my bed. I stayed in bed, eventually moving my face and body into a more comfortable position. After reluctantly getting out of bed to attend to some business my body wasn't willing to go back to sleep. So I watched a movie, surfed the internet, and chatted to a friend who'd spent her evening much more productively at a club getting naked. Eventually I slept again.

After much uhm-ing and ah-ing about what exactly to do on Saturday after accomplishing 80 percent of my chores (removing layers of cat hair from carpets and tiles, laundry, etc.), I headed off to Stellenbosch with Trix and her boyfriend, Adam. To the last remaining indoor skate park. Adam is the skater, not Trix. En route, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my skin and winelands scenery, many a joke was made about 10 year old skaters. Upon arrival at the skate park I discovered the exactitude of our jokes. I did, however, spot three men, excluding Adam, who were capable of growing facial hair.

Adam, having already donned most of his protective gear at home, was attempting to secure his helmet to his head when I noticed that Adam was the only one sporting protective gear. Despite the sign stating that helmets are compulsory. Not even the 10 year olds were wearing so much as an elbow guard. After a few well placed sniggers, Trix and I set off for lunch.

Adam ready to take on the concrete of the skate park*

Adam the street skater mastering a ramp

It might just have been that I was starving but the pizzas were very good. After lunch we stopped at a Spar to pick some things for tea, hertzoggies and milk tart, true South African treats. We returned to the skate park to pick a somewhat bruised and battered Adam. We made another stop at a Spar closer to home to acquire ingredients for the burgers Adam were to make as soon as he'd showered all skate park sweat off him. At the Spar I spotted this:

I have no words.

Supper was the most delicious home made burgers I've ever had and I will forgive Adam his skateboarding habit just for this. I decided that we needed to watch Teeth.

It was terrible, but better than I expected. And it was HILARIOUS! I had an asthma attack from laughing so much. All the trouble getting the dvd to play (broken player and finicky Wii) was so worth it.

Overcoming the laziness from eating too much, I moseyed on home. I overslept on Sunday, missing yoga. The rest of the day was spent playing with Google SketchUp. SketchUp is a phenomenal program. So far I've made a kickass chair, following a tutorial, and a bookcase. I'm not sure if I have the skills, determination and creativity to design anything like the pieces on display in the warehouse but I'm enjoying playing and it'll serve me well to hand a carpenter a clear, simple design of the bookcase I want.

* Pictures are bad quality because Adam couldn't stand still long enough for my to adjust the camera settings.

I think a Tyrannosaurus skeleton would look lovely in my entrance hall

2009-09-14T05:01:00.000-07:00

I'd need to get a bigger house though. And never mind that the Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton is likely to fetch between $2 000 000 and $8 000 000. I mean that's a lot to pay for something you can't even play fetch with it like in Night at the Museum.

One of the three most complete Tyrannosaurus Rex skeletons is set to go under auction at the Venetian Casino in Las Vegas on 3 October. Up for auction will be various other fossils, including a duck-billed dinosaur and a ceratopsian (same family as Triceratops).

Since Rexxy is out of my price range, I might just have to settle for the Woolly Mammoth (going for $150 000 - $200 000). I'd still need to get a bigger house though.

In other news relating to bones, a new discovery has been made regarding human evolution and the spread of humans from Africa. While new discoveries are always exciting, I'm a bit disappointed since I'm rather in love with the Out of Africa theory and with South Africa being the Cradle of Humankind.

And speaking of evolution, a movie about Charles Darwin is set for release and it seems Americans have not taken too well to it.

LotD/SotD

2009-09-11T16:08:00.000-07:00

I watched Sunshine again last night. And let the credits play through. And this song just spoke to me.

Along the avenue of hope
The footsteps falter, the fingers grope
and days, stretch out, beneath the sun
No-one's born, and no-one dies, no-one lives, so no-one cries
and we wait to see just what we will become

Don't let me falter, don't let me ride
Don't let the earth in me subside
Let me see just who I will become

You're like the clouds in my home town
You just grow fat and hang around
and you're days stretch out beneath the sun

and you don't live, you don't die, you don't love so you don't cry
and we wait, to see just what we will become

Don't let me borrow, don't let me bring
Don't let me wallow, don't make me sing
Let me see just who I will become

Don't let me falter, don't let me hide
Don't let someone else decide
Just who or what I will become

Don't let them borrow, don't let them bring
Don't let them wallow, don't make them sing

I am Kloot is quite good. Very good. I am acquiring more of their music and will be unable to wash myself of the shame for not discovering this band earlier.

