PlanetPi

Nou wat nou?

2011-06-02T17:42:00.002+02:00

So it's the 2nd of June and for some reason, this is a time to blog again. Don't ask me why (I know you won't anyway, but you get the drift). The thing is, I have not been lazy or uninspired to blog. Clearly it has not been a lack of content that has kept me from posting. There is more going on at this time on the planet than ever. It has just been the other alternatives to blogging that have had my attentions.

As you can see to the right ... *takes time to look to the right along with you and notice the column of tweets that are pretty active most days ... the twitter vibe has grabbed my interest, along with millions of others. I found it was more fun just bashing out a short blurb on twitter, rather than the blogging thing.

But I am back now so lets see what happens. I am more curious than anyone to see what transpires. I'm thinking a lot more videos and smaller bits of vibe. Yes that sounds good. Keep it true to me and if anyone enjoys it then awesome ... if its a load of shit to you then that's fine too. Natural selection works on PlanetPi too. On that note, its too awesome to see new friends doing so well and actually making use of blogging as a career or as a major chunk of there representation in the social world or cyber.

Check you soon I am sure. Till then .... eye's right. Ole'

To another level.

2011-02-14T13:47:00.002+01:00

Every time there are predictions and forecasts, there is a certain amount of disappointment. Thankfully there are some things that we do not try and predict or grab control of. This is certainly more relevant on the African continent than the others, as the life that is so abundant in the African nature, continuously shows more diversity and wild spontaneity than elsewhere on the planet; to those that are fortunate to experience it, well you really should open your eyes and lap it up in all its forms.

On no sort of schedule, we seem to have had quite a few Dolphins in Cape Town lately. Cruising along the Atlantic Seaboard and possibly other spots too, although I stick to the less sharky waters and seem to avoid False Bay for the perfectly legitimate reason of taking in the Atlantic instead.

I’ve heard and seen a few people mentioning these very friendly little dolphins, that go about their fun pretty close in to the shore quite often, have been back in these waters. In the past I have had some incredibly surreal and privileged swims with these little (2m) guys who love to interact below the water. Taking a breath and going underwater is where they come into their own. I see so many people that are fortunate enough to encounter the dolphins wildly in their natural and free territory, just sit and bob around in the water kind of waiting for the dolphin to come and say hi while balancing on their tails as if in an aquarium or fish circus. Obviously this aint happening out there so I take a breath and have a little look to see what is happening below the surface. I’ve had them zipping around, up and over before and it’s mental! Easily my best thing.

So yesterday I was on Camps Bay beach in the evening and had heard there were a few dolphins out earlier in the morning but was surprised to see them still there later on. Every now and again they would break the surface of the uncharacteristically warm water then quite quickly disappear for long periods until re-emerging at other places so it was quite difficult to try and meet up with them. I tried once, but they seemed to dodge some excited Argentinian rugby youngsters and screaming youngsters; whose parents were telling them how lucky they were, yet not seeming to believe it themselves as they did not actually get anywhere near the water for a swim themselves. So after an attempt to place myself where the dolphins might be and waiting in vain, I decided to just go for a swim to the other side of the bay.

When I returned the beach had emptied a bit. I was talking to my buddy and watching some pretty young Dutch tourists really enjoying the beach when we all spotted two fins again. I told Greg “Dude, one more chance. Will you watch my stuff? I am going in again to see if they want to play.” (the dolphins, not the tourists) Greg obliged and I grabbed my goggles as I ran into the empty warm water. The fins I had seen were not far out so I just swam about 40m and then treaded water waiting to see if there were any of those friendly fish about. There were. I did not have to wait long before, in the relative quiet of the Sunday evening in the sea, I heard air escaping from a little blow-hole behind me. I turned and saw a graceful dolphin breaking the water just two body lengths away from me.

It’s the most gratifying feeling which I will never get used to and never want to. The world does not quite stop but it does present itself in a very different light which I am able to lap up with nothing else in the world that matters. A true state of ecstasy as far as I can report although that is all subjective so will not try to put mine in words for you. What happened next though was something I am not sure I will ever get to experience again. As I think of it now it hangs timelessly in front of me giving me huge optimism that I can tap into this feeling any time I like.

It was just as I had seen and heard the first inquisitive dolphin that I decided to take a little drop under water to see if they wanted to play. Remember I was wearing swimming goggles so I could see quite clearly even though the water was quite murky because of a lifting swell. As I dropped my head under though, I immediately saw the dolphin really close up. In that split second I thought it appeared so close because of a lens magnification. Even if that was the case though, it could not have been this close. You see, the dolphin I was staring at appeared to be less than an arm’s length away. I realised this was not the case, but then how could it appear so close? Then I realised; the dolphin actually was this close, closer than my toes were to my fingers, easily close enough to touch; only it was not the dolphin I thought I had gone under to look at. It was in fact one of her babies.

Right there in front of me and just floating almost still like looking right at me. A baby dolphin not more than 50cm from nose to tail and then another just to the left, also just moving about in the current and not actually swimming at all. Writing it now I am in a dream and can’t connect it to the world I experience every day. The light, the movement, the energy was all something brand new to this human and it reached in and lifted my soul so that when I took a breath above the water, I began to laugh in a way I have never heard myself laugh before. Quickly returning to the water, I saw the two baby dolphins were still just hanging out at my side. They must have been just days old. So much lighter than the parents and with no energetic smooth darting movement, but a kinship to just be where they were.

I swam back to shore eventually. Not much more to say about that.

Pick n Pay punks

2010-11-01T19:17:00.007+01:00

On the way home from a mornings work in the CBD, I noticed two fella's at the traffic lights holding up pieces of cardboard with some black Bic Pen scribbling on it. Not the most effective placard for what turned out to be two representatives of the nationwide strikers in some kind of Pick n' Pay dispute. Strikers are not that interesting though, and as I noticed more on each of the intersections I moved through, I lost more and more sympathy for the mob.

Later in the day I needed to grab some cleaning poisons for the maid (no I don't mind saying Sylvia is the maid at all ... I see these days some get touchy about the word maid and at first sign of their derision I start busting it into as many sentences as possible) so I decided to check in on the local Pick n' Pay ... to see if it was still standing or if the mob and there scribbled messages of discontent had managed to bring down the house.

I made it through the toi toi'ing, singing employees, who seemed incredibly happy to be out of the 'office', and not all that perturbed about what the unions had informed them was all awry; and found my way safely to the ground floor of the Gardens Centre. A quick collection of Handy Andy, Domestos wadda wadda wadda and I had worked up a decent hunger so I hit the chicken isle.

Here the blood pressure rises and the reason for this particular blog. Pick n' Pay you mother fuckers. Let me just clue you in that I, like an incredibly impressive and ever increasing large amount of chicken buyers, have been favouring the Elgin Free Range variety as my first, and in fact only choice. I have watched this rather small company from over the Hottentots Holland Mountain Range grow from strength to strength. I even once had the occasion to visit the chickens when mountain biking in the area and met the family responsible for this chicken that is the least like plastic and silicone and a lot more like real chicken than any other on the shelf.
It really has been a success story and an honest one at that which is rather rare.

So I get to the isle as I mentioned and there it was right there in front of me like a bad joke. A joke that starts off badly and as realisation sets in it turns out the joke was actually about my mother and the sickness sets in. You see, what Pick n' Pay his done is as evil as it gets. The punks have taken the exact branding the Elgin chicken is packaged put their crap in it and placed it basically on top off and all around the Elgin chicken. No Pick n' Pay red white and blue, but rather the exact pantones from the little guy. What a bunch of ball busters. Bullying is pure evil. Ray and Jono Ackers better sort this shit out or they gonna get whats coming to them ... no doubt.

Climbing Mountains

2010-06-20T14:45:00.002+02:00

As a comment to Bob Skinstads blog post: http://www.rugbyjourney.com/2010/06/your-4-minute-mile/

In 1990 when I was in standard 8 at Wynberg Boys High School I heard, to my astonishment, that the First rugby team would be making a trip to the UK for an unprecedented rugby tour of Scotland, England and Wales.

It was almost too good to be true. With South African rugby blood running thick in my veins, I had 16 years of dreaming of just such a tour (well that’s if I started dreaming about it from day one on this planet which is very likely if born in our rugby loving country, so I am not writing that off!) and the fact that this was now going to be taking place was almost too exciting for me to actually believe. You must remember that in 1990 there was not a single schools team from South Africa that had been on a school rugby tour to the UK and the approval of this tour was something incredibly exotic and original. Bishops and Woodridge were also breaking new ground in taking their 1st team over at the end of 1992.

At that stage though, the 1st team looked a long way away for me personally as, although I knew I had the talent and abilities to make the team, there were quite a few guys ahead of me that were in greater favour. I had 18 months to turn this situation around. It would be against the odds though and I knew I would have to set the goal and working really hard towards making that tour. I still had my std 9 year in 1991 to gain some favour and then with some momentum gained in that first year of open rugby I was hopeful to make the first team in my last year which would secure me a spot on the tour team.

So as a 16 year old in 1991 I began training as hard and as committed as I could imagine, about 2 months before the trials for the coming season. As a std 9 pupil with a lot of older guys ahead of me and in a school where 1st team Rugby is the be all and end all for so many of the boys, I had a huge mountain to climb, so that is what I decided to do, climb that mountain. You see in Hout Bay where my parents lived (I was in the boarding school) there were some huge sand dunes on the slopes of one of the surrounding mountains. Every weekend I would take to these dunes and go through a self imposed training regime that would make me sick with effort. I did this alone and used what felt like an almost unattainable goal as a form of inspiration and a catalyst for the production of some serious positive energy, rather then sit back and submit the the reality of my position at the time and the many older players ahead of me.
Trials day came and I blew the whole thing apart. Without doubt I was the first name on the team sheet with a fitness and intensity level streaks ahead of players previously perceived and shoe in’s for the 1991 first team. In that year and only in std 9 I played every single game in the 1st team (23 games as this included Cape Schools Week) and by the time 1992 and the tour to the UK came along I was the most capped player in the team going to the UK

It was some inspirational stuff to me personally and not a huge thing outside of my own personal world except for one young guy who played a year behind me and was also looking for a place in the tourside. He had noticed my situation somehow and at the beggining of 1992, the year of the tour when I was a automatic choice for the team, little Jake Boer came to me in the summer before rugby season and asked “Scotty, how am I going to make this team man. I got to go on the tour!”
Jake was the most tenacious player who would not back down for anyone, but he was really small in his std9 year still and to make the team he needed to add something special. I advised to hit the trials stronger and fitter than the others with his pre-season effort and he worked just like I had and made the team with ease.
Jake grew in his last year of school and became one of the best players the English Premiership league of rugby has every seen. Player of the year twice at London Irish and the Captain for a few seasons for the Cherry Reds of Gloucester Rugby club – as tough as they come.

We toured the UK together (sadly without our great fly-half Jacques Kallis who had to stay and play nuffield cricket) as proud players of the Wynberg Boys High School and smashed all but one school (Cheltenham College) before us. The newspapers called us the Junior Boks and I met Gavin and Scott Hastings as well as Craig Chalmers who were all playing for Scotland at the time and were amazed at the South African schools talents and strength. It was a dream come true and came from a place that at one stage seemed very far off … until the belief was instilled and the journey of overcoming the challenge was taken on with real belief and passion.

Running As 'Ice'

2010-05-12T10:25:00.000+02:00

“You enjoy a beer or two right?” my brother told me more than asked me. Of course he was right. Doesn’t he know people only run so they can balance the intake of the delicious amber nectar? “Off course I do” I replied, “why you buying?”
“Not today, but check it out, if you run the Two Oceans Half Marathon dressed as Vanilla Ice you can win Castle Light for a year. Geeez I wonder how much you could drink in a year.” he dreamt as his mind wafted into a happier place which most likely had something to do with swimming in a pool of beer. I thought to myself: well, beer for a year would mean I would have to run a whole lot more and that seems like a fair trade for me. I am good at both those two past-times so it’s a win-win situation. I grabbed the flyer to see how I could get involved and next thing you know I am on the back of a scooter at 5:30am on Sat morning, weaving my way through traffic to get to the start of the half marathon … you guessed it, dressed as the 1990’s rapper with attitude – Vanilla Ice!
The competition was to be best dressed Vanilla Ice for a cash prize and/or the first one home to win Beer for a year. I had decided to give it a bash. After all I was running with a dude who was getting married that afternoon and whose ‘Best man’ had planned to stick him in a wedding dress. I would be in good company then. People would be more interested in the runaway bride than the lyrical-master-on- the-mic. On the morning of the race though, two things put paid to that theory. Firstly, my chains of bling were so excruciatingly noisy; they would have drawn attention away from Julias Malema running in a safari suit. And secondly, the ‘Best man’ never did manage to get a wedding dress for his buddy to run in (brides are so funny about lending out their white dresses like that? Go figure) so I stood out like a sore thumb. The pink parachute type jacket I was wearing would have been particularly fetching to Cindy Lapa, the massive double layered basketball pants would have done Michael Jordan proud and the finishing touches of bling, hat perched sideways on head and some old Oakley M-Frames had the crowd of 11 000 runners parting like the red sea in shock, horror and perhaps a little fear, as I moved forward to group A. A good thing too as we were trying to join the race from the back and the National Anthem was already playing while we were still ‘scuse me’ing’ our way through D group.
As I pulled into the gate of my group just in time, I caught the eye of the race MC who almost interrupted the hallowed Anthem to ask me what on Earth I was doing dressed as a rapper in group A of the Two Oceans half. I could see he thought better of it though as he pulled the microphone protectively to the far side of his body to make sure I never made a grab for it busting out with “Rollin, in my 5.0 with my rag top down so my hair can blow…” Before I could make a move for the mic though, the countdown was on and then we were away. My running partners sans wedding dress handicap were clearly still going to head out at sub 90min pace. This could well be a painful hour and a half of running that lay ahead.
It was still dark at the start so I got little encouragement as the cries of “Go Maties!” and “Come on Fishoek, just 20km to go” were directed to those around me. So I settled into a chaotic rhythm as we strung out pretty quickly in the front which tends to happen at 4:05/km. Another thing that happens at that brisk pace, is that XL basketball shorts flap about like Shoshaloza’s spinnaker sail in a squall. A bad time to decide I should have worn some tighter briefs too! About 8km’s into the race though the light exposed the crazy runner in the pink top and the chirps started flying from the sidelines which were hugely encouraging and made the decision of dressing up like a fool sort of worthwhile. Some of the younger lot got it all wrong by yelling out: “Go Ali G!” much to the mirth of my two running buddies who had not relented on the pace at all and were still busting out splits just over 4min/km.
Half way in the pink marquee I was wearing turned into a homemade Humidity Chamber and my temperature regulating mechanism was thrown into total disarray as the liquids streamed from my body making the attire that much heavier and uncomfortable to deal with. The groom has a worrying look at the cherry face lurching next to him. They carry on a little ahead as I shuffle up the long hill of Southern Cross Drive.
Close to the finish now and I see the running buddies have slowed up to wait for me so they can have their pic taken with ‘Ice’. It’s a taste of fame which I am comfortable with as I pull a gangster rapper pose for the lenses. Done with the picture they dump me again “time to go solo”.
All the hard effort in the early stages of the race has paid off and Vanilla Ice crosses the line in 1:27min. The announcer gives me a big shout out and notices the smile on my face which he explains must be for finishing such a beautiful race. What he doesn’t know is for the next year beers are on me. Cheers!
Vanilla Ice Ice Baby, Vanilla Ice Ice Baby
Vanilla Ice Ice Baby, Vanilla Ice Ice Baby, Vanilla Ice

Allez Le Pi!

2010-03-28T19:13:00.002+02:00

From an email I sent a buddy last week while in France

Tomorrow is the big 42km and 24km race up the slopes of Mont Ventoux which is crazy hard stuff and a big race in these parts. In fact people come to watch from all over. A precursor to the fun is a 10km run today so I decided to do that although will prob run the 24km tomorrow as well. Its all straight up hill running over gnarly rocks and then down over more precarious terrain and a little fast trail stuff through the pines. I am not actually eligible to enter as you need to be licensed. So I snuck in to the middle of the pack just 100m after the start. I was quickly out in the front top 10 even though the guys went out like whippets. When the climbing started I went to the front and kept it to the top of the 3km climb of over 300m = killer!
So now I am in the front and loving the feeling of being overseas and kicking French but. They are hunting me through the descent though so I got to take risks and I start thinking of taking line honours. Out of the mountains and at the bottom of the decent is a water table which I am confused about as surely its been close to 10k's already? I ask the dude how many k's and he shouts out "numf ... eh eh ...nine nine nine" That makes sense as 1km to go is fine but then why the first water table I think to myself? Skip the opportunity and bolt through the tree's. Now there are pockets of supporters in the forest and they are shouting "Allez Allez" which is awesome. I ask them all how much farther as I am dying out here now and surely its been 10k's. When they hear the English accent the enthusiasm diminishes and they stare on a little aggrieved. This energises me immensely and more determined than ever to make it home first. I can hear the supporters encouraging the runners behind me to chase the leader. Shit I am now way over 10k's and I know it, but have no idea where I am nor how long this race actually is. I try ask some spectators but they are having none of it.
I got to push on and I know Hedgie will be on the finish line so that is incentive to make it home before anyone else to show some solidarity to our fatherland!
A couple more tough sharp climbs which test every fibre of the muscles and many of the will too ... but then I pop out onto a little country road and see all the cars at the finish. Its in the bag. I am not an official runner though and have no number on my chest. I am hitting it hard to get home now though and the spectators can see I am first dude home and shout out "Allez ..Premier ...Premier ..Allez!" best to keep my mouth shut so I do. Busting up the home straight to the blow up archway finish but I an not officially entered so I pull to the left and leave the tape unbroken. Everyone looks at me with surprise and there is other runner in site. I just shrug my shoulders and say ... I won but I was not aloud to enter as I have no license. They watch me walk away and pretend I never even ran the distance. Hedgie wasn't even there! The punk was flirting with the cute barmaid ...fair enough I suppose. The next runners are home 5 min after me so I actually had a decent cushion. The guy who 'took us out' on the quad bike then recognises me from the early front running and tells some of the relevant officials who are keen to actually include me in the mix. "You are Premier" they explain. "Correct" I agree.

Three Bite Croissants

2010-03-19T09:22:00.008+01:00

Right now I am sitting in a small 'otel on the slopes of one of the most notorious climbs in the Tour De France vietstoer ... its called the Mont Ventoux and it gives me shivers right down to the (unsuitable for the occasion) hair on my legs. I am not here to ride though, I am here to run, or I suppose more accurately to be part of the running experience that Salomon trail running puts together for its Athletes and journalists from around the world.

Its a relaxed vibe and something very different to the conference type scenario's I have experienced before. Here everyone is basically left to organise their own vibe based around a schedule that has been created back in Salomon HQ a few weeks ago. No babysitting or loud mouthed punks to tell you what to do, when to do it and all that crap. Its more my style and together with running phenomenon Ryan Sandes we are having a very cool time just letting it flow.

Ryan is fresh off an incredible performance in the Atacama Desert in Chile where he won all 6 stages on offer while totally obliterating any opposition. The dude is really an incredible athlete and even amongst the elite performers that have arrived in Bedoin in the South of France for the conference, I suspect Ryan is at the top of that Pile too ... together with Kiwi Jonathan Wyatt and the strange little 22 year old spanish oakie Kilian who is also some kind of unique specimen (a specimen that Ryan has in his sites I can assure you and can't wait to have a crack at in the near future).

So they chuck all these skinny people together, thread some incredibly technical gear on them and strap some bright red trail shoes to their hooves; then tell them to get running and to take note on how they are feeling about the gear while cruising the trails. Well for the most part I think the 'taking note of how the gear feels' is something that the athletes do while walking around the hotel lobby as once they all get running together they can't help themselves, but to race the shit out each other.

What is realy intereting to me; besides the gear that is astoundingly specific and technically suited to trail running, is how 12 different nations that are represented actually fit so snugly into the stereotypes that have been created around certain countries.
Lets have a look at them:

We have the hometown Frenchies. Aloof, apparently ambivalent and very competative.

The Spanish very layed back, short and tanned even at the end of winter and absent after lunch for what is probably a 3 hour siesta.

Zee Germans and Swiss always wondering why there is no punishment for those not stciking to the already loose schedule and quing at the door of the restaurant with maximum discomfort if 2 min past 1pm sitting.

The Yanks are quite loud of course, think that South Africa is next to Easter Island and mistakingly assume they are the fastest lot here.

Reunion Island locals are I suppose perfectly Reunion Island like ...what would I know right?

Canadian guy is typically always a few steps behind the Americans when ever I see him.

The Kiwi guy and girl are very friendly, have both travelled the world and have no plans of heading back to the Long White Cloud anytime soon. Constantly explaining "no not Australian ... we from Newzilind"

Italians greet each other and others with about 15 "ciao's" a second and have a slick entourage of mafioso looking fella's around most of the time so best I don't say too much about them. I do suspect the guys grandmother is in his hotel room cooking them all pasta and a secret sauce as they have yet to eat in the dinning hall.

