A Very Brave Girl.

Yesterday was my first beach day of the season, and a very exciting one it was. You see, I had resolved that ennough was enough, no more would I suffer the tyranny and shame of the two white triangles of dead-looking white flesh! No more would I have to photoshop self-portraits to even out skin tone on my chestal region! Yes, people, I this is the year...for toplessness!

Seriously.

I'm not one for exposing myself in public. But, honestly, it's practically become de rigeur these days to go about like a three-year-old*. And for a while I've been gazing jealously at the bronzed noombies of the beach girls**, who have no top-half tan lines, and can ear low-cut tops, and don't look weird naked. Well, unless they just look weird naked naturally, but that's another topic for another time.

So, I decided to gird my loins and stop being such a big baby. It wasn't easy though. I got to the beach, ready for my quest. I scanned the few people on the beach: nice, not too few for me to stand out, not so many that it would be intimidating. Mostly girl, and families with naked children. Good, nakedness of children helps my cause. There were some fully-dressed beach-watchers, which was totally creeping me out, because I just knew they were dirty perverts waiting for my boobies. Beaches= beachwear, it's a dress code, and people who don't respect that... perverts!

Anyway, finally the time came, and I whipped of my top and lay down like a little person trying to be unobtrusive. Nobody jeered, pointed or giggled. In fact, very few noticed, possibly. As I've mentioned, my ta-tas*** are not that big. So, I passed my first tan time without event, enjoying the cool breeze on my skin. and I think it'll be a little easier next time.

I feel very brave, and accomplished, like I climbed a mountain or something. Only without the physical exertion part, which would suck. Score one for the half-naked lady!

*but with boobs.
** well, until they noticed and then suddenly it got all weird.
*** starting to run out of synonyms for breasticles.

A Horribly Traumatic Experience

Last night it rained, and this morning, it was damp. It was quite nice actually, there I was in my cute beret and chunky scarf, feeling very cosmopolitan and vaguely French*. The birds were all: "Hey tweet y'all" and the autumn leaves were falling, albeit damply. And I wasn't running late for work, which was a nice change. I was listening to the new NIN. I was finding it quite cheerful.**My morning walk through the Company gardens looked to be a pleasant one. Crazy-dog lady*** passed me by.

And then I looked down.

There it was, glistening pinkly, oozing itself across the pathway. An earthworm. They do this, you know, after the rains... Some bizarre instinct tells them to flee the muddy soil and head for the safety of...tarmac and concrete. Right. Not known for their intellectual capacity, they.

So, having narrowly missed mashing one long pink wormy with my right shoe, I became somewhat paralysed. Because there's never only one. I became obsessed with the idea that the path would be strewn with dozens upon dozens of earthworms, a veritable minefield of squoosh and subsequent guilt. it didn't help that entire sections of pathway were obscured by sticks and leaves, which can look very much like earthworms if you're having a bit of a Nutjob Moment.

So, it took me almost twice as long to traverse the distance to work. I almost had a panic attack. I felt very close to ralphing publicly.

I stood on an earthworm barefoot once. It wasn't very nice.

*in a Paris Fashion Week ; rather than an arrogant un-deodorised; sense.
**I find Year Zero quite poppy, for NIN.
***the dog is crazy, not the lady. His legs are too short for his body, his eyes are all googly and his fur is tufty. It's adorable.

All Your Base Are Belong To Us*.

So. Let's talk about fear, shall we? Blinding, night-sweat, wake- up- in- a- panic- with- a - pounding- heart terror. Some people are afraid of clowns**. Some people are afraid of birds***. Apparently, there are even people with a fear of poetry, which is understandable****. There's a lot of bad poetry out there, people- especially Haikus- and it needs to stop.

I have few fears, and most of them are rational. Cockroaches (they jump on your face!!!), earthworms (they stick to you when boys throw them at you!!!), Death (it's permanent!!!!). But the worst fear I have is, I suppose, kind of...weird. I fear the Gere.

Richard Gere. One dark alleyway away from being one of those smelly pervy molester guys. Piggy eyes. Sneeriness. Aaauauagh. If one more middle-aged woman tells me how much of a "hunk" he is, I will vomit a great deal on her Crocs. I had this nightmare last night that he had had a haircut and was stalking me. Oh, and he was a transvestite. And he wanted me to eat his earwax.

What is wrong with the man!!! Can't he just leave me be?


* what. What?!?
** coulrophobia
***Ornithophobia
**** Metrophobia. sounds like fear of subways, but whatev.

Eek! Eek! Eek!

It's getting worse. I can feel them, watching me from the shadows as I pass, from the foliage of the trees, from the undergrowth. I can hear them, as surreptitious as they may try to be, their furtive rustlings and the hissing of their breath. They taunt me, chattering and giggling, an endless stream of crazytalk. Jumping out from behind trees, following me as I make my way home; roving gangs of them leaping around, stoned on whatever it is that makes them this way. I can see it in their dark, beady, soulless little eyes, the hunted, haunted glare that screams out: BUGGRIT! Fnoo feet kill feet Jasper Icecreams fnoo!*Dirty, diseased a scourge on the city, they prey on our sympathies and our pity. But underneath it all, they hate us, and await their moment to exact their revenge.

man, those squirrels freak me out.

*I know, it makes no sense to me either, but there you have it.

Crowd Control Issues

There is some evidence of change. As I ride past Greenpoint Stadium in the morning, there is a little bit less of it every day. Soon, they will start construction on the grand, new, fancy-schmancy stadium, and thus the hoopla that will be the runup to 2010* will begin in earnest. Because if you think it's started yet, you're not South African. We can do hoopla like nobody's business. We have a Master's in Hoopla (that would be an M.Phil, in case you're wondering).

I hope not to be here, and not merely because of the hoopla (which is actually somewhat entertaining in an "you're not seriously proposing we consider the impact of prostitution on the biltong industry are you?" kind of way). I will not be here because there will be crowds.

It's the one thing nobody seems to have considered yet. Yes, they've thought about increased traffic and tourism and the need for public transport but not the reality of a gajillion rowdy footie fans ambling boredly around the place when they're not in the stadia.

I never really experienced real crowds till I got to Japan. Tokyo is just a city of crowds, but they are mostly organised, systematic crowds, with places to go and be and systems to get around. Sapporo during the Yuki Matsuri** was a completely different matter. Now, Sap-town was one of my favourite cities, and was generally pretty laid-back. but during the Matsuri, thousands of people from all over Japan, and the world, squished into its shopping malls, streets and subway stations. It was chaos, and hugely frustrating.

See, I don't cope well with masses of undirected humanity. I start to panic, my fight-or-flight mode takes over, but I can't flee because there are so many of them! and they're all in my way! and I can feel them breathing germs on me and move goddamnit or I will punch you in the throat and why are there so MANY of you!!!!

I can't breathe. I think I need to lie down.

* the 2010 Soccer World Cup, for those of you who are very isolated, dead, or American.
** Snow festival, I'm sure I've blogged about it..