Be gone winter...and some randomness

2009-09-09T02:18:00.000-07:00

I'm not a summer person. I don't like heat. I don't do beaches. I have to squint and don sunglasses if there is even a hit of a sunbeam peeking out from behind some clouds. I sweat just thinking about stepping outside in temperatures above 26 degrees Celsius. I don't like sweating.*

While snuggling in bed with that awesome blankie, a cup of soup and a good book has it merits, I'm getting anxious to do more summery things. To the point where I'm cursing Derek van Dam** when ever he announces yet another incoming cold front.

My upstairs balcony gets great sun and I've decided to acquire a lounge chair, so that I can bake in the sun, sip cocktails*** while taking in the activities in the harbour. While I despise the flip-flip and wouldn't be seen dead in them despite my recent yearnings for summer, these coasters would go perfect for lounging, cocktail sipping.

I also want to work on the garden that I inherited from the previous occupants of my house. It was much of a garden when I moved in but is now worse for wear with all the weeds that have made the garden their home.

And I want lazy picnics in the botanical garden.

But I just know it's going to be a "Be careful what you wish for" situation. Once temperatures hit 32 degrees and I'm incapacited, sitting in a puddle of my own sweat, I will be swallowing my words. But until then I can dream of days lounging on my balcony, sipping cocktails, and nights lazing on the bed with a magazine, a cool breeze gently stirring the curtains (as opposed to keeping all doors and windows shut, suffocating in the heat, for fear of the Cape Doctor unleashing a tornado inside my house).

I've been trying to perfect my WABbing**** lately. The internet is quite useful for this. I've found this great site, Information is Beautiful. Now I can waste 97.6342% of my day looking at utterly useless charts and graphs, like this one comparing movie monsters or this map of drugs.

* I'm adding this to my reasons for not going to the gym.

** Just found his blog. This will be the start of a beautiful ~~stalking~~ friendship.

*** I also need a cocktail shaker. And various cocktail alcohols. Wishlist updated.

**** Work Avoidance Behaviour. I used to be stellar at this at uni but since starting working full-time my skills have degraded.

Patron of boundaries and those who cross them

2009-09-03T00:22:00.000-07:00

The role of Hermes is usually only said to be that of messenger. But he was "the patron of boundaries and of the travelers who cross them, of shepherds and cowherds, of thieves and road travelers, of orators and wit, of literature and poets, of athletics, of weights and measures, of invention, of general commerce, and of the cunning of thieves and liars."

Hermes takes care of travellers, miscreants, harlots, old crones, thieves and athletes with injuries.

He is "an interpreter who bridges the boundaries with strangers".

He is a psychopomp. He wears sandals with wings (talaria) on them and uses them to fly freely between the mortal and immortal world and often helps travellers have a safe and easy journey.

I've struggled with an idea of a tattoo of a symbol of a Greek God or Goddess for some time. Never able to decide on one for the Goddess of discord, Eris, or the virgin hunter, Artemis. Or both. And which symbol.

So, I'm getting the wings of the talaria tattooed on my ankle until I can make up my mind about Eris and Artemis.

Feel free to contribute to the tattoo fund.

All info courtesy of Wikipedia.

Wanderlust

2009-08-26T02:26:00.000-07:00

won-der-luhst

–noun
a strong, innate desire to rove or travel about.

Origin:
1850–55; <G, equiv. to wander(n) to wander + Lust desire>

I want to go. Anywhere. I don't care. And far. I want to pack my bags and spend hours roaming around an airport. I want swollen ankles from sitting down for 10 hours at 10 000 feet and sore shoulders from carrying a backpack. I want to feel frustration at trying to figure out a new train schedule. I want to cry again because I cannot fit all my clothes and trinkety souvenirs into my bag. I want to impulsively leave half my clothes on a hotel floor.

But I also want to see new things. Wonderful things. Old things that I've never seen before.

I've got it bad. Taking off 5 months to stay at home and recover from yet another airport disaster is enough. I ready to take it all on again.

My feet are itchy.