Next is the Greeks who are 20 years older than the rest, but must drink litres of Olive Oil daily to remain vigourus.

The Poms ... so white I have not seen much of them against the snowy back drop of the Alps. What I have seen of them has been pretty avg ... I suppose that is true to form then.

The Austrians are a friendly pair and the one dude preaches that Cape Town is without doubt the best city on the Planet. I suspect he is a genius.

And lastly there remains Ryan and Ryan the South African representaivs. We keep to ourselves more than the others (who also seem a bit wary of us) and wonder a bit about why anyone would want to be anything other than a South African. When anyone does show any interest we are patriotic and happy to share our wild stories (backed up by admiring Austrain fella) about snakes and the uniqueness of our country which they listen to incredulously above a dropped jaw. When we are done though it is all just too far away for them to relate to. I'm fine with that.

A great experience so far and as always, the best part of leaving Cape Town is sharpening the hunger for our hometown ... a close 2nd though is the three bite croissants.

Upside down

2010-01-02T07:44:00.005+01:00

While cruising the Internet I was presented with a picture of a whale swimming in some clear blue water, but although it all looked real, something stood out as not quite right. When I read the caption it revealed itself to be a unique image, shot by photographer Kate Westerway, in that it was printed upside down. She wanted to present the image from the whales perspective.

On New Years Eve I felt a similar feeling when staring up at the sky before going to bed. In the Cape Town city bowl the clouds were covering the sky in little puffs that were packed closely together, but with the full moon behind them, showing the definite spaces between them. I imagined the North Pole and the breaking up of a massive sheet of ice and the Polar Bears moved from small island to small island until they have to swim miles to find some sturdy footing.
This image was also seemed to me to be upside down which made the whole feel extremely surreal and mysterious.

Blogger 15

2009-12-01T08:58:00.004+01:00

I have not done a PlanetPi blog in quite some time. Some pretty unruly ducks and my limited abilities in getting them to stand in a row left some time to reflect (and I been busy on twitter I suppose) but I have just been called up as PlanetPi blog dude.
Not 100% sure what the actual call up entails but looks like it could be a game of rugby. What ever format the competition involves it is The New School Bloggers vs Old School Journo's.

http://www.spoilsport.co.za/?p=186

I wonder what their team looks like? I doubt they have the likes of Skinstad at 8 and CTAP Seth Rotherham as the winger.

Of course I will be playing my Hollywood Bok position of in the Centre Mr Venter.
I'll keep you posted.

That Forest Gump got it all wrong

2009-09-23T14:07:00.002+02:00

Life, is like an Avo. If you are comparing life to not knowing what you are going to get Mr Gump, then life is not as you put it "like a box of cho co lates", nope it is like an Avocado Pear.

You see Forest, if you are saying that stepping out into the glorious early morning air adorned in one's favourite bonnet and parasol, ends with a nasty pigeon crap on your shoulder just as you were humming your favourite church hymn on your way to the congregating Lutherans at the church; is like opening a box of Quality Street and not having a clue which one you will put into your gobber; I am afraid the comparison just does not work out for me.

Am I missing something? I mean in life the surprise of the pigeon poop is not something that you can foretell - even with all that dedication to the man in front of the pulpit blasting out warnings and doing his thing. A box of chocolates however, well now, a box of chocolates is really very explanatory as to the contents. I think most of the assorted ones are not only colour coded so as to be able to match saaaay 'the orange wrapper with the orange flavour', but even have a key to show the shape AND contents of the chocolate once unwrapped, just to make sure you do in fact know EXACTLY what you are going to get.

Avo's ...on the other hand .... are far more tricky and akin to life's little surprises then the predictable box of chocolates. Who can confidently say that when standing in front of a couple hundred Avo's you know which one is worthy of your purchase?
Even if it seems clear as day and you make your pick with a connoisseurs twist of the wrist followed by a delicate placement into your fruit basket, come ripening time (everybody knows you never buy a so called ripe Avo from the shelf as the only reason it is soft is from all the old ladies that have prodded and pumped the unfortunate fruit into a pulp), and to your dismay there are large black blemishes on the skin. But you handled it so carefully, took such thought and passion when going about the whole process didn't you?
Well just the same as when the bird craps on your shoulder - out of the blue as it were, and in this case as it is (unless its a London Pigeon then we might want to edit that to "out of the grey"), you just can't predict what the Avo Gods have in store for you. Even if it remains looking rather delectable from the outside, there could be large stringy bits coursing from top to bottom destroying the exotic flesh that, if all does go well, can be as tasty as any food on the planet.

Now nobody ever accused Mr Gump of being a rocket scientist at any point, least of all the good man himself, but I think he should certainly make amends for the silly statement: "Mama all ways said, life is like a box of Cho co lates. You just never know what you gonna geeet" buy replacing box of chocolates with crate of Avo's.

Perhaps what really transpired was Forests tired mother was trying to explain to the lad with the iron legs and wooden brain that "Forest, if you buy the wrong box of Chocolates next time I send you to the store for me, good Lord I will give you the thrashing of your life that you will pray you never get again."
Who am I to say though, I suppose sitting on that bench telling his story and offering Avo's to the passers by just would not have been the same. Maybe there is a Forrest Gump sequel in there though - to put things right.

Bleeding ankles

2009-09-20T17:15:00.001+02:00

I have just seen a little girl learning to ride her bike. The scene was at once extremely familiar, and yet as I watched her, I realised how the little girl on her bike seemed totally out of context to the surroundings that she found herself in.

Let me explain further. You see, the scruffy little one must have been about 12 years old. She was decked out in a long, thick, soft pink coat that was a few sizes too big for her and reached past her knees, threatening to get caught in all those parts of the bike that seem hungry to grab a hold of just such a tempting morsel of clothing. She had a pudding bowl haircut, very unlike the styled cuts I see on youngsters these days. Barefoot and standing up on the pedals of her over sized single speed postman bike, she was struggling against the friction of the road and the large tyres, the concentration etched on her face.

Balancing on those pedals and being out of the saddle while trying to get enough momentum to keep the bike upright could not have been easy, but her natural instincts – so seldom called into play for most youngsters – had her leaning slightly forward to keep her centre of gravity. This meant carrying a lot of her weight on her arms which were splayed out wide to grab hold of the over sized handle bars of cold shiny curved steel, her small hands white-knuckled around the plastic grooved grips that were worn smooth over the many years of previous riders steering the bike all about town.

There was a slight wobble to this whole scenario, but not like you normally see with a youngster learning to ride today where they can sommer put their feet down to stop a fall. I should think this little ragamuffin had simply grabbed the only bike available to her, or as in the olden days, she had managed to get her hands on a big’ bike - so much more alluring and exciting than a children’s bicycle. No bright yellow easy-to-ride prissy little bikes for this tough nut. She was gritting it out on this old iron horse, that concentrated expression showing brief glimpses of pure joy before slipping back into the more earnest work of staying upright.

This image was one of days gone by for me and I have not seen this type of riding for a long time. It was a nostalgic surreal few seconds that was initially so calm and natural and then when I came back from my reminiscing, it looked so incredibly out of place. As if I was on a movie set or back in a small Karoo town and not the city bowl of Cape Town.

My Wild Run!

2009-09-10T15:00:00.001+02:00

I had never been to East London, I had never been to the Transkei and I had certainly never run 112km without once setting foot on anything that could be even remotely referred to as a road.

Adidas were about to change all that and with great foresight and a show of extreme intelligence they saw fit to invite me to take part in the Wild Run …. the inaugural Wild Run that is, which they were excitedly going to be sponsoring. I played it cool and told adidas I would get back to them. Truth be told, I had been incredibly keen to take part in this event since a buddy had told me about it a couple of months back. I waited a day and then replied that I was happy to be a part of all the fun with them in what is now called the Wild Coast.

After 6 weeks of training from a relatively fit physical condition, I was stoked to be landing in what I think the locals call the Buffalo City. A precarious landing on a little SAA Express flying machine had me all confused. You see, upon approach to the runway, we were tossed around enough to get some exotic angled viewings of East London itself and the one that stood out clearest was some sort of dump – well I hoped that’s what it was because if this was my life passing on front of my eyes before I died in a tangle of twisted SAA metal, it was clearly not much of an existence so far. A quick thought of my sub B class teacher and her sweet smile, an automatic reminder that the Springboks are the current world Champions and the smell of cinnamon convinced me my life had not in fact been a dump and that we were indeed just moments from crashing into one.

The talented pilot chap managed to not crash us into the dump, although I was not convinced for at least another hour that this was the case, as East London, it turns out, does a pretty good dump ground impersonation for its first time visitors. I am sure I am missing a ton of fun and classy establishments, however I was happy to have left it behind and moving in a Northerlyish direction towards Morgan Bay and to be more precise – Kei Mouth.

The river Kei would be our first point of rest on the eve before setting out on the adventure. Now as worldwide cavorters such as I know only too well, Coca Cola branding finds its way to all sorts of obscure places, but I was not prepared for this onslaught in what was a pretty out of the way little coastal hamlet. I think Coca Cola had tarnished every single commercial venture in Kei Mouth. In fact it intrigued me so that I took a little stroll around to see if there was any brave enough not to carry the most recognizable brand in the world. The Bush Pig pub across the road looked tough enough to shun the Coke branding, but upon closer inspection this was not the case as a 4m high board advertised 2m worth of Just Ginger, The Parlotones and Robbie Wessel’s and 2m worth of The Red and White. The Fisherman’s Den was just the same as was Kei Mouth Liquors, The Green Lantern (Gotham City?) and the B&B across the road too. A ha …what was this! Just as I was about to despair and give in to the 100% domination of Coca Cola, a sign indicating the Kei Mouth Library stood proudly naked of any Red and White branding. Now you might argue that I had declared the search for those commercial ventures in town, but let’s all agree that, with even a newspaper few and far between, Kei Mouth is certainly no place to boast its own library. This clandestine building with what looked like metal braai grids over the windows, was clearly a front for a little old lady selling some form of contraband – which is this part of the world could be anything from the latest LosLyf publication to a can of two stroke motor oil.

With my incredibly easily satisfied hunger for entertainment satiated, I returned to The Thatches Accommodation to meet some of my fellow runners and to listen to race director Owen Middleton’s race briefing for the first days stage which was just one restless sleep away. I took enough information in to know where to meet for the start, to make sure I had at least two litres of water in my pack and to not expect any form of route markers. Not an arrow, not a cheerful traffis ocifer, not a flag waving volunteer … not a stitch. The only thing that mattered was to keep the ocean on your right and to keep running we were told. This sounded very uncomplicated. Almost Forrest Gumpesque which suited my simple mind just fine and I went to bed happy to have escaped the lure of East London and excited to be running towards a wall with a hole in it.

Thursday breakfast is followed by a 6am barge crossing over the river Kei (wasn’t there a song named after crossing the river Kei? No wait it was a country … see above) delivering a group of 73 brightly clad runners to the start where they stood wondering what lay in store over the next three days.

Then in a whirl of button pushing and cap adjusting, the starter gives the signal and we’re off! It’s like the start for the 100m-Olympic-dash-for-people-with-no-sense-of-direction as individuals and groups head off in totally different directions along all their own chosen routes. This was going to be some event, what with the trickery and guile needed to make sure one was not going to lose out to others more adept at choosing the correct way. If in doubt though, the best clue always lay in the long white strips of glistening sand that lay tantalizingly in front of us like a stairway to Heaven or a path to Nirvana (your subconscious mind may now have just matched Stairway to Heaven with Nirvana so make sure you untangle that one before you stupidly blurt out around a braai one night: “I’m telling you, Nirvana were the dudes who sang Stairway to Heaven” … of course this in totally incorrect, it is in fact sung by the Jackson Five and composed by Mike Myers).

I must admit that 112km that lay ahead was a huge challenge in my mind and I had no inclination to race the three days. So the start pace was extremely leisurely and how glorious to watch the sun come up in front of us and a little to the right over the Ocean. The bothersome wind from the day before had died down to almost nothing and the sea, rocks and sand were combining in kilometer after kilometer of magical delights. It was truly a surreal experience to just shuffle along this coastline as it introduced itself to me for the first time.

The waves were full of energy and large swell, but calmed down when they met the sand which was generally in the form of very wide, flat and hard packed beaches that continued blemish less for about three to four kilometers before coming to a headland of rock. This was a pattern that repeated itself over and over. Sometimes these rocks were too young and brash to let us by as they played their games with the waves that were not as polite as they were when meeting the beach, but willing to tumble with the rocky outcrops like two lion cubs, on and on in what seemed a never ending sparring of mutual understanding.

If this was the case we would simply skip the rocky outcrop by leading a little more with the left shoulder and taking the option of running over the headland of green hills which supplied us with a cow track, or if too steep for the cattle, then a precarious goat track. Generally though, the rocks were of the older sort that had been worn down by the never ending energy of the waves and we simply hopped and bounded from boulder to stone, up and down and every which way until our efforts brought us to the sand on the other side to start the whole cycle again.

This went on again and again and it was quite something to experience a rhythm in what was before today, a place I could not have imagined running 44km in. A rhythm for this distance is normally played back to you in a metronome like fashion as the light road shoes slap against the unforgiving tar of the streets. The rhythm of the Wild Run is one more akin to the type found in chaos. There is no pattern apparent and in fact if one wishes to find some form of smoothness it is by letting the rhythm find you. Somewhere between stumbling over a huge molten rock spewed up from the earth’s mantle millions of years ago and cooled instantly in the sea; and crunching the shells under your feet, or the sinking in the cheeky bits of soft sand that sometimes envelope your shoes with no warning; the ubiquitous sound of the waves help bring a runner the algor rhythms that make such a challenging task materialize into something profound – if you will let it that is. Mostly the mind works too hard and fights frantically to keep control as the feet struggle against a running experience that is not perhaps so familiar to them. This is of course to the runners own detriment and the unfortunate victims are energy and confidence, making the journey a whole lot more of a difficult challenge.

On this route though the power of the surroundings are so overwhelmingly apparent and with absolutely no man made distractions what so ever along the way, most of the runners are able to benefit from opening themselves up to the privileged experience that they are a part of.

Most of that day I spent with a fantastic running buddy and could not have asked for better company than Guy from Johannesburg. An Ad agency owner by trade and distance runner by nature. Calm and appreciative of his surroundings, Guy and I solved many of the planets problems and left them for the rock pools and King Fishers to keep secret as none would believe two ranting running lunatics.

By the time I reach the finish of the first day I was alone, my mind is a little fuzzy and takes some time to adapt back to just being able to lay in the cold pool water listening to the stories of the day that come tumbling out of mouths that bare huge grins of satisfaction. The long distance took its toll and the heat played its part. Everyone had a story as richly satisfying as the next, no matter what time or place the finish line was crossed.

As the day went on, so the tides rose (and such are the Days of our Lives haa haaa!), making the river estuaries more and more difficult to pass. When Lofty the sweeper came in the full field was home. Not one casualty on day one. Amazing stuff. This was a strong group of runners even though the one dude had never run longer than two hours in one go – ever, before today. Today he ran over 5hours. Another friend of mine had only ever run a half marathon in races, today she did 44km of trail running.

The pictures presented later that night show people swimming across the rivers I had waded through at knee height just a few hours before. I felt the swimmers got more out of the river crossings. I made a decision to make a point of swimming at least one of these rivers before the end of the event.

I noticed the bar was doing a fair trade and make no mistake; those beers were deserved, but did not go on too long for most. By 9pm the majority are sleeping, but there is still a bottle of rum out there that was being looked after till a lot later. The minders of the bottle of rum would suffer a little more the next day, but they knew it and it was all factored in so no worries mate.

Back at The Thatches in Kei Mouth I had been paired up with iAfrica’s adventure babe Thamar Houliston, but someone must have cast doubt on my integrity, as the next night at the amazingly appointed Kob Inn; I was to share a room with Rocket Van Breda who knows me a little better. Rocket came into the race barely able to walk with the pain in his left foot at excruciating level. He reckons when he left the house the day before, his lovely wife Bridget just shook her head turned on her heal and left her determined husband to do what he had set out to do. Well he had made it through the first day with a mixture of hobbling and walking and was ready to have a rest and hit the beaches again on day 2.

A chilly morning greeted us the next day, but the sun was already starting to rise and conditions looked decent for another cheeky 35.something k’s. It took me a while to find some sort of feeling and bounce in my legs after leaving the comfort of Kob Inn, but once we got through some bumpy fields of grass and cows, it was back on the beach where the lead group of five of us get to about 5min/km if the sand remains hard. The check point which would be a refill station for water was only at 23km into the race today and you can’t drink the water from the rivers as they are used way inland by the locals for all sorts of living activities, so although they looked tempting and were refreshing to wade through when we needed to, it was vital that we were supplied with drinking water at the check points.

Today we were also going to be afforded the chance to spot a White Rhino when running through the nature reserve Dwesa. Unfortunately all we spotted once we have vaulted the fence to the reserve was the Common Irate Incompetent Ranger Fool Local species that was gesticulating manically and twirling his wrist that had a stick hungrily attached to it. Apparently his frustrations were directed at us which was surprising as all permits and the necessary organizing had taken place back in April. We stopped to chat, but only for a very short while as we decided to ignore the fool and to keep running. Ranger man then stopped and detained the rest of the race for over an hour. That morning only 10 of us got through initially and the rest had to wait till things were sorted out which made the going hotter and a detour meant more distance covered for some that forgot to keep the beach close by.

We carried on up front oblivious to the fracas back at Dwesa Nature reserve and enjoyed the pristine route that we followed in a mesmerized and euphoric run that we had now settled into very comfortably. Jolene from Knysna was a surprise visitor for a while. We were not used to running with a chick up front so the guys were happy to see her. Not so for Jo, after chastising us for not talking enough she turned up the volume on her earphones and went bounding of into the lead. We all had a little laugh at the exuberance, but I think that iPod must have run out of power as Jo then decided to drop back for some company to talk to and clearly we were not up to scratch so the visit ended and we just kept cruising along wondering what was around the next corner, all the while knowing it was more beach and hills.

By the time the end was in sight though each man was running alone and not a little weary. A particular long stretch of beach lead to another river crossing. The last kilometer before reaching The Haven was run in squelchy shoes which were happily discarded as I jumped into a welcome cold pool that managed to take a lot of the last 79km fatigue away - for a while. Once out of the pool though it was the pain of the blisters on my feet that I felt more than tired legs and the realization that the last day was going to be a little bit more of a challenge, hit me like a raw egg dropping into sizzling hot pan.

After a massage though I lay down to watch the rest of the runners come in with tales of woe and anguish in the details, but once again told through a head full a smiles and delight. Again all 73 runners made it to the finish. Rocket Van Breda not only amongst the finishers, but in the top 20 and on a foot that was only getting better for some strange reason.

Once again I was dumped by a roommate as he and I were split and I was placed once more in a room with original roommate Thamar who was running like a champion and possibly trusted be more now that she was back in cell phone range to her fiancé.

The rest of the day and night was an eat as much as you can competition between me and my belly. As much as I would put in, stomach would just destroy it. I was first at the buffet line with plate in hand and once done with main course, had to be tapped on the hand by a large silver cast iron looking serving spoon that the head chef Mike was wielding, as I tried in vain to take possession of the full tray of Apple Pie laid out for desert.

I settled for 3 servings worth, but was once more warned by Mike’s furrowed brows and steel serving spoon weapon, that I was to go easy on the freshly whipped cream with its hidden sugary delights. I was done with all my feeding before most even knew what flavour the soup was for the evening. As I slid out of the dining room I noticed a few new friends nods of understanding as to why they had been introduced to me as Pie Face. Not in the least bit worried about this after many years of thickening of the skin, I directed myself to the bar to see if there were any snacks available. Before I could get too close though I heard Lofty and wife Tatum ordering Tequila with friends from Umtata and I opted for a sharp right away from the bar instead. A fortuitous move for one with a hunger such as mine as it turned out, as I walked right into a serving lady who was quickly rested of her packs of biscuits that she was taking to stock up the cookie jar with. Cookie Jar remained cavernous and my belly took the bounty.

I went to bed a trifle bloated as you can imagine, however the next morning I woke up on an empty stomach. It was a later start so plenty of time for breakfast. I must say though, I did not feel like walking around much on feet that were just not used to this kind of distance and were coming apart somewhat, starting at the toes and ending …as a foot does … on the heal. Perhaps this was where all the food was leaking through. My feet basically had as many holes in them as my retro Jamie Oliver pasta strainer I use to impress gorgeous angels when cooking them dinner.

You see, always the mind returning to food. Best I pack my potatoes and head to the start. First though I was going to have to find a way to get my feet into my shoes without them noticing. There was no way they were going in voluntarily. I thought of distracting them with some shiny new plasters. Naaa … it was going to have to be a brand new pair of socks.

I slid a thick but soft pair on after disposing with the label and the 500 sneaky stickers they hide all over new socks for some reason, and before my feet could think what was coming next, they were covered in shoes once more and about to begin their last 34km of the adventure.

