Shameless self-promotion

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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.