Now I just need a plane ticket. To a far away place.*

*Wishlist updated

Bad day

2009-08-21T01:10:00.000-07:00

I had a different blog post related to couchsurfing planned for today and my day was looking up as I fondly recalled the great couchsurfing experiences I've had to date.

Until I opened an email alerting me to a new post on the South African Couchsurfing group. It was a post about safety.

I'm sure everyone has had bad couchsurfing experiences. My worse so far has been the guy with really strong body odour. It's less than nothing compared this woman's experience:

Chinese tourist 'raped' after being offered free bed for the night from man on 'couchsurfing' website

This is such sad news. Utterly heart breaking and I'm crying as I write this. Why must there always be people who ruin great things for others?

I have been extremely optimistic about the world as of late. I'm trying to tell myself that I should do everything in my power to keep it so. But I'm not sure I have the power to keep my spirits up.

EDIT: The meds have worn off and I'm less emotional and vulnerable than I was this morning. This could've happened anywhere, anytime, with anyone. Couchsurfer or not. The woman could have stayed with someone she knew well, or someone a friend she trusts recommended and she still could have been raped. I guess sometimes I just want the world to be too perfect even though I know it is not and can never be. Try explaining that. Reading about this took away the perfectness that I thought was couchsurfing but I should have known better, shouldn't I? Or I did but conveniently ignored it. I'll admit that it was less about a woman being violated than my 'perfect' world being shattered. But not by much.

I guess the attitude around this will be: stupid woman staying with a stranger. That is completely unfair. This is an isolated incident and will hopefully stay that way. I'm not going to let one reprehensible act ruin what has been up to now, and can continue being, a great experience for me. I hope the other good couchsurfers out there feel the same.

Something to blog about

2009-08-18T06:29:00.000-07:00

Is it sad that one of your thoughts when the front of your car gets ripped off and you're then arrested for drunk driving*, is, "Well, at least I have something to blog about now".

After an epic Friday night, after passing out on my bed still wearing all my clothes and jewellery, I woke up still drunk and agreed that a spontaneous trip to wine country is a fantastic idea. It seemed the best way to avoid the coming hangover.

Gorgeous wine farms and wine, golf carts and one Reuben's lunch later* I found my car missing its front which was later loaded into the back.

Couchsurfer Lana with a headlight

I later got pulled over for driving with a damaged car. But it didn't help that the car smelled like a microbrewery because of spilled beer. So I was arrested and spent the next 3 or so hours at the police station, with 30 minutes or so in a dark, dank cell.** I was "nice" and they were overcrowded so I was released early. I didn't receive any horrible treatment besides being denied a lawyer and my own medical doctor*** but the condition of the cells were unbelievably horrible.****

*I didn't rip of the front of the car while driving drunk. In fact, the car was parked and I was buying chocolate when the front got ripped off. The driver who ripped off the front was kind enough to go and report it and get a case number. I've spoken to him and he assures me that all damage will be paid for.

**I'm not being melodramatic. None of the lights in the women's cells were working and it was damp due to the weather turning foul in the evening.

***To be discussed with my lawyer on Thursday.

****I might have to wrote a serious post, not in keeping with the lighthearted nature of this blog, about the horrendous conditions of jails and prisons.

Drapes of Knit

2009-08-06T01:32:00.000-07:00

My education continues.

According to the latest House & Leisure, knitted home decor is all the rage. Now, I cannot stand knitted covers for cushion or ottomans or the like but I must say that a knitted throw is all in all cute. And I'm quite taken by, wait for it, knitted drapes.

So much so that I spent considerable time working out the logistics of knitting drapes. After realising that it would take me at least 6 months and 2 metre long knitting needles to complete but one drape, I gave up on the idea of knitting my own. What I need is a knitting machine. Anyone have one lying around somewhere?

Now I'm not talking about cutesy drapes like here. In fact any knitted drapes with any kind of pattern is frankly repugnant. I'm thinking more along the lines of big garter stitch, raw silk cum hessian effect. It would create a lovely bohemian look.

First home decor, now street art. Take a look at these anything-but-grannies decorating the streets of London:

There you have it: graffiti knitting. The creative 'anarchists' of Knit the City have blogs with titles like Whodunnknit and The Purple Purler.

Perhaps it is time to take my knitting talent to the next level. Right after I finish those drapes.