Today’s start was 13km of normal trails that took us all the way to the check point and water station and then we were on our own. Well that was the briefing the previous night, however after about 4km we were on the beach and stayed on it till the check point. I was feeling decent on the beach and found that together with the St Aubins Adventure teacher Gary (A teacher dedicated to adventure I kid you not …times have changed of that there is no doubt. When I was a lad the adventure teacher was the punk at the other end of the cane issuing adventures of pain management!) I had opened up a gap between any other runners. We were not pushing it but still moving quickly while having a good chat in the front of the field about all sorts of crap.

Today was a particularly technical route if you wanted to do it in the shortest manner though, and every time Gary and my pace took us ahead, Guy and overall race leader Dale would close the gap with Guys experience of the route from setting it up with race director Owen earlier in the year. Gary and I were working way too hard compared to the others and even though I was feeling good and thought I would probably run on ahead and make a significant lead, I realised it would be closed by me having to wait for some form of indication on where to run or I would simply get lost as this was not a time when instincts were enough to keep me on the shortest route.

This was not a problem at all though as strangely enough there was very little in the way of racing other the just some natural competitiveness that would have been strange had it not been there at all. What transpired next was something quite incredible. After sliding down an 80m high cliff face (it really was a cliff face that was so steep that you could just not run down it at all) covered in grass on my ass and coming out to greet the group of three runners that was about 200m behind just moment before, we realised that it would be more fun and intelligent to just cruise home together with absolutely no stress of racing which in the circumstances was going to prove futile anyway (as explained above). Every one of us agreed this was a lekker idea and the five of us set of to cover the next 15km or so as a group.

Along the way we found a large dead whale on the rocks that was proving to be an 8m buffet for the fortunate local birds and sea life that were dining on it; we enjoyed some ludicrously steep hills to climb that rewarded us with fantastic views of beauty in every direction once at the summit and eventually, were lead to the last high vantage point which presented the famous Hole In the Wall far below. We had reached our destination. Just the descent off the mountain left which was done laughing out loud and agreeing that this was indeed a special place to be at any time, but to have approached it from Kei mouth and with 112km of running behind us it made it as sweet and memorable as any human should care to imagine. This was the culmination of something special, of that there was no doubt and I was very happy to be a part of it.

Salute

2009-07-15T07:41:00.003+02:00

An image that I was pondering recently served as a huge help to understanding something that had been giving me some problem in my simple brain. I can forgive my brain for not getting to grips with it as effectively as I would have wished as it was a problem that I am sure every man women and probably some other living things have had difficulty with.
You see when dealing with right and wrong … there can only be pain as a result. I don't mean just to the pain of the man swinging at the end of the noose adjudged to be the one in the wrong, nor the pain felt when a woman wins custody of her children after being adjudged to be in the right. The pain will be a result for all as there is neither wrong nor right, but only what is.
I know this is not something that strikes a chord with your thinking brain and that is no surprise as there are just too many layers disguising the misgivings of seeing a polarity in most everything we do. Add to that the presumption we make - that people are all the same, that we perceive things in very similar ways when in fact this can be varied to such significant extents that we do not have the option to decide whom is right and wrong, add that and we have little chance of ever giving up on an argument. In fact we are all just doing what we will do and there is nothing else that can occur.
These two polar bear dudes or babes are clearly having a fantastic go at each other. Probably to survive by fighting over a piece of a reindeer carcass just to the left (did you look for the carcass? Oh go on … you've seen the pic already and know there is no reindeer. Look sharp!) or to protect those mini polar bear cubs. The thing is …and this is what got my attention a few seconds into having a look at this fracas … the thing is you see, they have got exactly the same strike as they go straight for the killer bite to the jugular vein. It's natural for them both to do so. It is deadly and decisive, but it is full-on and it's natural. There is neither right nor wrong and there will be no winner nor looser. Well you say the one that bleeds to death in the snow has lost I should think, but then you are missing the whole vibe.

Post script: How fortunate we are to be able to be sitting in front of our computers to witness this lesson from nature. It's one of the many credits to man and his ability to potentially do wonders. To be able to admire these bears going at each other is something that for many centuries perhaps only the Inuits had opportunity to partake in … it is the kind of experience that they built there society on. A functioning society, until encroached upon and told what is wrong and what is right.

Springboks 2009 - June 20th

2009-06-16T14:22:00.000+02:00

Springbok side looks good to me. Not even a whiff of a rose which I am happy about. Check out Brussow straight into the mix ...wonderful stuff that.

Just hope Ruan plays up to potential especially having been injured. Looks like John will not have to prop against Sheridan first up which is probably also a good thing. Steyn at FB - still a little bleak about Billy Zane not making it but dig Steyn.

Brilliant bench as long as Januarie sits on one side and all the others on the other so as to not tip the thing. Geez you can't be happy when Guthro, Bekker, J Fourie and Big Bruiser Danie come on fresh with 20min to play. Stick to the basics early and then let rip I say. Should be a cracker in Durban.
Giddyup!

Springbok team for the first Test against the British & Irish Lions: (Test caps in brackets)

Frans Steyn (27)
JP Pietersen (24)
Adi Jacobs (21)
Jean de Villiers (46)
Bryan Habana (46)
Ruan Pienaar (27)
Fourie du Preez (43)
Pierre Spies (19)
Juan Smith (54)
Heinrich Brussow (1)
Victor Matfield (80)
Bakkies Botha (55)
John Smit (81) - captain
Bismarck du Plessis (21)
Tendai Mtawarira (10)

Replacements:
Gurthro Steenkamp (20)
Deon Carstens (7)
Andries Bekker (13)
Danie Rossouw (36)
Ricky Januarie (34)
Jaque Fourie (42)
Morne Steyn (uncapped).

365 days of Slumber left for Cape Town

2009-06-10T08:09:00.003+02:00

Today the one year countdown begins! A year to go until the Soccer World Cup comes to South Africa. The big 2010. Or it seems the more firmly entrenched way to pronounce it would be 20 10. I am receiving reports that the whole of Africa is getting behind us (http://bit.ly/fbz9Z) with this contagious excitement, although the World Cup fervour does not stand alone as a South African representative in Africa. Old JC Zuma is just as revered North of our country, so perhaps that is not really a great indication of vindication that 2010 is as important as we might think.

It is of course and should need no vindication. But we live at the tip of Africa which is sometimes a long way off from certain goings on in the rest of the world and although South African locals have been exposed to 2010 articles, facts, branding and advertising for a year or so already. The funny thing is, white South Africans (not involved in the ACTUAL build up to the event on some commercial, marketing or business point of view, or those involved in local soccer itself) have not the faintest idea as to what is coming our way. Oh you will certainly hear the regurgitation's spewing out of every bloke and his buddies mouths around the braai or while settling down to watch some rugby or cricket together on TV; or from the Book Club wives and Poppies getting together on a Thursday night or for that Monday morning coffee at Vida e Cafe. The World Cup talk is, for the vast majority of us locals, purely a way of making use of the chance to say something attention grabbing so as to be a part of the conversation, and perhaps even out-do your buddies while you are at it. To show how up-to-date one is with that happening around us. And that is exactly how we know it so far ... as something that is around us but not a part of us.

Not a clue I say:

Soccer, you see, has never really been much a part of the uniting of the Rainbow Nation. Not on the grand scale as mentioned above. Rugby was a big part of President Nelson Mandela's master plan - hatched while doing hard labour and sleeping on even harder cold floors on Robben Island. The plan proved to be a miracle as it played such a phenomenal role as the catalyst to making sure the transition of power in South Africa was effected in such an efficient way. Us whites were given our all-precious rugby back to play out on an International stage - which was greedily accepted and made the most of, resulting in an amazing against the odds win to claim the 1995 Rugby World Cup. So we won the William Webb Ellis Cup to crown South Africa as the World Champions in our beloved white mans sport - Rugby. The country danced in the streets as one - literally danced in the streets as the traffic stopped. On that day, there was no traffic in the cities, nobody needed to go anywhere, everybody was celebrating. It was a truly wonderful moment to be a part of and to experience.

Soccer enthusiasts celebrated as hard as any others in the RWC 1995 fanfare. Soccer though had no such lofty aspirations with the masses. As long as the boys and men could play the game they were happy ... and they did, everywhere they got the chance. There have been no such ubiquitous celebratory moments in soccer in South Africa, even when the platform has been presented. How many of us whiteys even remember South Africa won the African Nations Cup! The whites have just never really bought into it. Why should they, there is plenty going on without soccer and nobody was really pushing it down their throats too actively.

I too am a whitey. From many years back though, I have African soccer in my blood. Not the tainted feel for the game that you will find if you go looking for a litmus test of our cuntries soccer from the top of the pile in the local leagues. No, I have the feeling from real soccer experiences, from the 'pick-up' games that been played where ever possible for countless years gone by. From the small holding urban area I lived in, just next door to Alexandra township, to the beaches of Hout Bay in Cape Town, I always managed to find a game as a strong little bare foot whitey. For the first few minutes the dark faces would look at me with consternation and there was always at least one whose first reaction was that he did not want me there. The anger in those eyes will always be with me. Fore everyone of those angry fellows though, there was a huge white smile, and usually more than one, that welcomed me in a true African unabated friendliness that was available to even a young unknown and unaccompanied white boy when, even under the harshest conditions of apartheid in the 1980's, the smell and feel of freedom was able to be found on a piece of dirt with some tree trunks or oil drums for goals and some form of soccer ball. It was unabated, sometimes rough (I was 9,10,11 years old playing properly against and with tough men) and exhilarating beyond my abilities to describe to to you in words.

Soccer was always remained dreamy to me. World Cups were 'out there' and a little bit too untouchable if you lived in South Africa. The exotic and mysterious flavour found its way into my head though. I remember listening to the 1986 World Cup in Mexico when Maradonna socred a goal with his hand - soccer World Cup now, not Rugby - no hands allowed. Listening I say, as we were probably not afforded the rights to broadcast the events such as that due to our political stand point at the time. So I had to make do with the wireless. It was crackly and comforting. A good dose of the way people took part in supporting their sports teams in the last 80 years or so I should expect.

The next World Cup was in Italy and so in went on. South Africa eventually got to take part too, but were nothing special. Tainted by politicking and poor management has been the reality as the game has become more and more big business in South Africa ... its such a pity as there is plenty of talent, but no direction and counter productive efforts keep us languishing.
This will do little to quell the exuberance of the soccer loving nation next year as the beautiful game comes home to Africa. It is a part of so much that is African, a lot more so than Europeans, South Americans and the rest of the world realises. I think there will be some amazement from those visitors as they flood to our beautiful country to enjoy the latest volume of World Cup soccer in action. None though, will be more amazed than the locals. It is just too big to contemplate and does not register on the frames we use as points of reference - cricket WC, Rugby WC and a couple of large tournaments we have hosted. This one will be very different. Off the charts bro!

What is of personal interest to me though, on a local Cape Town scale, is to see the reaction to South Africa coming to Cape Town. Along with all the melting pot of the rest of the world, there will be a huge following of South Africans moving all over the country. Cape Town folk that have not lived in any other part of South Africa do not, I think, have a clear picture of how their country actually looks. I am talking about whites in Cape Town you understand. I can't wait to see the awakening take place as they come out of a long slumber of ignorance and strange perception of what our country is like. Not a fault or anyone nor poor behaviour by the Capetonians mind you. Just a lack of feeling for the rest of the country. A relaxed bunch that are going to be shaken up, hopefully to the extent that we were back in 1995. Back then, when all had settled, the sentiment was incredibly positive and that is probably the most powerful tool to actually getting things done that are worthwhile in our land. I know it will be the same next year, and I can't wait.
It's less than a year now and soon it will be out of even FIFA's hands as Africa brings its unique flavour to what the former call football and what we call soccer. The African rhythm is unique, not as flamboyant as the South Americans, not as fluid as the Europeans or as energetic as the Asians. The Power and Mystique though go unchallenged. That is what those embracing the event in 2010 with the right intention will be able to tap into. A unique experience to be sure. Sound the drums and awaken Cape Town from its slumber!

Children Tipping

2009-05-20T11:01:00.004+02:00

Have kids reached the tipping point or is it just 'the next generation'?
I feel there is cause for alarm when I have a look at how children in the western world are growing up and their behaviour patterns that result. Obviously for every parent or teacher out there, there would be another gripe about kids of today. This was surely been the case when I went through my fun childhood years (1974 till 2004 and possibly still a few more to come) and was the case when young Churchill threw his peas on the floor in a tantrum 100 years earlier, or 100 years before that even, when little Johnny Appleseed (really John Chapman) would not tuck his hoes into his breeches no matter how much his nurse maid scolded the lad with threats of no candlelight for a month.

Yes I am sure every age and generation has had the same woes over their young and the rebelliousness of the ungrateful sods. That's not quite what has got my attention. What worries me is the lack of influence real people now have on children, whether they are trying to mould them or not. With the incredible amount of opportunity for youngsters to interact in a somewhat superficial, but seemingly very real platform, of social networks and all things computery, I feel that the yout (as Danny DeVitto calls them in my cousin Vinny) are sliding to a point where the masses of them are loosing vital experience of life ... the experience of how to deal with other Humans.

What sparked this off in my squishy brain, perhaps a little undernourished and beat up after a few recent drinking bouts, was firstly a trip in the local Rikki Taxi service. My car was in for repairs of the window that had been smashed by dem crooks. I was catching a ride with the Rikki service to retrieve my car. The interesting thing about the Rikki service is that it picks up other passengers on route to your destination if it, more or less, fits in. Its quite fun to meet some exotic hot Dutch angel who is heading to the beach at 10:30am on a Tuesday morning or a ditsy hippy from Obs who can't quite remember her own name and pays for the ride in coppers.
Today though it was at the St Cyprians Girls Diocese/Convent/Castle/School or what ever the church calls it, that the Rikki was heading for his 2nd pick up once I was already comfortable seated in the old London taxi, complete with Nedbank branding from top to toe.
The passenger in waiting was a 16 year old cute little thing extremely overladen with bags and guitars and more bags. Files, novels, textbooks and science projects all included in her load scholarary paraphernalia. I helped the young thing into the Rikki while she explained in the strangest English that only parents or teachers get to experience, how she is always carrying so much stuff and what an effort it was. Not complaining mind you, just commenting through some deeply drawn breaths and rosy red cheeks brought on by the effort. Now this was clearly one of the studious girls of the Convent paying much diligence to her studies and academia rather than on the other distractions and vices a 16 year old faces at that delicate age. Yet her ability to talk to me was incredibly sad to see. There was no awkwardness nor embarrassment at all, just an extremely limited set of skills - and I am not talking traditional ones that a Duchess would be sent to Switzerland finishing school to acquire- just a basic switch from her favoured buddies speak to be able to talk to a 35 year old. Not able I am afraid to report. I did find it poor form I must admit. Then it came time to pay the taxi and she had no clue how to adapt to make him understand where he was to take her or how she would prefer a certain break down in her change from paying a cheap fare with her R100 bill.

I helped Miss keen bean school girl out the car with all her baggage and marveled at the level communication, or as this case unfolded, the lack there of. The Rikki dude was clearly not aware in the least and carried on to the location I had asked him for. Now while waiting for the car in a dodgy part of Woodstock a little 9 year old comes cruising along the road with a dilapidated soccer ball under his arm. I motioned for the lytjie to drop the ball and have a kick about with me. He looked at me as if I was freak show. So I went for a more explanatory tact of communication and said "hey ... kom ons speel" hey come lets play. The little droll just walks straight past me. No fear, no jealous possession of his ball, just a total lack of energy or understanding to what I thought was an ingrained in guys young and old when there is a ball in our midst and an opportunity to kick it, throw it, lob it, pitch it or hit it to each other.

Is the interaction between today's youngsters and their elders slipping to levels of grave concern as quickly as I think they are? Don't get me wrong. I think there are incredible children out there with skills way beyond what elder generations had, but its like having a brand new car with all the fun stuff and you don't know how to actually drive. It could be a difficult battle to strike a balance with all the incredibly awesome opportunities that are available to the under 18's and keeping them involved in real life at the same time. I hear that these days when a 14 year old pops round to visit his/her buddy to 'play' for the afternoon or for a sleepover, it's not uncommon for them to sit in separate rooms on two different computers to talk to each other and those 'out there'. I think the potential for these fortunate kids is phenomenal if they are kept in touch with the many other benefits of life that are still worthwhile to them besides the new new stuff. Things that are real are still easily the most important as we are finding out, sometimes at the harsh end of some difficult experience. Real food is better than processed crap, real medicine is better than that which is made in a laboratory (still learning the lessons here) and Real people are better for children to interact with when growing up then the other options.

Magical

2009-05-12T19:56:00.005+02:00

I recently took part in a trail running event as a guest of the organiser and as a representative for Runner's World Magazine. I am the Gear Editor there on a freelance basis and nobody else from the magazine could go so I took up the invite. That was 4 months back and between then and now when I was super strong and fit, I did the movie vibe and lost all the training I had done.
So I arrived at this event on about 45% full as only ended up having 3 weeks to train and some of that needed to be recovery from the training ... anyway I did about 6 runs totalling 100km in those three weeks and rocked up at the event with running buddy Greg Goodall who would do the three days with me.
The event turned out to be as tough ... so tough in fact that I struggled to overcome the challenge ... I just managed it though so was happy with that.

Anyway that's not what the blog is about. I wanted to write about what happened on the 2nd night of the event. It was all well catered and comfy for 300 competitors. Greg and I managed to find an extra tent to avoid having to spoon in a tiny one together as many others ended up doing. There was a 'chill out' tent where a surprising amount of beers were drunk and a large tent for dinner and prize giving each night. Now, on the particular night in question, I noticed that those sponsors and brands involved with the event were being called up to be introduced to the audience of competitors and to hand out the odd prize or do a lucky draw or something of that sort. Each time the DJ dude would play some old classic track to spice up the occasion and keep everyone interested. I realised that as the Runner's World Magazine representative I was likely to be called up to present something and I thought to myself how cool it would be if they did call me up, the DJ would play Eye of The Tiger. You see I was wearing a black hoody and I thought it would be cool to put the hood up and do some sparring as I walked up to Eye of The Tiger.
So there I sat waiting to see what was next in the agenda. A guy was called up to do a lucky draw as a promotion for his race that was tacking place on Table Mountain in September. Its a popular race and costs over 200 bucks. The draw was done on a laptop and picked randomly from the 300 competitors. A lady won it and went up for the prize. Cool. Then the music started. For the first time that night the DJ decided to spin Eye Of The Tiger ... I looked around as if people could read my thoughts. I felt so strange, as if everything was open and I was able know anything and in control. There was one more name to pull from the lucky draw. I knew it would be mine. I felt light and content ... the guy called out the number followed by the name RYAN SCOTT.

I was not surprised at all but did feel a bit awkward. Did everybody else know what I knew? Of course not. One of the strangest things that has ever happened to me fore sure. So strange and so powerful in a non intrusive way. What an incredible experience.

And like that ...pfffff .... it was gone.

2009-05-05T18:31:00.005+02:00

See below for a brilliant article on how the most popular social network sites and YouTube may not be with us forever. At the moment, and for a few years now in the case of YouTube, they have not been able to find a solution to making enough $$$ even with so many followers. It's the venture capitalists that are making it possible at the moment, but are they looking for returns on what they have handed over? You would think so. Read on to see what Advertising Age has to say about the possibility of loosing your favourite platforms.

The Coming End of YouTube, Twitter and Facebook Socialism

Thank God for Tech Moguls Who Redistribute VC Wealth So We Can Cybersocialize Freely. For Now, That Is.

by Simon Dumenco

Published: May 04, 2009

Twitter founders Ev Williams and Biz Stone should thank God it was just a cardinal, and not the pope.

Last week, according to the Times of London, Cardinal Sean Brady of Ireland told the country's Catholics to "Make someone the gift of a prayer through text, Twitter or e-mail every day. Such a sea of prayer is sure to strengthen our sense of solidarity with one another."

LET US PRAY: Cardinal Sean Brady wants you to tweet for Jesus.

Photo Credit: Niall Carson

Oh, my. That's a nice sentiment, but Twitter really doesn't need more users around the world tweeting in ways that can never be monetized. Ireland's got just 4 million Catholics, but the Vatican counts more than a billion baptized Catholics worldwide. If the pope endorsed tweeting prayer, Twitter could be out of business by the end of the year! The 3-year-old company, remember, still lacks a revenue model and just burns through more venture capital every time a new user signs up. (Fortunately, given how retro-conservative Pope Benedict is, he seems more likely to issue a papal encyclical condemning Twitter. We all know it's more likely to enable sin -- pride! sloth! -- than piety.)

It's telling that Cardinal Brady grouped Twitter with texting and e-mail. The former, of course, is a paid service and a massive profit center for cellular carriers around the world, and the latter you also pay for, albeit indirectly, as a service bundled with your monthly internet access or by allowing yourself to be subjected to advertising. (As a Gmail user, I decided to see what would come up when I e-mailed myself the Lord's Prayer. The ads Google served included ones for BeliefNet and Don Helin's paperback pulp thriller "Thy Kingdom Come." Ka-ching!) But when it comes to Twitter, we not only don't pay, but we all take it for granted that somebody's going to keep footing the bill for the rapidly expanding server farms needed to process and store zillions of tweets per minute.

