Poll: Which is this month's weirdest search term?

Man. There are some fruitycakes out there, non? I'm always interested in the search terms that lead people to my blog. Vote below and choose thee weirdest, and I swear to all that is covered in chocolate I'll write a fantastical blog post about it. Yeah, Beyotches, it's on!!!!

more at twiigs.com...

Perhaps She Was hoping for George Clooney? Who Knows.

On Saturday, I braved the rain and wind and dumbasses* and caught the bus to the waterfront. I had some shopping to do, and I also really wanted to watch Blades of Glory, the latest Will Ferrell movie. It wasn't an Anchorman or a Zoolander, but it was surprisingly enjoyable. From the reviews and what people had told me, I was expecting more of a gross-out comedy, but it was surprisingly sweet and warm and not, in my opinion, particularly objectionable**.

which was why I was a little disturbed to see a woman striding out of the movie theatre and up towards clicks, pouting furiously and declaring: "that was so stupid! It was a stupid movie! I can't believe....STUPID!"

At first I thought she was just a random crazy, or just trying to be a good altruist by forewarning all the people who might want to head to Cinema Nouveau instead, until I glimpsed; traipsing behind her with a distinctly hangdog expression; the Boyfriend. His longsuffering silence and resigned demeanor kind of gave the impression that this is a Thing. That She Does.***

And I have to wonder, how did they get to this? Did she think she would like the movie? did He promise her romance, and she got Will Ferrell's crotch? Because frankly, in order for her not to have understood what this movie was going to be like, she has to have been walking around with her fingers stuck in her ears, her hands over her eyes, and making "Ngaaah ngaah ngaah" noises.

Or maybe she was forced into it? Is this some sort of assault-by-movie? Perhaps she takes movies very seriously. I don't know, and never will. But it's kind of driving me crazy.

* a large proportion of the people who go to the waterfront on weekends are often seemingly struck by temporary (or not) idiocy, and are unable to conduct conversations anywhere but at the top of the escalator, or have never seen t-shirts before.
** although perhaps I'm just hardened and inured to depravity and The Sickness. I hope not, that would make life all the more boring.
*** I mean, I can't claim never to have thrown a tantrum at a boyfriend before... but ... but... it was a movie!!!! And it was good... wasn't 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..

Some Leave, with a little Break.

Aaaaaah. Religious holidays. A chance to bond with the family over dinner and field somewhat inappropriate questions about my love life from unexpected sources. A time to pause and reflect on my spirituality, and what it means to me.

a time for Matzos, Marmite, and ensuing constipation.

Pesach is fun because there's so much of it. Two days off at the beginning and one right at the end. Also, there's Easter right in the middle of it, so you get that as a public holiday. What's even more awesome is that both holidays are totally centred around food. Perhaps they aren't meant to be , but they are. Soup with Kneidlach, matzos with the aforementioned Marmite or Peck's Anchovette*, and herring. I don't actually like herring, and no, Mom, it's not like sushi.

Easter has the traditional Easter bunnies, creme eggs, marshmallow eggs**, and if you live in a country with it's priorities right***, marshmallow Peeps shaped like chicks. Also, many things covered with foil that must be ripped off an scattered around one's bedroom, to be discovered under your pillow weeks later, even though the linen has been changed twice.

So, to recap: yummy sweets, yummy savouries, and 7 days off with a Thursday of work in the middle. Not bad. Not bad at all.

*both of which are, I think, things that only South Africans, Brits and a few other colonials actually enjoy. And I'm not sure about the fishpaste. Does anyone else in the world actually eat it?
** the ones with caramel in the middle are the best, no question.
*** So not South Africa then.

If it's worth saying...

it's worth saying right.

Since I've been back, I've become a lot more aware of (and a lot more annoyed by) the South African inability to pronounce things correctly. This inability is coupled with a downright stubbornness, or perhaps it is a dogged, nay mulish contrariness that amounts to a refusal to say it properly: " I am a South African, and that's how I say it." Oh, well that makes it okay then.

No, it doesn't, so there.

If it's a bona fide Seffie* word, then by all means, then there is a Seffie pronunciation to go with it. Borewors, moer, rooibos, jol, kif, boep and poes are all lovely words that we often teach to foreigners, so that we can laugh at their pronunciation.

However, words that are not South African, or southafricanised, should be pronounced correctly, because that is just what you do. That is why dictionaries have pronunciation guides, and don't just say: "oh fuckit pronounce it however you want, we don't care!" Most places in the world, if you don't even bother to try to say it right, you come off as some sort of redneck.

And so children, please repeat after me:
purr-sjoh, not pyew-joh.**
sjee-von-shee, not give-enn-chi.
renn-o not renn-orlt

And for god's sake: One Rand, many Rand. Rhymes with canned (in English) and runt (in Afrikaans). Not Plant.

Okay?

PS To the person with the "BIAACTH001" vanity plate: spellcheck, you 'tard.

* this is a Saradiaism, if I'm not mistaken.
** Oh how this one annoys me.

Atrocious Displays of Vulgarity

5 things that are neither funny nor clever:

1. cellphone screensavers: oh, you're the number one bitch? you like a hot stud on your phone? or maybe a stripper? because, god knows a two-centimetre stripper makes even the strongest knees weak.... see also -->
2. "funny" ringtones: ah, your phone farts. or moos. or makes orgasmic groaning noises. how original. I wish to fellate you immediately.
3. "baby on board" stickers. because I was going to prang your car, but now I can't, damnit!
4. dolphin tattoos and belly rings: you are a wild and untamed hellcat. you're a tigress between the sheets. You prowl the streets, a crazy rock chick, blasting your Offspring into the night. Another Klippies and coke, please!
5. T-shirts with "witty" statements, or designer names: Gucci doesn't make t-shirts. and If they did they'd cost 500 dollars and be artfully ripped. You are not a princess. I'm not scared of this bitch biting. One tequila two tequila three tequila bore. My little Princess is your little whore. I get it, you're a hardcore bitch/ pimp and you like to drink a lot.
   

I admit it. I'm a) elitist and b) a snob. I don't see a problem with this.

Whine and Roses.

I'm not a Valentine's day fan. I actually loathe it, to be honest. I don't have a problem with love, or romance, per se, it's just that in my opinion, valentine's day isn't really about that any more. It's become the Xmas of romance: commercialised and sentimentalised and gooey and nauseating. Personally, I prefer not to have romance forced down my throat until the gag reflex kicks in. It's as if someone decided that the essence of romantic love, lust and desire could be distilled into roses, cadbury's milk tray, and stuffed toys holding a cutesy message on a heart. And the obsessive, let's-have-everything-in-red thing. red boxer shorts. red lingerie (whorey, but that's for another blog post). red envelopes. red wrapping paper. red kitchen utensils. red socks. red newspapers. you know, romantic stuff like... oh, wait, you mean that's just a marketing ploy? who'da guessed. not me, oh no.

I wouldn't even mind the blatant mercenary zeal with which hallmark and co. attempt to part us from our hard-earned cash; it's the sense of desperation that pervades the entire day: couples that attempt to squeeze in a year's worth of romance into one day, singles who feel that if they don't have a date on this one day of the year, they are a romantic failure doomed to die alone and have their corpses nibbled by their 17 cats.

Well, at least this year I don't have to give giri-chocolates* to my boss.

*Ahhh bugger it. I'm not explaining that one, so you're just going to have to Google it.