Paranormal romance and the weekend that was (in reverse)

2009-08-03T01:20:00.000-07:00

The weekend that was was quite uneventful. Sunday I was forced out of bed by my mother insisting I come to the train station to see her off before she embarks on her trip to the north. I decided not to return to bed after the fare-thee-wells, and set off to Canal Walk to watch Harry Potter.

While browsing the bookstore before the start of the movie I was surprised to discover that not only does paranormal romance now officially have its own genre, there are also 8 shelves dedicated to it. The top shelf, of course, housing Stephanie Meyers' Twilight series. Why my surprise? Vampires, werewolves, ghosts, zombies, mutants and humans have been falling in and out of love with each other for aeons. But never did they receive a genre of their own. Nevermind 8 bookshelves. I blame Stephanie Meyers for this and I don't particularly care that the genre was in existence before Meyers wrote Twilight.

I enjoyed Harry Potter although large parts of the movie bored me and I just wanted them to get a move on to where spells are cast and people die. I reckon this is due to the fact that I've read the book and even then was not really all that interested in the love life of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. I thoroughly enjoyed the scene where Harry has taken the Felix Felicis potion and recommend seeing the movie just for that scene.

Saturday I spent most of the day in bed, sleeping. I finally awakened sometime after 7pm and made my most delicious lasagna yet. But I have still to figure out how to not to run out of white sauce. The obvious solution would be to just make more white sauce, right? I'm waiting for this to sink in.

Friday night was the Mad Hatter's Christmas Tea Party at The Old Biscuit Mill. I was somewhat under a wrong impression, thinking that this would be the night version of the popular Neighbourgoods Market. Nonetheless, the event was utterly disappointing. I am now convinced that I missed my calling as an event planner after spending very little mental effort planning a Mad Hatter's Party and coming up with ideas infinitely better than the organisers of the event. This is because the organisers did not think beyond "Get people to wear hats/ties". The event was described as such:

Not your run of the mill Christmas in July

and

Come and join us for a fun-filled shopping experience. Exciting prizes for best dressed Hat or Tie or Both, Kids entertainment, wine farms – wine sales, Cape culinary experience, loads of entertainment for the whole family. An event not to be missed.

My first though is "Why combine Christmas in July and a Mad Hatter's tea party?" There is no logical connection and it's just asking to be overloaded in terms of catering for both themes. The shops were open. There was nothing fun-filled about it. I'm sure there were prizes although any mention of this at the event was scarce to be found. A few wine farms had their wares on offer. And on offer they were in the most inappropriate place, the entrance hall that was not big enough to keep the wine tasters out of the way of those wishing to just pass through.

The Cape culinary experience was mysteriously absent. Perhaps I arrived too late and all the food had been eaten. Besides for some tasty cookies there was not a crumb to be found. Or a drop, for that matter, that wasn't a meagre tasting from the wine farms. Yes, the on-site restaurant's bar was open but this was so poorly run that I turned around dry-throated after waiting 15 minutes. Kids' entertainment was in the form a most sorry, skinny arsed Santa Claus, not a 'ho' to be heard.

There was no atmosphere, no decoration, and no music. This tea party was definitely one that should have been skipped and after about an hour we went to find cocktails and food at the local watering hole which had infinitely more atmosphere, booze, food and entertainment than the Mad Hatter's affair.

Proliferation of bad taste

2009-08-01T04:40:00.000-07:00

So I seem to have found the answer to my question about bad taste raised here in the oddest place.

I found it in Robert Rankin's The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse. You've probably guessed from the title of the book that Rankin is not a philosopher of any sort. But he does have a way of pointing out the obvious.

I quote:

Why it is that bad taste always triumphs over good is one those things that scholars love to debate, when they don't have anything better to do, such as getting a life and getting a girlfriend.
Is there actually such a thing as 'good taste'? they debate. Or 'Is it all merely subjective?'
Well, of course there is such a thing as good taste! Some things actually are better than other things, and people are capable of making the distinction.
But...
Bad taste will always ultimately triumph over good taste , because bad taste has more financial backing. There is far more profit to be made from selling cheap and nasty products, at a big mark-up, than selling quality items at a small mark-up. And you can always produce far more cheap and nasty items far nore quickly than you can produce quality items. Far more.