It's sweet, really, that venture capitalists have ponied up millions so that we can all keep tweeting. It's also more than a bit scary. Because more and more of us are increasingly addicted not only to Twitter, but to other services that lack workable business models. What happens if the "dealers" who feed our habits disappear? (It's been known to happen. Last week, for instance, Yahoo announced it was shutting down last century's hot social-networking-esque service, GeoCities, for which it paid $3.5 billion in 1999.)

I've been thinking about all this a lot since I wrote, a few weeks ago, about how Susan Boyle has been on what I called the "Google Dole" -- her fame fueled in a nonsensically nonprofit manner by Google's YouTube unit, which hemorrhages cash serving up too much video with nowhere near enough advertising support. (I'll again refer you to Benjamin Wayne's Silicon Alley Insider piece, "YouTube is Doomed," which deconstructed the recent Credit Suisse report that puts YouTube's estimated 2009 losses at nearly half a billion dollars.) You'd think a clip of Boyle singing a song from "Les Misérables," one of the most popular musicals of all time, on one of the most popular TV shows in the world would be semi-monetizable. (I mean, geez, at the very least stick a pop-up overlay on that video with a link to the "Les Miz" soundtrack on iTunes.) But no. Adam Ostrow at Mashable further proved my point with his piece, "Susan Boyle Video Profits: $0," which explained that disagreement between "Britain's Got Talent" owner ITV and YouTube over pre-roll vs. overlays prevented ad placements in Boyle's YouTube streams.

And then last week The New York Times reported about the hazards of international expansion for the likes of Facebook. Getting million of new users in the Third World, it turns out, really sucks, because Facebook will never really be able to meaningfully monetize those eyeballs. It's tons of cash out (bandwidth, data storage, personnel) with little hope of cash in.

Weirdly, some of the management at these companies don't even seem to be trying that hard to make money -- a consequence, perhaps, of still being awash in millions of dollars of VC money ("venture charity," as I like to call it). In fact, Abbey Klassen, Ad Age's digital editor, tells me that she once heard a Facebook exec joke to an agency exec, "Didn't you know we're a nonprofit?"

I'll go one step further: They're socialists! OK, yes, I'm using the dumbed-down definition of socialism championed by numbskulls like Sarah Palin, but regardless of the finer points of economic theory, you've got to admit that at some level the boys at Facebook, YouTube and Twitter are actively choosing to redistribute the wealth. They're taking money from venture capitalists and deploying it so that millions of people far beyond Silicon Valley can get something for nothing. Entertainment, information, and self-marketing opportunities, mostly.

And, oh yeah, a sense of "connectedness" -- cyber companionship -- which makes this particular era of VC-wealth distribution all the more ... touching. (Let's all be friends -- on someone else's dime! Let's all be perpetually jacked into the hyper-insta-now global hivemind of human consciousness -- for free!)

I am so appreciative. Seriously. I love YouTube, I've made some interesting connections through Facebook, and I enjoy Twittering. (Last week, for instance, I tweeted about an astonishing bit of information I came across in Britain's Daily Telegraph: YouTube "reportedly uses as much bandwidth as the entire internet took up in 2000.")

But I also know it can't go on like this. The digital Robin Hoods can't keep redistributing the wealth forever, because eventually the wealth runs out. Investors get sick of propping up private ventures that don't have viable business models, and shareholders of public companies, like Google, get cranky about flushing cash down the drain.

So what can we do? Not much, I suppose, other than enjoy it while it lasts -- and maybe twitter a prayer for VCs everywhere.

~ ~ ~
Simon Dumenco is the "Media Guy" media columnist for Advertising Age. You can follow him on Twitter @simondumenco

Reverse Osteoporosis

2009-04-28T15:16:00.002+02:00

I read a piece from the New York Times today about a condition I saw dressed up Hollywood style on Greys Anatomy ... it was even more interesting and bizarre in this factually reported article than the histrionics of Greys portrayed it to be.

So basically when you get older the skelington of the human body is designed to get a little more brittle as the bone degradates. Its something that is not ideal when you take into account that the skelington has as one of its major attributes a guarding role - that of the nervous system. The constant grinning you sometimes see etched onto an old timers face is probably actually a painful grimace or perhaps it is an ironic smile at how all those years of taking the body for granted have come back in the form of almost unmanageable pain for many, as nerves are less and less protected by that 206 part skelington that used to serve them so well.

That condition I was talking about earlier is called fibrodysplasia (you would be displeased too when you see what it does to your fibres) and works in the opposite direction as Osteoporosis. Yup ... instead of your bones becoming brittle, you grow more bones from all sorts of causes - like doing damage to one of your existing bones or even cuts and bruises. Eventually your whole body is full of extra bone which is just not compatible with the way the rest of the organs and bodies systems work and you die.
Don't worry dude, waking up in the morning a little stiff (and no I don't mean that bone) is not the first sign of this condition showing itself (although it does mean you should probably not have scrummed your buddies for a couple of hours at that bachelors party until you all fell into the fire that was at first a good idea to be next to as it was providing the only light source). Bony growths that appear all over your body could be suggesting you are one of the unfortunate ones though and if that's the case then ... yea I am going to say it .... hard luck.

This article (see link below) explains it all in a well written manner as apposed to my garble. What was most interesting to me about the whole piece though was not even when the guy grows a second skelington, but rather the close connection that our skelingtons have with the other organs in our body. Lovely stuff.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/28/science/28angi.html

A cool dude runs Saatchi & Saatchi and he is on his way to CT

2009-04-20T15:51:00.001+02:00

Aaa how fantastic that you will get a chance to visit our country.

I am so happy to be living here and enjoyed you blogging on what is
indeed a truly incredible and interesting place to live. I have in fact
been working under Mr Eastwoods direction in that movie and just wrapped
yesterday after two months of playing one of the Springboks. How strange
to pull on the Jersey and sing Nkosi with the Panavision Camera close in
attendance. The rugby scenes v the All Blacks were just too special!

The Warner Brothers movie experience was phenomenal and cant wait to see
the finished project at the end of the year -this movie is sure to be a
cracker in its own right, not to mention what it can do for South Africa
and the game of rugby throughout the world.

I must also tell/warn you that Matt is a top guy and a handy poker
player. I lost an exciting hand to him while holding trip 7's!

I too am a story teller and actually writing one that flows from my
heart about a childhood under apartheid. A writing and emotional
experience I am enjoying immensely. Not all white people were a part of
the major wrong doings in the country at the time off course, and not
every black person carries the relatively new found opportunity of
'freedom' forward in the most productive or integrous way. The country
still faces huge challenges as the ANC is looked upon with narrowed eye
brows from those that sat in prisons and sacrificed so much for it in an
excruciating past. I had a very interesting chat to Zelda (Madiba's
personal assitant extraodinaire) on Wed night in this regard.

KR when you are in CT pls feel free to look me up madibapi@gmail.com as
I have a super insight to this fairest of cities that you could make use
of.There are Lovemarks a plenty that occur in Africa's unique way of
expressing itself - from the Mining Helmuts that together with the
Vuvuzela (don't worry if these are not familiar yet, they will become
familiar in 2010 WORLD CUP)have become so much part of the game of
soccer, to the table cloth of cloud that covers our flat Table Mountain!
Not all are commercial love marks perhaps, but just as intensely revered
and loved.
I am good buddies with Bob Skin as well if you need a reference :)
Safe trip and enjoy your stay as I am certian you shall.

Ryan Scott

From Kevin

Ryan,

Great to hear from you - your passion's infectious!

KR

Kevin Roberts
Saatchi & Saatchi Worldwide CEO

2009: Winning Ugly Together

SAATCHI & SAATCHI
THE LOVEMARKS COMPANY
www.saatchi.com
www.lovemarks.com

2009-04-17T12:54:00.002+02:00

As you will have noticed I have not been recording too many words recently about the happenings on PlanetPi ... I have however been experiencing a lot of pretty exciting and strange, surreal and mostly fantastic times which will find their way to this platform in one way or another over the years to come I am sure.

You see I have been workoing on a movie that Warner Brothers has been shooting in CT and JHB over the last few months. How special to be afforded the opportunity to work with Clint Eastwood, Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon.
I was on it full time for two months and finished up yesterday so now back so sure to be more posts. I have also joined the twits which you can follow so go check that out ... just click on one of those links next to this mail which gives my latest twitterings.

Cool

A note I wrote to my buddy Charlie

2009-04-05T11:01:00.002+02:00

Morning Charlie

Something went down last night that the likes of your good self and few others would understand and enjoy so I thought I would share my sentiments of how things transpired. Working on the Clint Eastwood film as you know Charlie, and after mentioning to young Scotty Eastwood (Clints 5th out of 6 kids and a man with huge appreciation for the Cape Town women) that uncle Sol Kerzner was having a saure to celebrate the opening of his latest One&Only hotel, the wheels were put in motion. Scotty was keen to walk the red carpet and as all actors do, to milk the press for all he was worth. Now the young fella was down on the hiiiiighly exclusive guest list as Scott +1 and although he certainly had a dame or two to take along, our boy was happier to keep his arm free for perhaps meeting a brand new angel so he asked me to come along as +1. That was not a problem for me. I was just happy to help out. It was a late call up though and he just casually mentioned it while we were doing some training on the set for the film yesterday morning. "Hey ... so my people have come through with the guest list for that party ... you should come ... it'll be a blast (blast pronounced like Ass of course and not like aRse).They want me to do the whole press thing on the red carpet and there are sure to be some gorgeous women there ... you in?"
I replied in the affirmative.
Now I know a bit about One&Only resorts so was pretty curious and not a little excitable to see how the night would unfold. I popped on a suave T M Lewin white shirt. Luxury Fit with some kind of tricky collar that makes people take a second glance. I cheeky pair or linen pant (we laugh at the boneheads for saying pant instead on pants, but I have been informed by fashion folk that in fact pant is correct. Well I never!) and some decent black shoes. Not those crap things with half inch soles. A solid black leather pair that hold their own on most occasions. I would not normally finish the outfit off with a jacket, but this was as posh as you get for CT so I thought, why not, and popped one on.

Scotty and I were on time and although there was nobody calling him out to do the press thing, he was very happy to march his way to the red carpet announcing to the PR chicks that were there in their thousands that he was Scott Eastwood and ready for the press. It was something to behold. The professionalism of the lad was outstanding. The likes of Nicky Greenwall were onto him and a whole whack of other camera's too that represented one TV channel or the another. Then it was the journo's turn, then radio and so on. I just followed a couple of steps behind him. Just like a bodyguard. I was loving it. I saw the press assistants flipping through their face recognition sheets of paper with thumbnail pics on to hopefully match my head to a name and face in their data. I just smiled and cruised by. At the end of the press line and also behind some rope I was totally bemused to note there was actually a bunch of 10 girls and one gay dude all standing with their cell phones out to take pics of the celebs. They must have won competitions or something and could barely contain themselves as they jostled excitedly for position. The flash photography flashed back off the one young groupies braces as she stuck her head up from the back of the pack - Matt Damon had arrived and the levels off hysteria reached unprecedented levels. Francois Pienaar was quickly forgotten as all tried to get a piece of Jason Bourne.
Scotty and I made our way into the main party now and left the hungry press to the big star. It was directly to the bar that we were heading, but on route I had to step back to avoid a roving camera dude who had his light and lens burning brightly and pointing in my direction. I stepped back to let the approaching camera through and in so doing tripped over someones foot who was just behind me ... I was heading for a crash and would have landed on my back had it not been for a sturdy, well timed supporting hand to my left elbow. I was saved from the certain fall and turned my head to thank the good Samaritan with what may well have been a broken toe. The face I thanked was exquisitely framed by blonde locks and centred with some incredibly alluring eyes that drew me in so effortlessly and effectively that I did not even get to bring the rest of the beautiful features into focus right away and so did not immediately realise it was Sharon Stone playing the role of the Samaritan.
Now as special as the whole episode was, that bar jwas ust asking for punishment and I was happy to dish some out at this early stage of the preceding so onward we marched. After a few drinks with the many guests and checking out a little of the impressive One&Only hotel it was time to take this joll to another level as Scotty suggested we move on to the VIP section. I must say I thought it was quite a contradiction to me to have a VIP section when basically all the guests I could see were SA celebrities or big business dudes and babes. I should have been thinking a little bigger as I was to find out.
The VIP room was not big and only about 60 people were allowed in. I was quite bemused to be one of them, but again my first attentions were drawn to the bar. Johnny Walker Blue Label is not a drink I have ordered from a barmen before and I enjoyed it immensely. The precision that the dude poured the yellow nectar over the ice cubes was heart warming to witness. After some incredibly smooth sips I moved on to cheers Scotty and tell him what a splendid idea this was of his. I made it to the fella who was chatting to his Dad at the back of the room. When I got to him I realised that out of the 12 people or so that were standing there I was probably the only none 'A' lister. Charlie you will piss yourself when I tell you it was Scotty and his Dad - Clint, Matt Damon and his wife, Sharon Stone who had limped into the VIP section, frikkin Robert De Nero whom Matt was calling Bob, Mariiiiiah Carey who would hit some high notes later in the evening, Morgan Freeeman and a dame, Sol Kerzner and that PicknPay cat Ackers all in attendance.

Not likely to be a repeat joll like this one Charlie and although the old codgers amongst that lot cruised home earlyish, there was a lot more entertainment all through the night as Sol had brought in all sorts of top Jazz singers and performers. Not quite sure about the Danny K vibe that really did not jell on stage with the other legends. All in all a success though Charlie and one that you would have approved off. Ciao

Mozi v Fly

2009-03-11T20:22:00.004+01:00

Have you ever noticed how Mosquito's differ in one major way to another creature also so very irritating and repulsive - the fly? Both cruise about your body in their tiny form causing much discomfort and irritation. Both are smaller than your pinky fingernail and can get you in a spin quicker than the cup and saucer at the roller coaster park (pwwaaaa the Cup and Saucer ...do they still have that ride? My kids will laugh knowing that was actually a ride one day when they jump on the TripleDeckerThuderDeathRaptureExoViboBotoNutter that I have to pay ... I have to pay enough to have taken 30 Cup And Saucer rides with ... when I have kids that is ... I don't have any yet - my best friend does, he had one yesterday .... with the help of his wife ... Mazoltof Moff!).

Well I was explaining the difference btw the Mozi and the Fly other than their names and a shitload of other things. But the one I want to talk about is the fact that: when you swat at - and miss - a fly, the punk just speeds up and now your first chance has gone at splatting him every which way. I am quite adept at still grabbing the bugger out of the sky, but then I have skills of a super agile Boxberg cat in December that has not been fed since its 'owners' popped down to Stilbaaie for the holidays and left him nix om te eet nie. The cat sees a field mouse mommy and her 4 fieldmouse babies and one runt baby crossing the Totsie path in the veld and pounces on the lagging runt quicker than the human eye. What is that you say? You have never seen a cat have a go at a runt field mouse on a Totsei path in the veld? Exactly! THAT'S how quick I am.

Got it? Okay well what I was saying is, its interesting to me as to how the fly speeds up when you swat at and miss it, HOWEVER .... the Mosquito just keeps hovering about like a Bergie waiting for me to put the dustbin tromel out on a Tuesday morning. Harder to see then the chunckier fly, but once you do - waaaatcha - Splat and Splash if the naughty Mozi has been sucking you dry before you spotted his sneaky self. Geeez, here comes one now. I reckon I can type one handed and still smash him.

Missed!

Sweeter than Honey, Sweeter than a mothers love.

2009-03-10T16:20:00.003+01:00

For some people, the favourite time of the year, is when their Thirteenth Cheque arrives in the post and they can transfer it to the bond, or when they head off to Verbier for an overseas holiday, perhaps for others its when the old family dog dies and they can upgrade to a new version that they can carry in the crook of their arms while they do the groceries at Woolworths.
I know lots of people who mark a sporting event as the highlight of their year and tons whose worthwhile bit of living only starts when works stops, so they count the holidays over December as the best days of the year.

On PlanetPi, my favourite time of the year starts normally in late February. When the tractors of the Vineyards have a precious cargo that comes into harvest for just a short window period of glorious feasting. I'm talking of those delicious, sweet, firm grapes filled with such a promise of all that is good. I am talking about the Hanepoort grapes that make my year every time they are sold on the side of the road where I buy them by the box, or at Fruit & Veg city where I fill a full shopping basket of these crunchy beauties. I rinse them and stuff them in my head like a dentist stuffing cotton wool into a gaping mouth cavity. At the moment they are R9.99/kilogram at F&V City. I am there every three days or so to stock up. The window does not last long and I am happy my favourite grapes are not available all year. It makes the limited experience every year so much tastier. My mouth is watering writing this so going to overdose right now.

The tortoise pulls his head in as the Global Village teeters on his back

2009-03-08T08:50:00.009+01:00

Globilisation ... is that how you spell it? A new word that I don't think is in my dictionary, but I will have a look anyway. I wonder if you can actually put a proper definition of the word in a book. I am sure from an economic stand point and from a political point of view it has very specific connotations. To me it basically means that things are becoming more accessible as the borders of countries become less imposing. Communication opportunities and the fact that technology is able to show case so many places on the planet that we are incredibly presented to us in our own living rooms or where ever else we choose to sit down and watch a screen.
Not even 50 years ago a documentary about a far off land would be something unique, now we are privileged to be able to see much of how and where others live; and then, if we are very fortunate even get to travel there and experience in a more tactile manner.

Well that is the simple and positive side of how I see the whole thing. Now, looking at the Concise Oxford English Dictionary I notice my spelling challenges have come to the fore as the word is actually spelled - Globalisation with an 'a'. Okay fair enough ...and the meaning? Well they tell me it represents: the process by which business or other organizations start operating on a global scale. I suppose that is what I expected them to say. What I wrote about above, seems to be closer to what the Oxfordians call the so called Global Village - a world considered as a single community linked by telecommunications. Okay I've got it ... I am likely to hash it up again, but for now, I've got it.
What I want to actually make a point about, is the dangers that seem to be rising up to squash, what I think, is a totally worthwhile move towards this Global Village vibe. Just a few weeks ago we were told as South Africans we are no longer welcome to pull into the UK. Apparently South Africa is a huge conduit for bad elements of the world gaining access to that country. And now the trend in the UK and the USA is turning a full 180 degrees on Globalisation and making sure those that the people that hold a piece of paper saying they are members of that piece of the planet are the one's to be favoured for work. Those without the papers are to be treated differently, making life a lot more challenging for the latter of course. Obviously this pulling back of the tortoise head into the shell is a reaction to the collapse of the systems that they govern and live by in the first place. So instead of recognising the failure of their core or engines and instead of attempting to work things out for a long term solution, they have decided to go for the short term (supposed) solution (perhaps option is a better word).
A good buddy of mine was in the tourism industry creating great opportunities in the USA for others to work and travel there. Now the allocation of the jobs for those people are no longer on the table as the Obamanation also putts its blinkers on and turns its back to Nationalism as they are once more taught to think that anyone un-American does not deserve to be there.

Such good work (global village vibe), which is clearly so necessary for this planet to survive, is being undone by the reaction to the 'clues' that we are being given as a world population that things need to be different. The clues are painful and incredibly difficult to bare as they affect our bank balances, financial planning and conjured dreams of a comfortable future (trappings and futile efforts that are actually bottomless pits of wasteful energy consumption), but they are not meant to be dealt with like a hurdle for the athlete or a speed bump on the way down to Llandudno beach. They are not there to slow us down while we think of a way to get back onto the road that we were following. They are there to help us. To help us connect with what is worthwhile on this planet (earth not Pi) and to nurture that with all the energy we have.

Fortunately we are humans and we don't need to be susceptible to parameters that others put on us. Unfortunately many of us do not recognise what humans are, so we act as a much poorer and weaker version of our species. The answers are all inside us and the signs to take note of what is worthwhile and what is not are everywhere.

Changing the vibe

2009-03-03T15:57:00.003+01:00

I've been away for a couple of weeks now. Away from the PlanetPi blog that is, still been sitting in Cape Town. I think its the longest time I have not written a blog since I started almost a year ago. The reason is that I have decided to change the thing a little. Not that most of the readers will notice though.
You see I think the quote for every blog is becoming a bit of a negative factor as to the amount of entries I would like to do. The quotes were always to be relevant and not taken from a book or something just for the sake of it. I think it would serve PlanetPi better though to just be able to blog on what ever I feel is interesting or worthwhile from a PlanetPi perspective.

So although I will use the odd quote to start of a blog from time to time, I think now I shall just report and write about PlanetPi and how things are unfolding on it. I am sure a lot of the content will be extremely obscure for many, but then it is coming from the perspective of another planet so that is understandable.