So, there we have it.

Anatomy

2009-07-31T03:20:00.000-07:00

It's not anatomy that fascinates me. Rather it's the art that's developed from early anatomical drawings and models. Macabre stories like that of the 23 year old baby also beguile me.

I hold my reproduction of the 1st edition of Gray's Anatomy in high regard and have recently fallen in love with Andreas Vesalius prints* that I have need to own.

There is talk that the 2010 SIX tattoo convention will have anatomical hearts up for auction. This year's convention had skulls but dire financial circumstances prevented me from making a bid. Next year a heart will be mine.

The Wellcome Collection in London is exhibiting anatomical wax models featuring the model in the picture above. Distance prevents me from viewing the exhibition so I shall be an online voyeur.

I deem a curiosity cabinet* to be a necessity and shall make work to acquire one.

*Wishlist has been updated.

Swakopmund photos

2009-07-31T01:04:00.000-07:00

Swakopmund is my second favourite international city (Barcelona being the first). Although Swakopmund is less a city and more a quiet seaside town. I'm glad they forgot to bomb it.*

Curios market. They take you for all you've got. (Picture has been cropped and reoutched.)

Tower ceiling in bookshop. (Unretouched.)

Desert chameleon. (Unretouched.)

Mussel carpet on the beach. (Slighty retouched.)

Creepy dentist room diorama in the museum. (Unretouched hence the fuzziness.)

*Morrissey reference for those who don't know.

Addicted to the needle (I love...tattoos)

2009-07-29T00:14:00.000-07:00

For those who haven't read it, I'd like to draw your attention to a guest blog post by Anastasya, a good friend of mine, on her brother's blog, An Unquiet Day.

I love the last paragraph. It describes down to a T how I feel about tattoos and I could not have said it better myself.

People often tell me to slow down. They point out that tattoos are permanent... but face it – nothing is. Life is a fleeting, beautiful experience, and we make our surroundings as pleasant as possible while we're here. I decorate my body in the same way one decorates any dwellings. I put down meaningful symbolism, trying to capture as much of my journey as possible. This vessel isn't sacred. It is dust. What is important to me is the fleeting thoughts, feelings and ideas dwelling inside it, which I attempt to represent on the outside in small colourful icons.

I went to see Manuela at Wildfire again yesterday. To touch up my last piece and to discuss my next piece. I scheduled the next session for later in the year. It's a bigger piece and I will need to save some money for it.

I don't get any particular pleasure from the actual tattooing process. I don't have a needle fetish. Tattooing can be uncomfortable, painful some times, a tattoo is ugly when the scabbing starts and you want to scratch off a layer of skin when it starts healing.

But I love that buzzing sound. Knowing that soon I'll have another beautiful decoration on my body.

The weekend that was featuring cooking deluxe, expensive hobbies and the healing properties of potato

2009-07-27T00:03:00.000-07:00

My mother visited this weekend. I was grateful because I have been neglecting the tasks I hate most: washing dishes and ironing. My mother really seems to enjoy these chores and I returned the favour (hopefully) by cooking her delicious meals consisting of foods she's never eaten, and taking her shopping (it turned out the shopping was all too much for her. And not because I was spending vast amounts of money).

Friday evening dinner was ostrich neck with Kalahari truffles in a white wine and cream sauce, served with ol' dependable mash. Ostrich is my favourite meat followed by crocodile. My mother was weary of the truffles but was soon won over by the earthy goodness of the meal. Lessons learned: (1) Ostrich neck is best slow cooked. (2) I cannot share my kitchen with a feline and my mother.

I got paid sometime Saturday and it was time to stock up on groceries. My cupboards have been bare for far too long. I returned home with a boot full of groceries. Lunch was a rustic pizza with caramelised onions, butternut and camembert. My camembert craving has been satisfied. Well, not really. I still have to deep fry the second wheel and serve it with St Dalfour's delicious fruit preserve. Dessert was truffles, of the chocolate variety this time.

After lunch it was time for more shopping. Off to Makro, Stodels and Canal Walk. I returned home with a boot full of plants, cooking pots, and a variety of storage jars and vases. By now 90% of my salary has already been spent.

I have never fooled myself into thinking that I do not have expensive tastes. My passive hobbies of reading and watching movies have set me back a fair bit in the monetary department. The costs of tattoos have doubled since my first tat 5/6 years ago.

I can now add terrariums to my list of expensive hobbies. Two trips to Stodels has cost me close R600. I will not mention the cost of the jars and vases but I will proudly show off the first of my finished terrariums.

The terrarium second from the left is my favourite. It stars a Rabbit's Foot Fern, black grass, and some ground cover of which I've forgotten the name. One more terrarium to go before I take a hiatus due to bankruptcy.

The rest of Saturday was spent watching a pork belly roasting slowly in the oven and designing one of my next tattoos: Alice in Wonderland. I had to fork out R49.95 for a sketching pad. How ridiculous. However, I'm very pleased that I have not lost all my ability to sketch. The sketches below were drawn freehand, copying from the original drawings (excluding Alice) in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass.

I decided to have raisin bread and chocolate for breakfast on Sunday. While rooting in my mother's overnight back for chocolate, I discovered a potato. I enquired why my mother had stolen one of my potatoes. Of course, she didn't steal it but had brought it with her from home. Of course. I was puzzled. Apparently, sleeping with a potato in your bed prevents arthritis. Apparently, the entire older generation of my family swears by it. I'm thinking of getting my mother certified. I've recommended my cousins do the same to their parents.

By Sunday I had had it with cooking and had the usual Sunday lunch, nap on the couch, and tea at my cousin's. And of course there was heckling of the family about their strange bedfellows, the potatoes.

Introducing LotD/SotD

2009-07-22T03:21:00.000-07:00

Lyrics of the Day/Song of the Day. Not much more to it. Do not expect a daily post. As with everything else in my life this will happen when the mood strikes. Some days, the mood strikes twice.

I've been listening to some Sunset Rubdown tracks for a few years now. Random ones downloaded off Pitchfork or music blogs. I've listened to them not knowing anything about the band. Today I found out that the band began as a solo project of Wolf Parade, a band I took quite a liking to a few years ago but due to my own laziness did not follow beyond their first album.

A need for new car music prompted listening to the random tracks downloaded recently.

Enter Sunset Rubdown's Idiot Heart:

Stay away from open windows, and put the telephone down. Can you run as fast as this house will fall when the alarm bell sounds? No, I was never much of a dancer, but I know enough to know you've got to move your idiot body around, and that you can't settle down until the idiot in your blood settles down. So move around... If I found you in this city called Paradise, I'd say, "I love you, but I hate this city, and I'm no prize." You want to walk around like you own the joint, the way that Icarus thought he might own the sky. I say, "You can't settle down until the Icarus in your blood, in your blood, drowns... And if I was a horse, I would throw up the reins if I was you."

But look at you go (into the fire-star). Look at you go (you are a meteor). Look at you go...

And you know your heart, and you know your heart... but it's an idiot heart. And you know your heart, and you know your heart... but you can't settle down. No, you can't settle down. So just move around...

I hope that you died in a decent pair of shoes, you've had a lot of long walking to do, where you're going to...

This song has inspired me to buy their newest album. The nicely titled Dragonslayer.

Ps. I do like my idiot so I'll keep moving around.

The weekend that was

2009-07-20T00:49:00.000-07:00

The weekend got infinitely better (after a rocky start on Friday evening and Saturday morning) after I finished a long island ice tea in a cafe on long street. It was before noon when I started drinking it but it's ok because it was after noon when I finished it.

It was my non-sober weekend. An uncomfortable period of soberness followed but was made bearable by Manuella agreeing to design my next 2 tattoos and a stop in Tokai to buy booze.

A trip to Simonstown, a bottle of Chenin Blanc, a glass of red wine, some recreation, and the best chicken made by a vegetarian later, it was time to head off to The Assembly for Zebra and Giraffe and The Wedding DJs.

Zebra and Giraffe were impressive. Carlin has a voice on him with a vocal range that I'm sure requires an elastic band in an uncomfortable place for the hire octaves. The bands stage presense is worthy of panty-throwing. The Knife is still my favourite track and the one I enjoyed the most but perhaps only because I'm more familiar with it. There were more tracks I deemed worthy to check out and I will show support by purchasing the debut album, Collection Memories.