Cool ... hope you are dominating and chilled.
Pi

"I can't watch this man, it's designed to make you cry" - Mike Scott

2009-02-10T10:47:00.002+01:00

Most people have their favourite series on TV to watch. At the moment I have been watching Grey's Anatomy which my little boet reckons is just designed to make you cry. I am not sure if that is not why he does not watch, he digs Heroes though which I think is pretty shabby.
2OCeansvibe will tell you to watch Entourage and Californication which are extremely funny on the Hedonistic side of the coin - for me Entourage is a winner. Then the chicks seem to dig all those Fat Betty and Desperate House's In The City which I am not sure there is too much point to.
I tried Prison Break once, but another brother of mine pointed out that the main actor dude always looks confused and so now that one is ruined as every time you see the human-tattoo on the screen it seems as though he can't remember where he put his key's. West Wing shows re-runs on DSTV CH 13 which is incredibly fast and probably intelligent dialogue to follow. For my slow brain, its like a game show and series in one, just trying to keep track of what topic they are mouthing off about. And I digged the teenage dirt bag vibe of the Friday Night Lights. I think mostly for the unglossed over look into small-town-USA which they made watchable.

I wonder when the the series took over from the sitcoms though. And I wonder what the next generation or two will be watching. I mean we had the Cosby Show, The A-Team, Macgyver and the legendary Magnum PI to entertain us. Now its the series and reality TV formats that dominate ... perhaps in the future it will go to private Television stations funded by those that can afford them and are then not regulated by any boards, but can just put out what ever they feel like. I'm not sure exactly how that would work, I mean you not going to get the masses watching Bill Gates TV, but its interesting trying to work out what the future will be on this. Perhaps it will do a full circle and we will be back at Lassie and 7 Brides for 7 Brothers or Little House on the Prairie. Now that would make me cry - in agony.

"...South Africa was being used as a transit point by al-Qaeda operatives to gain entry to Britain." British Home Office

2009-02-09T08:15:00.003+01:00

Below is an article about how South Africans will now need to apply for a Visa to visit the Mud Island. Its a pity back in the 1800's that the locals were not able to impose visa restrictions of their own to stop those that were to become their Colonial Masters popping over and shooting them for sport while setting up their tuck shop for Hungry, survey ridden sailors on their way to India.

South Africans will be required to obtain visas to visit Britain under Government plans to close a route exploited by people smugglers, illegal immigrants and terror suspects.

The move, which will affect almost 420,000 South African nationals who enter Britain every year, is to be announced by the Home Office this week.

Whitehall sources said the changes could be put before the House of Commons today, when Jacqui Smith, the Home Secretary, and her ministerial team are scheduled to answer MPs' questions. It is likely to be controversial because South Africans form the fifth largest group of visitors to Britain after Americans, Australians, Canadians and Japanese.

The decision to require visas represents a victory for the Home Secretary in a Whitehall battle between the Home Office and the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, which opposed the idea.

The Home Secretary has decided to impose the visa regime months after warning the South African Government that it must act to make it harder for non-South African nationals to obtain a South African passport and then travel to Britain without undergoing further checks.

The Home Office threatened to impose the visa regime last July amid fears that South Africa was being used as a transit point by al-Qaeda operatives to gain entry to Britain. The South African government was given six months to introduce a range of improvements, including in the ways that passports are produced, issued and stored.

In December the Home Secretary warned the Cabinet that the cholera outbreak in neighbouring Zimbabwe might cause a huge increase in the number of Zimbabweans attempting to enter Britain, even though they too need a visa.

Law enforcement agencies have been pressing the Home Office for some time to overhaul immigration rules for South Africa amid fears that they were being exploited by people smugglers and terrorists.

The Serious Organised Crime Agency in Britain smashed a ring of people smugglers that brought more than 6,000 illegal immigrants into Britain on forged or stolen South African passports. Operation Coptine, a five-year investigation into people smuggling, resulted in the conviction of more than 40 people.

They were members of a gang operating from Leicester which, over a decade, smuggled people out of villages in India to South Africa, where they were supplied with false or stolen passports.

The migrants, who paid the gang between £5,000 and £8,000 each, were then brought to Britain, where many found work or registered as students. About a quarter of the illegal immigrants acquired British passports under different identities for travel to the United States and Canada.

Intelligence experts are also concerned that al-Qaeda has been using South Africa as a support base for fundraising and training for operations elsewhere.

Almost 420,000 South Africans entered Britain in 2007. They included 168,000 tourists, 46,200 on business, 52,800 in transit, 132,000 returning after absence abroad, 2,890 with work permits plus their 1,190 dependants. A total of 1,190 were refused entry.

Phil Woolas, Immigration Minister, said: “The Government said it would get tough and we meant it. Already our shake-up of border security is delivering results, with three million fingerprints taken from visa applicants and 3,000 people caught trying to hide their identity.”

Brazil was also warned that it faced a visa regime, but has managed to convince the Home Office that it has improved security surrounding the production and issuing of passports.

"Jolene, jolene, jolene, jolene Please dont take him just because you can. " Dolly Parton

2009-02-05T17:40:00.004+01:00

You know those songs that define a time and place in your life? It does not have to be exclusive to just one song. This is one that takes me back to my younger years though.
Yesterday it came belting out of my little brothers PC, which was a pretty strange source, as I think it was sandwiched on either side by Kings of Leon and the that Good-Girl-gone-bad - Rihanna. I waited for my boet to push skip before the intro to Jolene had even begun to fire up ... well, the intro passed and Dolly was well into her classic tune with out being bounced - was it possible the old Diva was going to get a chance to finish performing her full rendition before ignominiously being discarded for the younger (but flatter chested) Rihanna? I stopped what ever I was doing (Facebook would just have to wait) and listened to Dolly do her thing.
Its the first time I actually got to listing to the lyrics. Dolly was taking strain when she wrote this one. Clearly her beau was not a breasts kind of guy as surely she would have come out tops in that contest. Look, who knows what the folks in the wild west of the 1980's were into ... what ever it was, Dolly was loosing out to a ginger. Perhaps Kenny Rogers came along to save the day and all ended well ... until big K met up with The Gambler that is, but that's another story and takes me to another time.

Check out how Dolly just gives in to this Jolene dame. She must have been a stunner. Perhaps the Nicole Kidman of her day ... she is a red head right? Good.

Your beauty is beyond compare
With flaming locks of auburn hair
With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green
Your smile is like a breath of spring
Your voice is soft like summer rain
And I cannot compete with you, jolene

"You know I love pot, and I love beer, but I am totally sober, just because it completely stopped working for me."

2009-02-04T08:56:00.002+01:00

I must have hit the big time. I never knew it would happen with such understated aplomb. At least some kind words of welcome from the Chairmen of the ‘Top Dogs’ society would have been appreciated, but there was nothing of the sort.
You see on Saturday I competed in a race near Worcester and was happy to finish inside the top 20. Now before I was able to even reach for a finisher’s refreshment beverage and to inform the punk in 13th how fortunate he was that I did not catch him, I was ushered off by a Drugs Free Council for Free and Fair Sport Free in South Africa man whose accusing stare would have had OJ Simpson pleading guilty on the spot.
Feeling slightly bewildered, but accepting my dues to the world of the top 20’s, I went along with the chap who handed Worcester’s water quota for February, bottled specially for me and ordered by the accuser to: “drink up, then pee into this cup - no less than 90ml”.
Well 20 min later I was no closer to taking a leak to make sure justice was adhered to in my country. This despite the fact that the tap nearby was being turned ferociously on and off, I can only assume to simulate some kind of serene waterfall type ambiance to help get the required urges underway. I noticed the temporary detention barracks I was in was right next door to a wedding venue – all done of fancy like for the apparent festivities to come. I told my prison warder he could just put me in the grooms’ seat and I would wet my pants stukkend! This eased the tension … his not mine. I was still finding it difficult to part with what little liquid my body had left after a hard race in the sun. I opted for my sixth bottle of water and envisaged further water restrictions for the greater Worcester Metropolis as I gulped down litre after litre.
30minutes now, and while I was wondering if all Olympians could pee on cue and thinking they all deserved medals for that, my minder was settling in for the long wait. Not showing any signs of letting me free just because I couldn’t go he looked to be hauling out a 10 000 piece puzzle of Alan Boesak or fireworks over the Statue of Liberty. I was not going to be roped into this extra excitement and I decided to try another technique. I won’t get too graphic, but let’s just say, with a little help from another toilet bound activity that often goes hand in hand with a pee; I was able to provide the precious 90mil for my country. I emerged with my prize possession only to be met by the next victim who was a buddy Martha. Not having many tips to give the fairer sex in this department I just wished her good luck and raised my cup to show her the results of my labour. I then went through the unprecedented methodical and high tech process of bagging my samples (seriously, they do it the same way the chaps at the Olympics get tested) and asked whether they could let me know my IQ while they were at it and if I was still allergic to Bee’s. Not amused they sent me packing and said I they would be in touch. “Don’t let me read about it in the newspapers first” I cautioned with a wagging finger.
An hour later I saw poor Martha walking towards her car … she was being accompanied by one of the Doping officials as she was still to provide what they required! I hope she has an extra room as home as they are persistent creatures to be sure.

"My education was dismal. I went to a series of schools for mentally disturbed teachers." Woody Allen

2009-01-28T19:17:00.004+01:00

His movies have never grabbed my attentions for too long and less so when he is in one. I saw the trailer for Vicky Cristina Barcelona way back and was not too intrigued and when I heard it was a Woody Allen movie I had no inclination to watch the thing. A friend told me it was good stuff though and at the risk of confusing any newcomer to my blog I am sure the two of you regulars will be okay with me bashing out some more details on a film I have just seen... as if this was some kind of movie critics blog. Rest assured it is not.

I do however, tend to not watch movies for a few months, and then do a few at a time. Sometimes back to back. I remember at high school I bunked out from boarding school on a Saterday night to watch Pretty Women and Die Hard 2. Both memorable. Then in Boston for a couple of months I paid for one movie, watched it, then snuck into the bathroom during the change and into the cinema to watch a second without a ticket. I forget the first, but the 2nd ...well how could I forget the second? It was Roberto Benigni's - Life is Beautiful ... and I am happy to say Boston now holds some of my tears shed over some incredibly moving scenes in a great movie.
I have been wanting to watch so many movies actually over the last 3 months or so. I think since Busting Down the Door came on the circuit, but I have been too lazy to actually make it to the Bioscope. Until this week that is, when I watched Burn After Reading on Tuesday - average. And now this evenings viewing of Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

Well this, in my opinion was a pearler. Such a pleasant flow and some interesting characters that were fiery and spicy, but not in the obvious way that I think Woody Allen normally gets his muses to perform for him. I did not feel the exact puppet like movements from the actors being influenced by the little fella coming alive on screen, but rather just some of his ideas, which have always been sexually controversial. Didn't he marry his daughter or something? What a strange cat ...well at least he never tried to hide any of it. Of course his movies were an outlet to get his perverted notions across, but this time there were some really well portrayed ideas on what goes on between men and women in love. One notion really rang true to me in the movie, but I won't go into that. What was brilliant though - acting wise, was Penelope Cruz taking on the fiery suicidal self confessed genius of art and music and sex. The first time that I really took to what she was doing on screen. Incredibly impressive performance I thought.
The fantastic performances all round and the exquisite yet subtle presentation of the Spanish city, culture, landscape and language was all too impressive for me to enjoy only a little bit. It was inspiring, thoughtful, agreeable, disagreeable, soft and fiery all at the right times without being invasive ...which was all a surprise - from my first impressions way back when the film was first introduced to me in an over lengthy trailer - and a good one at that.

"I only have two rules for my newly born daughter: she will dress well and never have sex." - John Malkovitch

2009-01-27T08:09:00.004+01:00

Burn After Reading ... have you seen it yet? If you have keep reading. If you have yet to see it and are planning to, then you should probably go make yourself a cup of tea and why not a croissant to go with it(I have some spare if you are all out, some have chocolate in them and others almonds and a dusting of sugar for extra pleasure. I dig them all). If you are not bothered about the film then you can read on, or by now you might be gatvol of this post anyway, so in that case head back to your skinner kak that you were reading before hand.

So I popped over to the Labia Theatre on Kloof to watch the movie by the sometimes enigmatic Coen boeties - Burn After Reading. A top cast of dudes and a women whom I think won an Oscar for best supporting chick a few years ago. I think it was called Fargo and in fact also the result of the Coen's efforts. Yea that's her ... you got it spot on. Correct, the one with the funny mouth. You wondered what it was about her face that bothered you right? Have a good look, I bet you its her mouth. Very pronounced. Perhaps pushing out of that head too much ... moving away from the Golden ratio of Divine proportion, but not enough to make her ugly. Lets call it - interesting. An interesting look. Good.

Well I paid 20 bucks for the movie which is, I think, about half of the SterKinekor and Nu Metro prices and was amused by the ticket I received from the elderly lady whose knitting I interrupted to make the transaction. It was one of those little tear off "admit one" things that we used to get when watching movies like Puff The Magic Dragon or Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo at school for 2o cents.
So for R20 I sat down to watch Brad Pitt, George Clooney and John Malkovich do their thing for me on the big screen. The plot was decent. Brad Pit was damn funny as a gay, quirky gym instructor dude, Clooney an ex body guard, adulterous sex fiend and John Malkovich the scary alcoholic ex-CIA freak.
Now as entertaining as Pitt and Clooney were for me in rolls that I just never thought they jelled to, Malkovich was incredibly close to the way I would imagine the fella to be at times in his real life. I mean that is a stupid assumption to make and I hope that is how it stays, as when I saw him go at one of the other characters with a tomahawk type axe blade, it just felt as if those 6 blows he inflicted on the victim were supremely comfortably suited to him. The movie shows off how old he is looking too with some strange teeth going on and all sorts of skull action that accentuates his intense and pronounced dialogue.

Brad Pitt really is a funny cat in this one though and its worth going to watch just to laugh at that whole vibe even if the rest of the film - for me - was just decent.

Worldly wealth is the Devil's bait; and those whose minds feed upon riches recede, in general, from real happiness, in proportion as their stores ...

2009-01-26T13:23:00.005+01:00

Worldly wealth is the Devil's bait; and those whose minds feed upon riches recede, in general, from real happiness, in proportion as their stores increase, as the moon, when she is fullest, is farthest from the sun.

This morning, as I went outside for the first time I noticed a strange effect of light. It was softer than the weekends burning sun. Softer and with a kind of shadow that gave me an eerie feeling that I enjoyed. Obviously I looked skyward to check out what was happening? I thought perhaps it was a fire that was blocking some of the morning light, but there was no smell or bank of smoke. Still the unfamiliar light was working on my senses which were not quite sure what to make of it all. Was there a natural disaster pending? It might have been a dragon flying acorss the sun, but I have not seem one for ages. I think I started tapping into the way people of ancient times must have felt when something happened that they were not expecting and that they had no control over or knowledge of.

You see out DSTV has been bust for a week or so now and my laptop in for repairs. I don't buy newspapers really, neither do I listen to the local wireless (I would like to but I have yet to find a Disc Jokey that I can stomach for more than a few minutes. I still have to resort to audio streaming so get a dose of the brilliant Johny Vaughen from Capital FM in London a few times a week)so basically I have been out of the target zone that the peddlars of information make use of to ply their trade.

If I had been more in touch I would probably have known that I was experiencing a partial eclipse of the sun. But I was not so I just sat there staring at the strange blueness waiting for the dragons to appear or a swarm of locusts the evelop the city bowl in unprecendented numbers never before seen in these parts since Kaizer Chiefs played Ajax in the BP Cup soccer finals.

Eventually the answer was provided to me from an unlikely source. The Pikey neighbour lady from next door was standing on her death trap rickety rotten wood deck that hangs half way over the road forming some sort of car port as well as a place to grow desert cactus, place a windmill and gall the while giving those driving down Buitenkant Street a cheeky little bridge to pop under and out of if the wind was blowing in the right direction.
So Pikey lady in Bikini top from the 1924 Elle spring Catalogue and Judron rugby shorts covering the bottoms, is balancing on the precarious wooden structure with a pint and cigarette in one hand sunglasses on and a welding mask in front of her eyes, brazenly staring directly at the sun and the partial block that the moon had on it at the time. She knew about the Eclipse it seems and began educating all those that were in earshot, which for her was double the amount due to some drunken 8am vision. I knew better than to look directly at the sun, but I dicided that as I turned on my heal to head back inside, I would take my chances with the sun rather than risk turning to stone for looking directly and scary Pikey women.

'GOODBYE BUSH' - Veet advertisement

2009-01-21T14:54:00.007+01:00

There is a ton of Obama 'stuff' out there at the moment, hey of course there is. I mean this is the biggest thing since Nelson Mandela gave birth to Francois Pienaar back in 1995 I think it was. Anyway my brainy cousin Damian put 50 pounds on Obama winning the whole shebang shebang early in 2008 at 17/1 and cashed in nicely.
I on-the-other-hand do not back Obama. Nore Madiba actually. They deal in politics you see, and that is a game not worth the energy it devours. I think they are both cool guys and don't lump them in with the other bad eggs out there, but are they honest? Not a dot of it I'm afraid.

The world was watching though and so was Australia. An ad agency down under got it spot on with this little beauty in the Australian Daily Telegraph for their client Veet.

Good work people.

It's damn hot! It's so damn hot, I saw these little guys, their orange robes burst into flames. - Robin Williams

2009-01-19T16:00:00.000+01:00

I knew when I was cutting those masses of chilli's that I was going to be paying for it somewhere down the line. I was making such a concerted effort not to touch my eyes that I seem to have neglected all sorts of other potential dangers of those little guys that pack such a burning punch.
You see we have a massive chili bush, so as not to waste any, I harvested the lot. That was way over 100 chilli's. I decided to have a go at making some chili flakes. I am not too sure how to go about it, but so far I have taken care of the chopping and am sort of getting them under some heat in the oven - slowly. It seems to be going okay, but to dry the chopped pieces out in the oven seems like it will take a long long time so I am waiting for the wind the stop before I put them outside in the sun to dry ... any tips? Besides the obvious ones about not touching body parts - its too late for that! I have multiple wounds and of the worst possible order.

Firstly I thought a wash with soap would do the trick to get the strong burn of my mitts. Strangely though the Lemon and Poppy seed muffin I smashed shortly after the hands wash packed a huge dose of burn. After a short stint of confusion, I realised that I was not going to get rid of the chili burn from my hands too easily. The big problem was that while I was thinking how to go about shaking the burn, I took a pee and neglected to take care. Next thing I knew I had a burn in my pants like I have never felt before! Don't let me go into too much detail about that one though.
I managed to get through the mouth burn and willy burn with extreme bravery and a small serving of fear and thought that my carelessness had taught me a lesson and all was done with, I suppose chopping up 60 chills will leave its mark.
Two hours later though the burn was just as strong as ever, much the the determent of my forehead this time. I had just run along the promenade in the evening sun which was hot enough to get a decent sweat going. Wiping my brow a few times I never suspected a thing. When I got back to the gym though and while talking to Cape Towns legendary TBG, I felt my head burning like I had been lying in the sun all day with baby oil on my forehead. I realised it was a transfer of the chili burn still lingering with intent. Damn was I ever going to get over this ruthless attack? At least I had managed to avoid getting it in the eyes as was the original concern (well I suppose genitalia would have been pretty close to number one concern had it occurred to me that appendage would have been in danger, but I never thought I would be that stupid ... how wrong I was. Not for the first time either when dealing with my ... uuuurghum, never mind), but that did not last long. Next step was a shower at the gym and would you know it while washing my face I rubbed my eyes which set alight straight away. It was instant pain. I was stuck on options to alleviate the now throbbing eyes. I was just about to give in and start weeping (natures own antidote you understand) when I realised I could use my towel to rub the eyes. I picked a spot on the towel that I hoped my 'infected' hands had not touched and gave the eyes a good gauging. I am not sure if the burn ceased at that stage, but the discomfort of pushing the eyeballs to the back of my skull in an semi delirious error of judgement and over zealous attempt to rid myself of the pain by pushing at them with fingers numbed from the effects of 60 chilli's, certainly masked what ever feeling I had been suffering from the chilli's in a brand new type of pain that had me wondering when the piano was going to fall on my head just to finish things off.

I can't wait to taste my new chili flakes, I wonder if they'll be hot?

"George Bush, my part in his downfall" - Pi

2009-01-18T13:38:00.002+01:00

The PlanetPi blog has been going for less than a year, but already it has managed to topple the leader of the most powerful nation on another planet - Earth.
I am happy to announce that Georgie Porgy Bush has decided not to be president of the United States of America any longer.
After just a few derogatory mentions on this blog he has capitulated. Glory days I say!

Here are some of his best:

1. "Will the highways on the internet become more few?"

2. "It’s a time of sorrow and sadness when we lose a loss of life"

3. "I appreciate the fact that you really snatched defeat out of the jaws of those who are trying to defeat us in Iraq"

4. "I remember meeting a mother of a child who was abducted by the North Koreans right here in the Oval Office"

5. "We’re concerned about Aids inside our White House – make no mistake about it"

6. "I’m honoured to shake the hand of a brave Iraqi citizen who had his hand cut off by Saddam Hussein"

7. "I’ve coined new words, like “misunderstanding”

8. "I recently met with the finance minister of the Palestinian Authority, was very impressed by his grasp of finances"

9. "It’s in our country’s interests to find those who would do harm to us and get them out of harm's way"

10. "One year ago today, the time for excuse-making has come to an end"

11. "I promise you I will listen to what has been said here, even though I wasn’t here"

12. "You teach a child to read, and he or her will be able to pass a literacy test"

13. "I don’t particularly like it when people put words in my mouth, either, by the way, unless I say it

14. "[The Taliban] have no disregard for human life"

15. "When the governor calls, I answer his phone"

16. "Those who enter the country illegally violate the law"

17. "I think we agree, the past is over"

18. "America stands for liberty, for the pursuit of happiness and for the unalienalienable right of life"

19. "My job is a decision-making job, and as a result, I make a lot of decisions"

20. "One of the great things about books is sometimes there are some fantastic pictures"

21. "There's an old saying in Tennessee — I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee — that says, fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can't get fooled again."