The Wedding DJs rocked my world. I danced and danced and danced (my ass off). My feet hate me. I loved my single-serving dancing buddies (since all my friends abandoned me shortly after the live performance, I had to make single-serving friends. Dance with them. Toast them. Hug them. Don't even know their names.). There was much throwing of hands into the air, singing along, and I do believe I "grinded" at some point.

Without evening/early mornings like this, life would be very dull indeed.

The rest of Sunday was spent holding my head, getting Adam to prepare food while Vanessa applied copious amount of aspirin.

Introducing the "I love..." series

2009-07-16T00:43:00.000-07:00

There are a few things that I am not ashamed to publicly admit that I love. Every week (mood dependent), I will post an entry about something I love.

This week's entry is about my adorable kitty, Noname (pronounce: Noh-Nah-Mi). Noname is no longer a kitten (I don't think he ever was!) but I still call him my kitten.

Noname was a stray living in the parking lot of my old flat block. There were quite a few strays (at least 3 of them Noname fathered). But unlike the other strays, Noname didn't shy away from humans. He would meow a response when called. And then actually approach you. So, naturally, I started feeding him. First, with expensive cold meats since that is what I had after returning from a picnic. Then later with microwaved frozen hake (man, did that reek!).

Noname is prone to following people. At first he needed a little encouragement. But I managed to get him into the lift and into my flat. He ate, he drank water and then I discovered (as did half the neighbourhood) that he is not really an inside cat. Feeling horrible about his distress about being inside I let him out again. He remained a stray.

At some point between The Netherlands and here, I decided that at the very least I needed to get him to a vet and put up for adoption. This is when i decided to call him Noname. I couldn't really think of a name for him and he wasn't going to keep him at this stage. It was a while before I could make it to the vet so I deflead him and bought some cheap catfood. At the Animal Anti-Cruelty League I was told that adoption was unlikely because of his tendency to run away and because he's already over the age of 4. He would most likely be put down. I adopted him. There was no way I could possibly let such a beautiful beast be put down. I wasn't allowed to keep pets. But I risked it and Noname was kept indoors. I was slowly being driven insane by his meowing and destruction of my blinds. This went on for over 6 months until I moved to a new place. A pet friendly townhouse complex.

Noname was almost immediately at home. I felt such joy at being able to let him out. And the best part is, he comes back. Time and time again. It's probably just for the food.

I've grown incredibly attached to Noname and cannot consider life without him right now.

His tendency to follow me has no turned into a need to be walked. He's also unique in that he comes when called. He loves ribbons, snakes and grasshoppers. He attacks the neighbours' dogs but he's not stupid and will not take on dogs 4 times his size. He can only handle dogs twice his size. He insists on always being in the same room as me (it drives me nuts). He doesn't think there is anything wrong with sleeping on my breadboard. That's, of course, when he's not taking up all the space on the couch. He's prone to destroying rugs but stopped climbing up my curtains after I threw him out of house the one time he did. His tail is broken and he has issues with having his tummy rubbed.

Noname's new friend, ahem, enemy is Salem who thinks that it's perfectly ok to walk around in Noname's house and eat Noname's food. This morning was spent trying to get Salem to understand that this is not ok. So, Salem climbed into my car. After 3 out of 4 doors were open I managed to grab Salem and returned him to his own house. Noname was to return inside as I cannot risk him attacking the neighbours' animals while I'm not there. Noname was not having any of it.

I hope there are no casaulties.

Introduction of The Wishlist

2009-07-14T03:40:00.000-07:00

I don't ask for much. But apparently I ask for the near impossible. For example, and in no particular order, I wish for:

-World peace
-A 4 day work week
-My own personal sushi chef
-A hangover cure that works

I acquiesce. This might be a bit much. After all, genies only ever grant 3 wishes. If push comes to shove I will, without second thought, choose a 4 day work week over world peace. That is, of course, if the two are mutually exclusive.

I always have lists. List of things I need to do. Lists of things I want to do. Lists of things I need (usually in the form of shopping lists) and lists of things I want. I've decided to make some items on the list of things I want public (hint: it's somewhere to the right of this text) just in case anyone at anytime feels making my wish come true (hint: I'm quite partial to Cape to Cairo by rail at the moment). And to share of course. Sharing is caring. Yes, sharing my want shows how much I care about you.