22. "The problem with the French is they have no word for entrepreneur".'

Aaa what a blessing the fool is to depart.

Creativity: ‘The leap across a chasm not bridgeable by reason’ The Art Off Looking Sideways

2009-01-16T08:00:00.004+01:00

St Thomas (a religious and philosophical dude that seems to have been on top of his game in the 1200's) distinguished between two ways of apprehending the truth of things. One is Intellect and the other Reason.

Reason is how man draws the outer world into his experience to understand it. Reason works by stages; it starts from the outside with our perceptions of the material world. These perceptions lead us to form pictures, and theses in turn, can be raw material for understanding.

Intellect recognises directly the true nature of things by a single leap into the dark.

We are constantly taught to reason at the expense of being creative. Creativity would improve our Intellect. Something so clearly lacking out there.

It is often said that before you die your life passes before your eyes. It is in fact true. It’s called living … Terry Pratchett

2009-01-07T19:17:00.004+01:00

I just got back from the Medi Clinic Emergency ward. I had to pop in to see if my buddy Millertime was not in too much trouble. He was still freshly bashed up when I got there, but let me take you back an hour to put things in place.

It is a cracker of an evening in Cape Town again and the sea water temp is just peachy. Pushing the 20's I tell you - bliss. I sms Millertime to meet me at Camps Bay for a session of bats and then a swim across the Bay. His last sms to me: 'where do we meet?Speedo or boardies? What time?'
I reply: 'Speedo, in front of Sandbar see you in 15min - no stress'
That was the last I heard from him and after waiting 30mins on the beach I wondered if something else had made him late - its not like he does not know the way there. I knew he was coming from town on his scooter. I also knew he was likely to rope his lovely lady Bron in for the beach so perhaps the time had been pushed out a bit to make sure she could get there after work. Not a problem, but I decided to give him a call to check out the vibe. No answer and phone is off. Strange. I pop down to Mark the massage dude and ask him to keep my bag while I go for a swim. Just as I am about to make my way into the surf, Millertimes Dad calls:

"Hi Ryan. Greg asked me to call you to tell you he won't be able to meet you on the beach ... he is in hospital after an accident on his scooter."

I quiz Mel about the state of his son. He does not know much and is on his way to the hospital. Now what really blew me away is the fact my buddy has just been T-Boned by a four wheeler Golf Jumbo jumping a red light from Long Street over Whale. The scoot is mangled and so is Greg. Although no head injuries or broken parts of his skelington, he does have some chunks of flesh missing and a massively bruised hip. And even amongst all this personal shock and pain he is marshaling his family to get a message to his buddy to make sure he is not left wondering why he did not turn up for a swim.

When I got to the emergency ward the nurse was chastising the fellow from a dizzy height. Something about helmets and speed and general lecturing that our boy had turned off to. All in all a fortunate fellow in a situation that could have been phenomenally worse. Another phenomenon is the extent of the regard that Millertime holds his friends in. Hope you feel better soon punk. Good to have some more war wounds to show Al. Don't forget to look into the human high jump mat you landed on.

post script: Part of the reason Millertime remains relatively well intact is the fact that he landed on a women pedestrian upon his descent from the sky after being launched yonder from the force of the impact. So he landed on this poor thing who was taken to hospital in a neck brace.

“Well, Columbus wasn’t looking for America, my man, but that turned out to be pretty okay for everyone.” - Vince Vaughn

2009-01-02T13:08:00.000+01:00

I spent the last few days in an extraordinary holiday location. Some friends bought a kids holiday camp type place called Outward Bound renamed it Eden Campus and now own the land that has all sorts of activities that seem so much more fun when you don't have a school master telling you to:
"Scott, you think you smart huh? Right, climb that tree with Jones (the class fatty) on your shoulders ... it will make you stronger".
"Geez Sir, fat Jonsie is the one who needs to loose some weight, can't he carry me?"
"Scott! Enough back chat, get on your knees and take his weight or no tinned peaches for you at dinner tonight"
Aaaa yes its all in the presentation. I had huge fun climbing the 20m high blue gum trees and swinging from Tarzan ropes this time around. The canoes were huge amount of fun too and the naked dancing a highlight. Did I say naked dancing? Hooo Haaa ... That was special girls! Especially with little 7 year old Tara watching with interest. Good healthy fun and games in the bush.
The next stop to visit the Cookes on the Breede river was also looked forward to in anticipation. As I got closer and closer though I realised that I was just not going to get hold of my good buddy and therefore had no clue where to go to find his recently bought, renovated and flooded (the 100 year storm of flooding in the area wreaked havoc in on so many of those houses on the river) holiday home on the river.
It was a surreal drive as you can imagine. From Knysna to Swellendam on New Years Eve there was clearly not too much traffic on the normally chaotic N2. It was then I decided to just push on through to Cape Town and home; to avoid the many parties that were going on and to just take it easy that night. Now the drive got really quiet and incredibly profound ...allowing for my mind to drift. I decided the sunset would bring a good indication of the year to come and decided with solemnity that as the sunset for me I would do a 40 hour fast which I had been keen to do since earlier in 2008 when I had been ill and was not able to eat for a couple of days.
Pertinently my sunset - the last one of 2008 - was over the irregular line of tin roofs and spiky telephone poles the framed the top end of the Khayelitsha master piece. The fast started and with little difficulty (even with La Muzik's New Years day delicious looking luncheon spread) as I had water for company all the way. I did loose some physical energy in the last hours. That was balanced by the clarity of mind and general feeling a well being. I great way to begin another year and I must admit although I enjoy getting fall down drunk with buddies and have done on many a 31stDec/1stJan, this is a special way to respect my existence and place on this earth on a day that is worth celebrating in many forms and not just at the end of the bottle, as I have been accustomed to doing for many of the last 34. Now its a couple of days into 2009 so lets have a closer look at that Tequila. Ole.

"That thing just #$@! on me ... upside down" - Pi

2008-12-27T20:15:00.004+01:00

Camps Bay at 8am in the morning and Cape Town is fast asleep. Those that are on the beach are treated to those chilled dolphins/porpoises just cruising up and down the bay. The wind has been pumping though so the water is cold. Still, the dolphins are close in and I expect to see people swimming out to them. Not a soul. The water must be really cold I imagine.
I am down on the beach to play some Sat morning touch rugby. We play hard for an hour and a half or so and then no matter how cold the water, I always just go for a quick dip. The game was good this morning and even though it is only 10am now, it is already hot. As I am heading to the waters edge I notice there are still no people in the water. I get closer and to my surprise it is not as cold as I anticipated. Now I notice the dolphins are still in the bay, moving from South to North. Normally they move deceptively fast and although I knew they were still moving quicker than it appears from the shore, I could still intercept them if they stuck to the course they were on ...so I waded in the the water and swam out to sea. I was not far from shore, just 40m or so and I judged it well. Swimming with my head up every now and again, within about a minute I was right in amongst them. A friendly pod of about 8. They slowed up to see what the strange visitor was all about. Stopping the course they were on for a bit ... they came to play!
I was just an arms length away from the smooth shiny skins that were moving slowly just to my left. I saw a few shadows below me so I ducked under water. The playful little guys were swimming all around and under me. Swimming right at me and then teasingly darting away with fantastic speed and impressive grace. They stayed a few more seconds and then reverted on there slow cruise towards the rocks at the Glen. I was able to swim along with them for a short while. When they went out a little too far and fast I swam back in to shore. The many onlookers and excited dolphin admirers (never met someone who is not one) that were on the beach looked at me strangely as came stomping out of the fresh water, shivering like a dog to get the cold water off my skin. I was just as surprised that none of them had come to join me.

post script: I wonder how many people on the beach that day had dolphin tattoo's on their ankles, lower backs or belly buttons, but did not take the opportunity to swim out to the friendly beauties. About half of them I reckon! Ha ha.

post post script: The quote comes from another beautiful dolphin swim in Plett - about 15 years ago. I was swimming at lookout with some dolphins that were body surfing with us in some fun waves just off The Deck. I am sure there were a good few Hammerhead Sharks around as well. If you are swimming in Plett then there generally are. Well the dolphins were everywhere and it was another awesome experience ...until one swam under me and pooped. The first sign was a whole lot of bubbles - like a naughty boy letting one rip in the bath with his little sister. The bubbles were followed by ... well what farts are generally followed by - shit. Hilarious!

post post post script: Fart is normally followed by shit ...unless you were unfortunate enough to attend SACS where upon you will find you are full of fart, but no shit.

"Geeez I love good quality Tequila" - Pi

2008-12-25T19:29:00.004+01:00

This could work against me. Okay lets not joke it probably going to give me a good hiding. You see I was chatting about Tequila the other day with siblings. I happened to mention that I totally see the merits of good Tequila ... especially when compared to crap Tequila.

Well, as a Christmas gift, the youngest- 'little' Mike - decided to give me the opportunity to test out my brash statement made while safely behind at least a couple of closed doors, on the other side of a good few busy roads and generally not within arms reach of a good bottle of Tequila.
That is no longer the case as a world class bottle of the buzzingly tantalising Nemesis of so many sits patiently on my desk; the result of me ending up on the receiving end of a generous Christmas gift from Mike to me. I decided to place it in a bowl of some incredibly addictive red liquorice (all the way from Oz. Apparently they have better liquorice farms), now when ever I grab for it I have the option of the liquorice instead of Mexico's favourite export. The red stuff in disappearing fast though. I'll let you know how it goes. The last time I delved ... I ended up in boxing boots and an American stars and stripes speedo. Spicy.

"Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse" - Henry Livingstone

2008-12-24T20:19:00.002+01:00

The most incredible night of my year has consistently been that of Christmas Eve. The reason being I think a combination of the mysterious and exciting energy that abounds at that time; and the simple, honest and powerful way the experience of Christmas was introduced to my elder brother Greg and I in the late 70's and early 80's -mainly through the special book 'The Night Before Christmas'

To this day I feel a tickle and a laugh in my belly as the visions of sugar plums dance in my head. The memories are so strong from the book my parents used to read from, that I think they are not in fact memories at all, but rather experiences as I really do live them over all over again. No videos of Whoopi Golderg as Father Christmas or Jim Carey as the Grinch. No commercial Juggernaut steam rolling its way into your path as rudely as it can.

Just a book with such incredibly lively pictures to frame the wondrous words of the 19th century poem about Christmas. My Mom or Dad would bring it out only once a year and read it with careful pronunciation. I remember their eyes even having more a sparkle as the magic of the words and the book did their work. Of course at that age even though I would try and stay awake to get a glimpse of Father Christmas, it would be in vain as my eyes closed with the excitement still buzzing about the night. When I did wake up it was early and dark. The tell tale bulges of presents in my pillow case was nearly too much to bear.

Now I am a much bigger lad and able to stay up till all hours of the morning. Perhaps tonight I will get a glimpse of the jolly old St Nick.

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

post script: The Richness of the red colours were a big part of what made the image of Father Christmas stand out. When I realised it was much to do with the Coke brand, it lost its power though ...the intenseness of the image of St Nicholas did not. Look how awesome the Rich green (my favourite colour for most things) sits just as comfortably.

"Mooo moo mooo moo moo moooo" - Gary Larson

2008-12-19T08:17:00.004+01:00

I noted yesterday that there is now a new string of MAD COW DISEASE found in a dude from the UK that has been infected and will probably die from the disease.
It gets pretty complicated when looking at the causes and genetic probability of actually contracting the disease (as a human) that caused such a stir in the last 10 or 15 years. What is interesting to me is that purely by the name we have decided to give the disease, most people are of the opinion that its those damn crazy cows that are to blame.
As I mentioned its technical stuff when looking into the origins, characteristics and risk factors of the virus. Its crazy to read all the "we are not sure" and "its not quite known for certain" and "exactly what causes the such and such has not been medically ...". Then in the same articles they go on to mention how its been decided that feeding the cows feed, that has parts of their own species, as well as chickens and pigs has been stopped as this has been noted to cause a protein to turn bla bla bla ....
So basically by feeding cows huge amounts of proteins (uuummm I don't think you will find cows having a chomp at anything but grass, grass and more grass) and hitting them with everything we can imagine to make them produce more milk and grow faster and bigger, we have eventually started killing ourselves off when we too eat that cow that's eaten a cow. Those dodgy proteins that have gone through a totally unnatural change then pop into our systems and if we are carrying another dodgy lazy virus (contracted apparently from years before also from eating cows) then it sets off the horrid consequences in our good selves, giving us reason to turn around and point at the cow as the culprit as we fade away into dementia due to a painful attack on the nervous system, followed by death.

Of course when the perception is that the meat we eat comes from behind those long plastic strips that take the place of a door at the butchers and the extent of out attention is limited to the little attention grabbing price alert on whats on special, don't expect these types of diseases to go away anytime soon. In fact even MAD COW DISEASE has only killed a few people relative to the amount of publicity it has received. It is however another perfect warning to stop screwing around with the structure of living structures to try and make them serve us better. Another perfect warning for us to ignore as we are so good at doing.

stolen ...presumed sold

2008-12-16T07:11:00.004+01:00

Today is the first time I post without a quote. Its also the first time I am not posting from my laptop. That's because its not my laptop any longer. It is some other punks who will pay dearly for being a part of the sordid business of stealing other peoples stuff.
My laptop was taken from my room which is inside my house. Not a problem for dem thieves. Quick as a flash they must have been in and out. I did have a quote that related to this blog, but it was on the laptop so it too was stolen. Those poor bastards don't realise how much energy of mine was being stored in that laptop in the form of all the writings and all sorts that I had created over a few years. Shortly I shall let it (that stored energy waiting patiently in the form of word docs, jpg's and the odd Excel spreadsheet) loose to make sure it does as much destruction as possible to those that are now in possession of the laptop. I can only hope the vokkers that are involved are terminally afflicted when I do ... for I will strike down upon them with great vengeance and furious anger ...well at least I hope they trip and stub their toes stumble into the street and get hit by a Taxi, or choke on the tik that they probably swapped the merchandise for, stumble into the street and get hit by a Taxi.
The thing about my ex laptop though is that is has a tell tail sign that is quite unique. You see I bent one of the tiny little blades of the fan a few months back. So now when ever the fan is activated, it sounds like a big generator is starting up as the blades smash against the 'protective' encasement. So if you here a Diesel laptop while out doing your thing, let me know and I will deliver some pain in the caretakers direction.

post script: If you see a baddy stumbling in the streets from a stubbed toe or high on tik ... aim and accelerate.

"If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we ...

2008-12-12T06:19:00.004+01:00

"If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence." - George Eliot

Can you sit quietly for any length of time? Can you let your senses help you feel what is happening outside of your body without consciously using them? We make use of so little of the potential that we actually have as humans. If you let yourself experience what is happening outside of the limited amount of sensory stimuli that you do receive you begin to notice the potential of what there actually is to know and experience on this planet. By sitting and stopping the active use of your eyes, ears, nose and muscles for a time and by getting effective at doing this, those tools of your physical body seem to reset themselves to a degree and now when you use them those many stimulus come alive to you in an incredibly more powerful way, so powerful that if we were able to tap into all that was going on, it would obliterate us. All is there to be experienced and silence can show us the way, however most are missing out by settling for the lazy manner in which we accept the strange concept we have created for ourselves as the-way-to-live.

Silence can help bring us back to realise how we should be. How we need to be. It is always there yet we constantly turn our backs on the benefits of silence. So far we have strayed from the beauty of it, that it now makes many feel uncomfortable. When it comes to help and comfort or teach us we shut it out automatically by finding a distraction from outside ourselves or even thinking a distracting thought. How strange the things we do the make sure we do not sink softly into the place where we get to meet and know ourselves. How bizarre the effort we put into keeping this vital and glorious opportunity, that is always there, at bay. How we strive to keep away silence.

Be careful though, don't try too hard. Silence will always be patiently watching you and ready to enter as soon as you stop, but you so seldom do. So weary are you and estranged from its use that it is ingrained in the subconscious to make sure you are always doing something to keep silence out, to make sure you only need deal with what is in front of you and not be reintroduced to what is real. You cannot win that battle though. Eventually your energy will run out and silence will enter as fresh as it is right now. You will wonder why you never embraced it before and marvel at your ignorance.

"It is not clear that intelligence has any long-term survival value." Stephen Hawking

2008-12-08T09:18:00.004+01:00

This famous tub of oil sits off the coast of Cape Town each year around this time. A good place to come for Christmas after all. Perhaps he has a buddy in JoBurg that told him: "Listen my China, I know its full of Capetonians, but there is lekker graze, the beaches are packed with sexy cherries and I didn't buy that schweet sunbed for nothing hey!"

Well who ever tipped this punk off, he sneaks in unannouched and pretends to sleep all day. Then as it gets darkish the gunk starts to flow. That's right, from that big black chimney on the back of the friggit. Right through the night he dumps heavy fumes into the skies. The port authority have no clue what is being referred to when attempting to get the smog machine curtailed and it actually brings me to the point of this blog (normally I don't really have a point I know and whose to say this is in anyway, but just have a little read, its better than stuffing another Tempo into your head) which is Carbon emissions and the fact that you can trade them.

Who TF came up with and Who TF passed the ridiculous idea and now reality, that Carbon emissions were something that could be bought and sold as if they were a sack of rice or a lump of gold. I mean this is something that is only bad in every way and needs to be rectified.
So the restrictions are placed on business and corporations where by they are only allowed so much volume of carbon emissions - GOOD ... and then they get punished harshly if they do not comply - EXCELLENT. So that they will stop damaging the environment to the detriment of the whole planet that will collapse if they were to carry on ... makes sense to make them hold up a bit right? Of course it does. Then some fat cat decides that those that are not actually spewing out the amount that is considered dangerous, are able to sell the amount that is left over from what they have not used?!
Nooooooooo ....that's is not how it works fools.
When a guy comes into hospital with three stab wounds and the police are holding the purp in custody. The Doctor does not make a call to the police department to say:

"Look Copper I know you have Franky Four Fingers in jail for the crime. This vic is not going to die though, so send Frankie around with his weapon and I will give him a few more stabs. Don't worry I will make sure the guy does not die, but Frankie is already going in for attempted murder so lets just make sure he gets AS CLOSE TO MURDERING THE GUY as he can. Just be sure to tell Frankie he will owe us $500 for each slashing so make sure he has some loot ready to pay for his extra misdeeds"

We are here to serve our environment and not the other way around. It is a mistake we have made over the years of our existence and its very simple. If we do not realise this and act upon it, we will perish. There are no deals here ... no buying our way out of it by listing another stock on an exchange to trade with. This is real and does not fall snugly into any of the systems that we are trying to hang onto as they come crumbling down around us.
Its not difficult to get involved, buy a bike, take a walk and just do what feels right not what always what looks better on your balance sheet in your counting house.

"For the female of the species is more deadly than the male." - Rudyard Kipling

2008-12-05T17:59:00.003+01:00

While reading Kipling I was surprised to come across the fact that the very man himself wrote the line: the female of the species is more deadly than the male. I've heard it many times and even enjoyed the song while studying at Stellenbosch.
I never knew it was from the a poem called 'The Female of the Species'. I looked it up and read the poem. You can too (below). Interesting I thought and remember it was written by a man in the early 1900's.

It's so different how people view the difference in genders today. In fact the word seems to be loosing its meaning with the lines of male and female becoming so incredibly blurred and perverted. This is one of the sure signs for me in the general downfall of man. Controversial! Yea well I am not asking for your opinion, just giving you some of my feelings on the subject of gender. I reckon most of those who have moved away from their gender at birth have done so out of laziness and as a need to change something in a world that does not make sense to them. Did you notice, through your rage and homophobic accusations you are sending my way, the way I said MOST? Thereby leaving myself covered in that I am not dissing a group of people in totality, rather a condition that I do not think is right nor necessary, but rather too much effort is put into it to create something for the wrong reasons - even if this is done subconsciously.

Well Kipling has some pretty curious insights to how things were in his head at the time.

The Female of the Species

When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail,
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

When Nag, the wayside cobra, hears the careless foot of man,
He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can,
But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail -
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,
They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws -
'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale -
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say,
For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away;
But when hunter meets with husband, each confirms the others tale -
The female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Man, a bear in most relations, worm and savage otherwise,
Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise;
Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact
To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.

Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low,
To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe.
Mirth obscene diverts his anger; Doubt and Pity oft perplex
Him in dealing with an issue - to the scandal of the Sex!

But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame
Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same,
And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,
The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.