Some items on the lists will remain unchanged for weeks. I foresee "A kitty" and "Twin Peaks" being there for a very long time. It all depends on how badly I want a particular thing at a particular time. Sometimes the list will be very short. For example, on a Friday the list might consist "For this day to end" because that is the only thing in the whole wide world that I want to happen very very badly. I'm sure you get my drift.

Some of the current wishes have been "granted" if only partially. I have vases. I have plants. I need more. The spa treatment has been booked for Women's Day (9 Aug). The rest are works in progress.

Especially the 4 day work week.

The weekend that was. And the first of much randomness

2009-07-13T00:39:00.000-07:00

I have nothing to say. No, that's not true. But what I have to say, or what I can say is not very interesting. So, I'll start with writing about the weekend.

It was uneventful and I caught up on much needed my sleep. One cannot have fun all the time, right? And there should be time set aside to cuddle with the kitty and catch up on some TV. So that is what I did. My frenzy to see that next season of Lost was subdued when I realised that season 5 is not altogether great. But I'm determined to see Lost through to the end. We have walked a long path together and Lost owes me an explanation. However crappy that explanation might end up being.

Between sleep session there was also time for a visit to the nursery and a little gardening. Which was great! Over R200 worth of plants, soil and pebbles later, I had to cut myself off. I will be back in 2 weeks though as they had no moss in stock. Also, I now have 3 incomplete terrariums (soon there will be a 4th) that are begging for more plants. I have no pictures yet due to incompleteness and a lack of good photographic light this weekend.

This is what my entrance hall looked like shortly after starting the first terrarium.

Making a mess. You're doing it right.

Sunday I went to family so they could feed me. It's also been a long time since I've seen them (2-3 weeks?) and I missed them. There was the usual: chicken curry, sugar-free fizzy cooldrinks, rambunctious kids, sleeping on the couches, tea and cake (no death, sorry) and bad taste.

At some point after tea my aunt explained that one day soon she buy a wall unit to house her television and various decorative ornaments. Wide-eyed I kept my mouth shut until her children almost yelled at her that wall units for your television are in no way and form fashionable anymore. My aunt wouldn't hear of it and insisted that stores would not be selling it anymore if it wasn't fashionable.

So, I ask the question: why are stores still stocking horribly outdated, kitsch items (the non-ironic ones)? Because people still buy them? But why? This truly boggles my mind.

Eaglevlei photos

2009-07-10T01:41:00.000-07:00

These photos were taken at Eaglevlei in Stellenbosch. I went with a couchsurfer who requested to stay with me for 1 night. 3 nights later she's still staying with me and the weekend we go wine tasting in Stellenbosch. By the time we got to Eaglevlei we were well tipsy. Continuing tasting at Eaglevlei got my couchsurfer to the "drunken rolling around on grass" stage. Me, I decided to snap everything in sight. Not all the pictures were horrible, surprisingly. The ones below quite nicely convey the drunken bliss I felt. None of these have been retouched.

New Projects

2009-07-09T05:13:00.000-07:00

I adore terrariums. I want to surround myself with them. But I have never been able to keep a plant alive. I even killed a cactus. Well, technically U my rat ate it but that's a story for another day. As is the black lily that fell of the balcony. Nevermind that it was already dead when it fell, nay, was pushed off the balcony.

Realising that I've successfully kept a cat alive for more than a year and half, I'm now venturing unto slightly more scarier plains. Yes, I realise it's suppose to be the other way around. Keep a plant alive, you can keep an animal alive...

So this weekend will see the start of my second new project. My first was knitting. I knitted a lovely, extra length scarf that I now wear on a regular basis. At some point I will get round to knitting the matching fingerless gloves. Hopefully before the end of winter. If this at all is giving you the idea that I'm someone who starts something but doesn't finish it, you have yet to see me with a bottle of wine.

So, this will involve a visit to Woolworths where I saw the perfect first container for a terrarium and a visit to a nursery. An after the weekend I will update you regarding the terrarium and occasionally I will post about a new one. As I do intend to surround myself with them.

In addition I intend to post about utterly cute things my cat does that is only utterly cute to me and no one else, random belligerence and a good dose of whining, cool things I've seen or want to do and so forth. Until then.

How to Make a Terrarium: http://www.stormthecastle.com/terrarium/
Terrariums.com: http://www.terrariums.com/