She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast
May not deal in doubt or pity - must not swerve for fact or jest.
These be purely male diversions - not in these her honor dwells -
She, the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else!

She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great
As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate;
And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim
Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.

She is wedded to convictions - in default of grosser ties;
Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him, who denies!
He will meet no cool discussion, but the instant, white-hot wild
Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.

Unprovoked and awful charges - even so the she-bear fights;
Speech that drips, corrodes and poisons - even so the cobra bites;
Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw,
And the victim writhes with anguish - like the Jesuit with the squaw!

So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer
With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her
Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands
To some God of abstract justice - which no woman understands.

And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him
Must command but may not govern; shall enthrall but not enslave him.
And She knows, because She warns him and Her instincts never fail,
That the female of Her species is more deadly than the male!

“Corn me coke me … don’t provoke me.” Reece Myrdal

2008-12-04T16:48:00.002+01:00

Next time you are at the movies try my old buddies order for Coke and Pop Corn. This one came one weekend in 1991 when we were allowed out of the boarding house to go and watch a movie. I think it was Pretty Women on the menue that night. Reece goes up to the disinterested individual at sweets stand, looks her in the eye and says very steadily and emphatically "corn me ... coke me ... don't provoke me".
I have no clue where it came from, but to this day I think of it every time I buy spring mielies at the movies.

“The minority is sometimes right; the majority always wrong.” George Bernard Shaw

2008-12-02T08:15:00.009+01:00

The quote is one I fully agree with - in this case. You see when I went to watch Quantum of Solace - the new James Bond - last week with my brother and his buddy Bo as guests of Bella Kitchens (for some reason I ended up representing a top notch architectural firm as a guest for these bathroom guys client entertainment at the movies) I noticed that the strange South African film of Mr Bones had a sequel out called ...wait for it people .... Mr Bones 2! Sweet Lord now that was certainly not expected. Such creativity such daring. I explained to my little brother that the original Mr Bones was the most successful movie ever to have played out on the bioscopes of the Republic. They looked at me with confusion, misunderstanding and a slight hint of curiosity etched comically on their faces, as if wondering if I had just overdosed on too many Maynards original wine gums (a scenario that was to play itself out over the weekend, but was not relevant at the time) and was talking Gibberish.

"I'm telling you bro; Scorsese, the Kohen brothers, Lucas ... none of those cats has anything on our boy Leon Schuster when it comes to entertaining South Africans on the big screen."

Still no comprehension from the youngsters. "You know Leon Schuster man, the guy who dresses up like a black dude and sings about the World Cup and shit?"

"Yea yea, we know who the fella is, but what the muff are you on about with this Mr Bones jargon?" they accused while staring at the movie poster representing the shocking movie.

I just laughed. They were just not going to buy the fact that Mr Bones had done better than the likes of Star Wars, Lord of the Rings or even movies like Batman , Rabobi and the Lion King. Then this morning while riding out on the streets of Cape Town, my rantings from the week before were confirmed. Actually that is not particularly accurate. My perceived rantings were now changed to be wise words of fact even though they sounded so wrong in every way at the time.
The head line read 'Bones Bounces Bond' Later in the day I read the article about how Mr Bones 2 ... although absolute crap (how could it not be) was kicking 007's ass all over South African cinema's.
It's rather amusing I must admit although another reminder about how the people I live and interact with daily, are really not the true majority of the country. Especially in Cape Town.

post script: The naming of this waste of time film is really so lazy, bland and uninpsirational in so many ways, but something else was getting to me that I could not put my piano playingesque finger on. Then I realised not only is it totally pathetic, however to add to the diabolicallity of the whole thing, it is totally wrong in every sense. You see when naming a sequel, although normally boring, it is correct (however not mandatory) to place the number of the current film in the title. This you will have seen with the likes of Rocky 2 through to 6, Die Hard 2 & 3 and so on and so forth ... not Die Hard Fourth ...that too would be incorrect.
It would also have been correct of the Mr Bones clowns to have done just what they have by naming their 2nd pathetic movie Mr Bones 2, if their movie was a sequel. Its not. Its a frikkin prequel. That is the whole movie takes place befoooooore Mr Bones the original. So how can they call the prequel Mr Bones 2?

Anything in any way beautiful derives its beauty from itself and asks nothing beyond itself. Praise is no part of it, for nothing is made worse or

2008-11-26T16:49:00.003+01:00

Anything in any way beautiful derives its beauty from itself and asks nothing beyond itself. Praise is no part of it, for nothing is made worse or better by praise. Marcus Aurelius

Of all the many living creatures and things on this planet, we are the only ones that feel better when receiving the affirmation we are seeking with regards to how we feel about ourselves. It is seldom that we find someone that is absolutely care free in this regard, but when you do meet one you will notice the lack of burden upon their shoulders.

Take a bride on her big day of stress ... I mean celebration ... imagine a vision of her standing alone but for her beautiful white dress with special trimmings and decadent material, her bouquet of white roses and perhaps some sentimental jewelery in the form of a great grandparents pearls reset to earrings guarding her delicate neckline and a carefully placed wisp of hair resting lightly on the strategic place on her brow to complete the image of a carefree pure and ecstatic new bride.
The roses, dress, pearls, alluring neckline and hair cannot ask for and do not expect comments and praise, however remain as they are - beautiful. Is the bride content with her own beauty or wondering how the photos will turn out and what people will think. You can only be what you are and nothing more or less beautiful. The effort to feel beautiful is well worth it, but is negated if too attached to the outcome. Put in the effort, but try and forget about the result and the results will follow.
I wonder how my wife to be knows that when we get married my buddy Klaus will be asked to take a dozen pictures and then a ban will be placed on camera's for the rest of the celebration.

post script: I wonder if my wife to me knows me?

“If you want to have a healthy brain and body … eat Eskimo’s!” – Patrick Holford

2008-11-24T11:01:00.003+01:00

I am not a huge fan of most books on nutrition and diets and things. There's always a new thing right? Always some one trying to force something down your throat. Or in this case perhaps try keep you from forcing things down your throat.
There is an incredibly well worthwhile book by Patrick Holford that my brother Mike bought me for Christmas a few years back. I nearly took it straight back to Exclusive Books to exchange it for Tin Tin hard covers, but I decided to keep it and just over a year later actually gave it a chance and decided to see what the fella had to say.
Outstanding stuff really. The tone is extremely informative and matter of fact rather than preachy. I know the info is correct as well. It resonates so clearly and its brilliant to be able to be given some structure to what have been just general habits that I have had for many years. When I say structure I mean more details and the linking up of bits and pieces of information that I have always known through some very wise, and way before there time, habits that my parents presented to me over the years that I was under their wings.

Of course the authors market is mostly overweight (the Western World) so he does lean towards the fatties (ha haa ...see what I did there? With the Lean? As in fat and thin. Thin = lean ... far too sneaky for a Monday afternoon I agree) with the info that he supplies.
One of the main points on the fat which most people get wrong is that it is not the amount of fat you eat, but the type and the way you prepare it that is all important. In fact fat is good for you and some of them essential in our diets. One of the cool things about the food chain is that the form that these fats come in at their origin is not ideal for us and needs to be converted. This conversion is done inside all the creatures that take it on board before us and by the time we get it, it is in its best form (Omega 3 fats that we are so deficient in). These fats are so important in fact that without them oaks are dropping dead through heart disease and getting stupid due to lack of brain food. So if you see an Eskimo (correct term is actually Inuit) on the street, have a little nibble and see if you can taste the seal that he ate that ate the carnivorous fish that ate the little fishies that ate the plankton that naturally has the all important Omega 3 that we need so urgently, but lack so emphatically in our diets. Be careful of trying to supplement these. You can go as academic as you like when trying to justify supplements as good enough. You really are just kidding yourself though. There is only one way to do things properly in life and that is the real way. Get down to the fish monger and buy some fresh fish. Don't worry about the fools who tell you that there is too much mercury in the fish. You are not going to be eating enough to worry about that. If you are still worried about the mercury though, firstly take a trip to the dentist to get those old chunks of metal out of your face and secondly eat the smaller fish as they have way less metal in them. You need the Omega 3 and 6 though so go buy that fish - especially now that its summer down here (officially today I am told) and there are less Inuits on the streets to feed on.

"This system's gonna fall soon, to an angry young tune" - Rodriguez

2008-11-20T06:27:00.003+01:00

I always enjoyed Rodriguez and his unique vibe. Incredibly to the point and simple yet undeniably powerful lyrics and chilled tunes. At the time I was most into his 'Cold Fact' album, the story about the dude was that he had shot himself on stage live at a concert. After singing the lyric: "Thanks for your time and you can thank me for mine ... kabllloooooiiieee!" I believed that for years. I never contemplated, just took it as truth when I heard it and probably used the same regurgitation a couple of times to show off around a braai or on a road trip as Rodriguez entertained.
The truth is this cat is still out there. The stranger truth to me which I only found out a few years ago is that he was only famous in South Africa! A little in NZ and Oz too, but basically his huge following of his anti establishment sentiments in the late 60's was only really entrenched in South Africa. Rodriguez never even played to a sub sub substantial concert in the USA. That could be in part because he once performed his whole set with his back to the audience and was generally a bit of a bad egg out there.
I must admit this does show how much the record labels, the radio stations and media have influence on what is a commercial success on the music world and what is not. Look at how incredible he was in South Africa and if you know his stuff you can clearly identify the class and talent of the man when he made 'Cold Fact'. Yet he was not even aware that he was a success and when a South African reporter eventually found him working on a construction site at the end of a search to what was then, the-mystery-of-Rodriguez and what had happened to him, the poet/songwriter/musician was not aware at all of his reverence in on the other side of the world. Of course he would have been aware of the royalties of the multi platinum selling album in this country - had he received any. But he did not and remained blissfully unaware for many years of his popularity. Kind of like Ian Flemming's James Bond, but that is one for another time.

Okay I will tell it now quickly: basically yea, Ian Flemming died before he knew his work was a success. A true Legend. There you have it now back to Rodriguez.

'Cold Fact' was released in 1970 which makes Rodriguez an old geeza and probably one of the reasons that he never got it right again once he tried a revival way too late, on the back of his, until then, oblivious fame. The music he has made is still all too powerful for those that have had the time and opportunity to take part in it. So often I have a lyric come to life as something unfolds in front of me.
Interestingly the lyrics tend to remain timeless. I say interesting as so many of them are written about the dark side of life that people think will be left behind at some stage and that is just a temporary. 'Cold Fact' is a good reminder that life is supposed to have a dark and difficult side although if accepted and not seen as something apart, they become more easily understood.
Take the useless piece of garbage women who took my car away yesterday evening on a funky truck with some nifty lifting gear. It was taken as part of the system of 'no parking on the road outside me house between 5pm and 6pm'. Well there is nowhere else to park and although the rule is setup to help the traffic flow more fluidly, there is in fact not a problem at all at any time even when its home time and all the locals are rushing home up our street and all our cars are sleeping in a lazy line on Buitenkant Street. So the car can be there and the traffic does flow. The two R500 fines and now another R500 fine and the theft of my car are part of a system that does not work. I was not home at the time so my younger brothers were left to hurl abuse that fat idiot as she evilly smiled at their rantings, happy to be a part of the crazy system that she could actually do something about if she was a worthwhile human, but sadly - for her you understand - she is a waste of energy and will find that out many times a day I am sure in her sad existence.

Now a small irony and something that I really did have to laugh about, was that I was actually going to use my car to take me to touch rugby on Camps Bay beach at that very time the evil fool was plying her trade. Already having driven to Camps Bay once that day, I had decided to use my own foot steps to decrease my carbon footprint. Si si that's right, I decided to run there and then back after the touch rugby. Not an easy run having to pop over Kloofnek both ways. Funny stuff actually, although I don't think my bank manager would agree at this stage.

post script: A platinum album means a million were sold. So this Rodriguez cat sold a few million 'Cold Fact' albums in South Africa and never knew for over 30 years!

'Adventure before Dementia' - Limerick Banner

2008-11-19T05:23:00.004+01:00

All the oldies out there (are there any that read Pi's blog? Does anyone read the blog?) will have seen these words before. It was a first for me and I enjoyed them.
Last night I was watching TV way past my bed time as the All Blacks took on Munster in Limerick in a cracker of a match that was typically incredibly tough for the visiting international side to win. The packed stadium of Munster supporters in there Red and Blue went mental, as Munster took the lead, and never stopped assisting their team in their huge efforts to beat the mighty All Blacks, as they had successfully done back in 1978.
You would think that for a nation that worships an all black liquid in a pint glass, there would be some who would show some compassion for the visitors, but the support was emphatic - and went only the way of the home team.

The was no lens on the TV camera wide enough to show any Kiwi supporters in the crowd. It was a tough night for the lads that hail from the Land-of-the-Long-White-Cloud, but in the end ... and I mean right at the end - as when a pigeon fly's into the sliding door, drops to the floor and with its upside down head now lodged somewhere around its deformed feet (if its a London pigeon) it sees the local skin and bones alley cat prancing up to take a closer look - that kind of end ... they eventually got that late try compliments of Josevata Rokocoko cococokocockoccocanIhaveandmarshmellowwithmycocococo much to the complete dismay of the Munster players and fans alike. Only once the crowd had thinned somewhat, singing their laments about the lonely fields of Athenrye as they filed out of what was so nearly their cauldron of celebrations, that the camera was able to pick up a pod of Old Timers in the stands. No wonder they could not be found before when the lens was panning the full house for NZ support. It seems that they had been given seats next to the security guards who check your ticket at the bottom of the stair well and who subsequently can't watch any of the game. In that intimidating atmosphere there was no arguing, so the loyal Kiwi's had probably just sat there and worked out the score from the extremes of the berserk cheering, to the deathly silence that transpired as the alternate teams put points on the board.
Now they were having their moment of triumph brought about by the adventure and the group of Kiwi grinner's was jumping around celebrating as much as is possible when the average age of the group is 88 years old, which basically meant they had just managed to unfurl and hold to waste height the banner they had got their grandchildren to make back home with the words 'Adventure before Dementia' splashed out on it in what looked suspiciously like sheep's blood, but lets not upset the readers and rather pretend it is something far less cruel. For the sake of keeping things pleasant, lets assume it was: well lets say some blood from the English they will play in a couple weeks time. Yes I know that is the future, but the All Blacks can do anything when it comes to rugby right? Wrong Richard Neville, they can't win the World Cup old chap!

Post Script: Some claim the All Blacks did win the WC in 1987, but I doubt you will find a REAL kiwi that will support that yarn. I mean how can you have a WC without the Springboks contesting the Webb Ellis jug? Nope just not possible.

Post post script: Carel du Plessis , Naas Botha, Danie Gerber, Frans Erasmus, Ray Mordt, Uli Schmidt ...come on!

Stubborness does have its helpful features. You always know what you are going to be thinking tomorrow. - Glen Beaman

2008-11-12T12:18:00.002+01:00

What a fool. What a waste of energy. My little brother Mike took this in Montague gardens. This guy is just looking for trouble and clearly that is not necessary, trouble will find him from a long way off.
I used to live in a student house owned by the University when I was in Stellenbosch. A house full of incredibly diverse characters. I was by far the youngest and one of the older guys used to get so frustrated with everything I did. His name was Elvis compliments of a thick mop of Black hair. Often my buddies would be around when Elvis would get into fits of rage about my comments or stand point on things. He was defending his flag one day in 1994 (the old South African flag) and while pinning it up in the lounge, I told him he was a fool. He went into fits of rage and could not quite contain himself. I just kept antagonising him as I wanted him to hurt and I knew how much it got to him.
While still in a flat spin due to the flag incident Elvis and I got into a argument about who was the more ardent Manchester United supporter. He was claiming ownership to the disputed two way title due to his superior age. Yea what ever Elvis. Well the conversation lead back in a couple of hops, skips and the odd jump or two ... to Italy and some of the details of the Fifa World Cup 1990. When David Platt scored a cracker v Belgium for England. Well he was at odds as to who scored the goal and had a huge go at me for being so cheeky and "moerse haragat for a lytjie" for daring to disagree with him.
My buddies Barry, Mike and Phil who were there at the time were loving the show, but I had to put an end to it so I walked out on his ranting and headed to the 'Bib' (library in S'Bosch speak ..come on keep up will ya?) and down to the archives section where I knew they kept newspapers going way back. I travelled back in time by turning the yellowed old pages of the CAPE TIMES and found the sports reviews of the goal in question. I was correct about the goal of course, so I made a photo copy of the page and took it back to the house. I then borrowed hammer and nail and while Elvis was taking a nap, no doubt brought on by his ill tempered beserkedness, I nailed the photo copy to his door with a good thick 6 inch nail and noisy hammer.
Elvis never mentioned the incident and even took down his Old SA flag that he had wanted to place on the wall of the house living room.
These things still pop up from time to time. Normally at rugby matches in the Free State. Interesting country we live in. If you see this guys car anywhere along your travels, feel free to put a nail through it or at least get to work with a hammer to show your appreciation.

"Life is really simple, but we insist on making in complicated" Confucius

2008-11-12T09:35:00.003+01:00

There really is merit in simplifying things. I think my first touch of the honesty and satisfaction in living basically and without clutter in the many forms it can present itself, was when I was in Boston. I had a few weeks to make use of before I was heading back to London job so I popped in to my good buddy Mike who was on a running scholarship at Boston University. A few times a week when I was not pretending to be a student and making use of all the local facilities (including a lovely 6FT German high jumper) I would wake up at sunrise and borrow his bike for a 10km ride out to the poshest golf club I have ever seen - The Charles River Country Club. Another buddy Maddy K had worked there as a Caddy and for the jol of it I had signed up too. It was the most incredible course with huge leafy trees and lush greenery in abundance. The pay was cash in hand and I would earn about $80 or so I think, for walking around the course chatting to the fat cat CEO's who would enjoy the exoticness of a dude from South Africa with an eloquent Capetonian accent and an opinion on everything they were yakking on about; from the Bruins poor keeper to the Curse of the Red Sox (pre world series title of a few years back); to whether the dome down town was real gold or not.
On the way home I would stop at the most awesome bakery. There was always a loaf still steaming from the oven to sample some honey with and I would sit down and eat a couple of slices. I certainly sampled more than I bought, but nobody was concerned about that.
All in all it was a long day of extreme simplicity and general goodness. I began appreciating that simple is not boring, but an extremely fulfilling and worthwhile concept to begin embracing in a lot more earnest.
One of the places that I have managed to really see the change over a few years is in my diet. I do not crave or need sauces or processed spices or 'stuff' to enjoy the taste of my food. Since leaving all that behind I can now actually taste such exquisite goodness in foods in their simplest form. See pic above for my current favourite breakfast of boiled eggs on rye with orange juice - self squeezed of course.

A politician is an arse upon which everyone has sat except a man. E.E.Cummings

2008-11-10T18:52:00.006+01:00

Please don't tell me I must vote, and if you are going to ask me if I am voting ... please remember you have read this, it will help to lessen the shock and disgust I keep being exposed to when I answer that, "No I will not be voting. "
And please let the first comment from your scathing lips; that have just helped bungee your dropped jaw back from its crash to the floor; not be "but you have to ... and if you don't then you can't complain about everything anymore can you?"
Now first of all I will continue to complain, to all that will listen (that is you right now but shortly not likely to be once you get REALLY pissed at me), about how I can't grasp that South Africa; in all its Rainbow nation status and Madiba Power; having been clever enough to shrug of the mistakes of apartheid; are still not able to supply local supermarkets or even specialised delicatessens with Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream.Nope, not one t-spoon of Cherry Garcia or Phiiiish Food in a solitary fridge in the country!
And secondly; if someone is complaining about the state of the country, which I presume is what all the voting enthusiasts are automatically expect is the case and are referring to when telling me I will surely be giving up my complaining rights, then I find it pretty presumptuous to assume the answers lie in casting a vote for another from the choices provided on the piece of paper in the your local schools computer lab or scout hall come voting day.
I find the whole situation a media and hype driven machine and an effective one at that. I shudder to think at the calibre of the people or the state of mind that they are in to be taken in by the drivel and contrived crap that they are fed. Its not like its even a secret the amount of money, effort and time that is put into telling the voters just what they want to hear, how they want to hear it and perhaps with a cream bun or free t-shirt to take home from the political rally. What was that you say? You have never been to one of those rally's and how dare I just write you off as one of those brain washed individuals that just love the song and dance of it all.

Well I hear you, but now that you are on the subject of how you have gone about making your decision on the vote, pray tell how you have gone about making yours? In nearly every conversation that has lasted long enough for someone to actually not just dismiss me like a bad disease after I tell them I am not into voting, it has transpired that their decision has not been even loosely based on any particular merrits that their chosen candidate or party has impressed upon them. No, unfortunately the incentive to vote has its firm and hungry, and in my opinion twisted routes, in the totally counterproductive driving force called fear.

Fear my friends. Fear is the driving force to get your tick or cross or what ever it is next to your - until voting day - extremely unfamiliar candidate. Fear that your current comforts and way of life is going to be changed. Fear that things will be different and out of your control. A fear so incredibly selfish, but defended with mob mentality vigour. What is the percentage of voters that actually research what their party and politicians have actually done after their words have been spoken? How many of them could even mention one or two ideas and plans that their backings have presented to them? Not just tit bits that they can regurgitate from the snippets of extremely lopsided newspapers and TV pieces? There are a few I should think, but I doubt that amount escapes from between the 0% and the 1%.
I wonder even more curiously, how many voters have the relationship and trust in their leaders, that they would listen to them when they told them something uncomfortable that they did not actually want to hear. If the dude you are voting for told you that it would be a really good thing to not drive your car for the next week as it would really help in a profound study that they were having implemented to help you in years to come. Its not going to happen right. You will loose your fondness of the poor bastard who is all of a sudden not telling you all you want to hear (if you ARE one of the listeners) and wait to take action only when it was directly going to effect you negatively and you were not going to be put out doing something about it.
Even that cat Obama, who has broken more records than Michael Phelps this year, was hilarious to listen to while out on the campaign trail. Look, at least he can actually remember his words and not be totally dependant on a tele-prompter like that prick Georgie Porgy, but the extraordinarily simple dialogue coming out of his mouth so transparently compiled for every oooohhhh aaaaaah and hooorahhhh, was only made easier for me to watch to its conclusion by the unease with which he let it roll of his tongue. In my opinion (most likely in the gutter even if you are still reading this ..haha!) he was really not comfortable with the typical tax talk and all the USA ra ra ra and I felt all the better for it.
Uncle Obama also made one real good point which gave me hope for his future. Unfortunately I think it really just highlights the same problem in most of the world and its follow-the-leader-and-they-will-make-everything-fine-and-dandy syndrome. Barak Obama asked the people not to expect things to just turn Rosy overnight and that if things were to turn for the better that it would be them that would have to do the hard work and not just him and his government. The comments of all those yanks that were interviewed through their tears and flag waving were indications that they missed that part of his speech in ...where was it? Chicago I think ... no, they missed the part where he invited them in to share the win and the workload to come, and opted rather for the Messiah approach that they were very happy that there new president elect could do the job for them. That he would make everything right for them and they would not have to suffer in a system created by others that had been celebrated just as vociferously years decades and centuries before.
Here in lies the rub ... doing the job as a leader is seen as making sure all is right for those that are following said leader. How wrong is that?That the man in charge and his colleagues will sort it all out, because they got the most support from masses and the masses can just chill out because they have the power to choose a knew fella or missy should this one not work out too well. But so entrenched it is that the system of politics all around the world just perpetuates its own cycle of persistent failures.
Leaders should be those that have the knowledge and the saintly ability to help point the way. Their responsibility lies in helping and not doing. This implies those followers must still work to find the way. Not an attractive proposition right? So that leader ain't getting the marks next to his name, but the fool who says he will build the poor a house or his counterpart who says he will help make sure you can stay richer than the poor - comfortable - well they are the ones who get the votes one way or another.
So well done on registering this weekend. In all sincerity ... good on you for getting involved. I just wonder if its because its a talking point in the office and in the gym and at your kids school when you bump into other parents that you have not quite got much to talk about, but whom you respect because the wife Mom drives an X5 so they must know their shit. Seriously, well done if you have registered and between now and voting vibe in April sometime I think, you take some energy and time and check out the dudes you are going to back and see how you can get involved in your day to day thoughts and actions to make sure this huge and important issue that you are educating punks like me (non voters) on is all actually something you find extremely worth while. Sounds like way too much involvement?
Yea I thought so. You are scared you are, not actually interested in the condition of things, but just scared that things are not going to be laid out on a platter for you in the future and you will be pulled out of your comfort zone and made to live differently. If you were really concerned about things, just have a little look within your own house ... and if you are as unfortunate as me, and also have no Ben & Jerry's in the fridge then join me in holding out until Zuma or Zilla or Habama... I mean Habana or who ever it is you are voting for sorts it out and we have at least a the option of the 'Triple Thick Caramel Fudge with Oreos and Cookie Dough Double Extreme Super Duper Caramel Swirl'

He believed the workings of the body to be an analogy for the workings of the universe. – Leonardo da Vinci

2008-11-06T16:19:00.003+01:00

Do you ever get the feeling that things are very right? In general and for no apparent reason it just comes to you? If you have had this extraordinarily light feeling that almost forces a grin to your face, you will more than likely be in a place where you are able to interact significantly with the planet you live on. The view you are enjoying or the stars you are gazing at, will certainly form a part of that feeling, but I wonder if you give it enough credit.
I think those feelings come along when your rhythm and energy is in sync with those rhythms and energies of the universe that surrounds you. The cool thing is this is able to happen a lot more then you think. The fact that it is happening at all is basically just by chance, as the environment screams out at you via a majestic mountain range, or incredible stormy day on the coastline with waves and rocks playing out the oldest dance. Your body can't help but feel a part of that majesty so you get to see how things can be... almost as a bystander. The more you try and witness it or understand it, the more you will loose the feeling. It is not there to be processed. It is there to be experienced and with that realisation, hopefully spark some understanding which shows itself gloriously - no effort required. If you attempt to replicate the experience it will be good, but not like before. If you sit down sometime and try to intellectually make sense of things you have no chance. After all, realising that things are good is not just for people with brains that can reason and conceptualise effectively right? It is available to everyone - how could it ever not be.
If however, you make an effort to switch off your mind from time to time, and listen to the universe you will soon be aware that in fact you are not in it as mentioned before, rather that you are a part of it and it is a part of you. Then - as Leo mentions - your physical body and all its mysteries and misunderstandings can be understood through another energy that it too is a part off. At the moment you most likely see many things as separate, including your body and how external factors affect it, sending you into a flat panic and burrying you in layers of despair. Once you stop thinking about and analysing what to eat, how much or how to exercise, when to sleep, how to avoid disease, how to heal and how to remain healthy, why you feel so listless or how you can loose weight ... and begin to just let the universe indicate all of these pearls of wisdom it will be apparent that there are no external effects, but only interactions. It all sounds like quite a task and it is, but only because you make it one. There is no course to go on. No guru or psychoanlysistcologisttherapist necessary, no books to be memorised. You have all the tools you need. But you have to be quiet. It is a huge challenge. Most cannot even be physically quiet without having to have some form of stimulation or be involved in something that keeps them busy, never mind trying to stop yourself thinking too. If you start to do it though, everything works in your favour and in fact you will start to learn that to discover and understand yourself, means shutting down less than 1% of who you are to have the opportunity to begin to discover the much more significant and real part of you.
Then the workings of the body will be replicated all over the universe.

Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. That's relativit

2008-11-05T15:03:00.002+01:00

Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity. - Albert Einstein

Alberto would be walking around Cape Town with his hands in bandages if he were around to take part in the seasonal model madness.

Ideas are like Babies. Once you’ve had a baby, you can’t put it back. – Andrea Age 6

2008-11-03T05:37:00.005+01:00

Ha!
I remembered what the idea was. I found it. So Andrea was right. The idea was there all along once it had come to be and it was just me that had to try and find where it had been placed.
What I originally wanted to mention was how early the Christmas decorations in the shops had been put up. It was the 28th October when I noticed the shop front that I was riding past had elves and tinsel gratuitously draped around there pine furniture in a vein attempt to make it more appealing by tagging Christmas spirit over the legs of the chair that looked as if it could well only last until Christmas day.
I know in the England the decorations were always out earlier than in South Africa, but I think we have now unfortunately caught up as commercialism drives to ever higher hopes.
I do really enjoy Christmas. For me it is a special time with a mystical and energised sparkle in the air. I think there is a part for retail to play in this, but they have over stepped that mark a long time ago. Now the likes of the large super markets and TV adds actually take away from Christmas as they USE IT to make more money instead of CONTRIBUTING towards the festive time. Unfortunately, as with many things in life, this is not a natural way of the world and there will be a counter active result to the whole process over time. The goodness and light celebratory intentions that are supposed to prevail will unravel, as the contrived and perverted occasion is fuelled by those with mistaken and ill gained motives to be a part of it all.

Yes of course course you have seen the negative effects already and Christmas has become a burden and a tough time for many. Its your own fault then fool. Simplify things. Go cut your own tree down and decorate it yourself (I chop mine from the pines along the road leading into Hout Bay), change the channel when you see a Christmas add on TV, don't expect any gifts and make sure if you are getting one it's not something you have chosen and know what it is already, don't feel guilty about charities playing on your conscience, read 'Twas the night before Christmas' to your children before they go to bed on Christmas Eve and not f$%^&g Barney in a Christmas hat, don't stress about any obligations over Christmas just enjoy the good parts, learn to make egg nog, . Seriously, there are no expectations for this fun time of the year and those that try to impose them upon you (normally your close family) are not doing anyone any good so just help them relax and ditch all those negative sides by not getting involved.
There is a lot of good over Christmas, no matter that we can't quite place our finger on what we are celebrating or the origins and reasons for it - no it is not the Birthday of Baby Jesus! So when Christmas comes around (still two months and no need to get dragged into the contrived hype) then just relax and enjoy... sounds like a good idea doesn't it? Good, now careful not to misplace it, make sure you dodge all the crap out there and have a jolly good time closer to the 25th December.

"Ideas are like Babies. Once you’ve had a baby, you can’t put it back." – Andrea Age 6

2008-10-28T18:58:00.004+01:00

I was riding my bike at 6am this morning. Actually that is not quite accurate and for the purposes of this blog I better actually get more specific.
So I was riding my bike on the way to meet my buddy Blue at Giovanni's on Somerset Road - it was 5:55am, when the idea came to me about this quote that I had read and then the story that I would write about it when I got home a couple hours later; once the ride was done.
The ride was incredible and we talked most of the way out to the top of Chapman's Peak where we turn for home. The half way point some would say. By the time we got to Blues apartment it was just before 8am and by the time I got home 8:15am ... so all in all a good session. A ride we do at least twice in the working week unless it's raining. Now a few hours before I got home, and when the idea had first come to me about the blog, I had backed myself to remember the idea and was looking forward to bashing it out onto PlanetPi.
The thing is, when I turned on my Diesel (if you heard the noise my laptop makes when I punch the power up button you will know why I call it my Diesel) I could not recall the idea. I have taken the whole day to try and retrieve it, but now its 20:05pm and I still have no idea what the idea was. I thought that meant the blog opportunity had gone missing as well.

Then I had the epiphany of just starting the blog with the quote and the idea would present itself. Well it did not BUT I realised the irony in the whole situation in that whole subject of the blog was about ideas that can't be put back. Well I am not saying that I have put this mornings 5:55am idea back Miss Andrea, but I am certainly not sure where I misplayed it and I am not about to retrace my steps all the way back to the top of Chapmans Peak to see if I dropped it while heading that way so early this morning.

Andrea is so right though. The idea has not been put back (even though there is plenty of space where it came from), it has just been put somewhere else. I am still totally aware that it was conceived of, just not sure where it is now.
What does all this mean you ponder? Perhaps just that I am not quite ready for babies.

Post script: Come back next Thursday sometime as I will be riding the same route that day and perhaps I will find it while out there.

"We are clever, but we're clueless. We're just human." - Jack Johnson

2008-10-27T09:48:00.005+01:00

This morning I heard something so absurd that I nearly choked on my boiled eggs on rye. It really is difficult to think that I am actually of the same species as so many screwed up individuals on this planet.
Sky News was reporting on the activities of their Health and Safety or Environmental bunch or whom ever it was that work for the government and were all hot under their collars about the latest goings on in the UK. These politician crack addicts were getting themselves mobilized to take on the perceived menaces of society who were creating all sorts of nuisance and skulduggery by ....wait for it ... by brazenly .... and with no regard for anyone else's feelings or safety... were ... you will scarcely believe it ... COLLECTING FALLEN BRANCHES FROM TREES IN THE FOREST FOR FIREWOOD!
Can you handle it? My shattered nerves! I can't quite get to grips with this one I must say. When taking a stroll in a forest and collecting fallen branches is seen by those that run your country as a danger to all concerned, you know that on a large scale things have headed in the wrong direction.
Now this pertained to all forests in the UK. Not just one forest where say there was perhaps a bunch of old trees that had dropped a couple of well placed branches on a few ramblers in the recent weeks. And it's not like the ideas of these fools were coming from any other perceived danger that the forests have lying in wait. I mean the most dangerous creature on the mud Island they call England is probably the odd spider that could leave you with an itchy bump. In fact you are probably more likely to get hit by Gordon Brown's lazy loose bottom jaw that he lets drop bizarrely before each sentence, than by any beasties of ye olde England. In the old days the dragons would have you in a second, but since about the time of Excalibur and the like, the dragons seem to have found some decent hiding places and now it's just those spiders.
I reckon by the end of the week, under the bemused gaze of Big Ben, there will be a gathering of protesters outside the house of Commons, dragging about branches of trees that they have hacked off the local parks old oaks to take part in a demonstration and have their voice heard. How absurd to even indulge in such a governing system. Bunch of clueless clowns.

post script: The ironic thing about the danger of those forests in that without doubt the only deadly animal that lurks behind a tree waiting for its pray is actually man himself.

I think a curse should rest on me — because I love this war. I know it's smashing and shattering the lives of thousands every moment — and yet — I can

2008-10-24T08:05:00.002+02:00

I think a curse should rest on me — because I love this war. I know it's smashing and shattering the lives of thousands every moment — and yet — I can't help it — I enjoy every second of it. Winston Churchill

Interesting stuff from the old fella. This particular comment was written to a friend of his in a letter that he wrote in 1916 at the onset of WWI. In a nationwide TV poll in 2002 Churchill was voted 'The greatest Briton of all time'.

The extent to which we are ready to place our energy and backing behind another seems way too flimsy to me most of the time. I do wonder why people are always looking for leaders. I think it is a lack of understanding of our place in our existence and part of our solution in trying to find a way to feel we belong, pinning ourselves to anothers ideas that are presented well or seem to hold power, makes sense if we are too lazy to find out the solutions using our very own abilities.

At school I remember the popular kids that all the others wanted to be friends with were the one's with the harshest tongues and the most confidence to stick their necks out and take control. They were always quick and adept at pointing out any noticeable things about another child and putting a spin on it to make sure it was seen as a weakness and in so doing creating the illusion that they were better for not having the freckles, or big ears, or short legs, or big eyes.
Is it at this early stage that we decide we need leadership. Perhaps if that brash behaviour was not rewarded with attention and submission as youngsters, we would grow to be able to make our own decisions. To value our very own ability to know that we have the means to make our own existence worthwhile.
Laws, commandments, rules and regulations are necessary for those who are cut off from who they actually are. If you can see who you really are and not act outside of yourself all the time due to others influence, you would not need a leader that places these criterion in place and enforce them with violence and power. Leaders would still be valuable and necessary, but in a very different manner. Leaders would be those that provide an indication of how to help you be who you really are and not what you have become due to conditioning and separating of the body from reality. Religions do not do the job either. They are supposed to but they don't. They provide their very own laws, commandments, rules and regulations instead of providing just the help and guidance that man needs to realise what he is and make his life worthwhile. In fact originally religion was set-up to be just that - an indicator. Those days are long gone though. Man has perverted religion so successfully that it now acts negatively to those it claims to serve.
The cool thing is the individual does not need leadership to begin to understand. Just see what there is to see. It is all there for you and by just observing life yourself without it being tainted by those that are trying to influence you, you can come to an understanding that you have it within yourself to bring meaning to your life and are not dependant on others to tell you how things ought to be and how you should behave and act. You will find out very quickly that you are your best teacher and best leader.

"The cure of a part should not be attempted without treatment of the whole. No attempt should be made to cure the body without the soul, and if the...

2008-10-20T15:41:00.000+02:00

"The cure of a part should not be attempted without treatment of the whole. No attempt should be made to cure the body without the soul, and if the head and body are to be healthy you must begin by curing the mind, for this is the greatest error of our day in the treatment of the human body, that physicians first separate the soul from the body." - Plato

Lets not kid about, Plato was seen as a brainy one when it comes to the species. Unfortunately for the rest of the species it seems physicians are still of the opinion that the physical can be split somehow from the whole and treated separately. In fact they are so good at convincing themselves that they have found ways of not only finding a temporary solution to a physical problem, but also managed to convince the unfortunate individual they are working on, to look at things over a very short term so that all seems well once they have patched up the ailment.

Of course over a longer period of time the subject falls apart again and the physician is back in business!

Thankfully the human knows intrinsically that it must heal from all sides and it will try and help itself out to some extent. However this will only happen to a point and most of those with illness, disease and injury are missing out on some vital knowledge in getting themselves back in good nick.

I have been fortunate enough to be brought up without as much of a separation of body and soul as most and have been interested in closing that gap even further so am now able to see things closer to the way they should be. So if you are leaking or broken or have too many mutations in your body causing discomfort and pain, perhaps you need to look at properly healing yourself and not just going for the superficial fix. It works for your bumper when you smash it, but unless you are as in tune with yourself as your bumper is with its body, how can you think that fixing yourself is that superficial?

"We would frequently be ashamed of our good deeds if people saw all of the motives that produced them." - François, Duc De La Rochefoucauld

2008-10-17T13:01:00.004+02:00

This morning I took my breakfast next to the pool. On the deck. The wind had stopped howling its way around the city bowl at 6:30am so it was a crystal blue sky and already must have been a decent temperature in the Centigrade scale... come to think of it on the Fahrenheit one too.

I was fortunate enough to be enjoying a good muesli and yoghurt with not too much going on in my brain so I was in a pretty dozy state. Not as switched off as the Bee I watched dive bomb himself into the pool, just a metre or so away from me. The little fella hit the water at speed, but if he was looking to make an impression he was way out. He never even broke the surface of the pool water, instead he lay on top, not yet moving as he was clearly still stunned. The water had been lying there waiting for the first bit of mornings action tough and as the Bee started to make a move to escape from the surface of the water, tiny tendrils of H 2 and O soaked his legs and wings a to make his cause hopeless. For every ounce of energy spent on escape he was imprisoning himself more effectively until the movement stopped and the Bee guy seemed destined to end up at the bottom of the pool with the odd leaf and twig that had also taken on too much water to float.

I realised I had not taken another mouthful of breakfast since watching the action and decided that I would provide the dude with some assistance although not really thinking he would be able to survive after taking on so much water. I had to be careful not to sink Bee though. I acted swiftly with the back end of my spoon. Without causing a splash that might sink Bee, I plopped the end of the spoon under him and then lifted him slowly enough to make sure he was properly on board before taking him to the pool deck and shuffling him off onto a spot in the sun.
The water was still so heavy on Bee and I was not sure if he was alive. The sun works quickly though and with in a few seconds, although much of his torso and legs were still pinned to the deck by the weight of the water, Bee had managed to get those soaked wings free from his body and was already hanging them out to dry. So he was alive, but surely the twisted segments of his body were beyond repair? I thought my curiosity in watching him fight against the water had lost him precious time and my actions to lift him out were too late.
If this little guy was going to die though he was going to go out with a huge effort to get flying again. First he dragged himself around in circles as two of his legs seemed to be working on one side and none on the other. I hope no Bees were watching his Bee dance that shows them where the flowers are as this oakie was all over the show and was more likely to send them to a hornets nest than some pollen laden flowers.
After some wobbly dancing though he got two legs on the other side working and things were looking up for Bee. Then I noticed his biggest problem so far. Although he managed to get those all important wings up and drying straight away, I now noticed that he the two back legs (one on either side) were heavily laden with his precious cargo of pollen. A sack on either side, filled to the brim and bulging with a bounty any Bee could be proud of at the end of the day, never mind at 7:45am in the morning. I wonder if that is why this ambitious worker Bee had dived into the pool so stupidly? Maybe it was just too much of a load for one Bee to carry.
Bee was in a spot of bother with this load of pollen, and even as the wings took on a more lively iridescent lustre as they reflected their metallic purple, yellow and green light from the now shiny lattice of wing fibres; I doubted how he would ever dry that pollen out. It seemed his work load would be his downfall. To his credit though, those sacks remained untouched. Its not like he was giving up his inherent task by unpacking his cargo to escape his ordeal. Nope, Bee was dragging those back legs around and getting more and more motion from the parts that had dried out. The wings were still just hanging out there to dry and I had yet to see Bee make an attempt to actually get back in the air.
I watched for another few minutes and just as I finished my muesli, I saw the wings give a little tester of a buzz. Not an attempt to fly, just a little tweaker, seeing if those precious body parts were still able to function after the crash.
Now I do not have fond memories of close encounters with Bee's. As a youngster I would swell up when stung: like a Bergies lip after the obligatory Friday night boozin and beating.
I was allergic, but I was curious. That is probably what got me stung most of the time anyway. So with the abandon of a 3 year old and throwing caution to the wind, I lurched forward to get a better look at the state of the fella. Wouldn't you know it as soon as I got too close Bee darts off into the sky. Result!
I checked my watch ... it was7:59am ... perhaps he had an 8 O' Clock meeting?

Post script: I am a big honey fan and can't help thinking I will see some of Bee's hard labours soon. At least I would have contributed slightly in the making of this Bee's particular pot.

"And when things start to happen, don’t worry. Don’t stew. Just go right along. You’ll start happening too."

2008-10-16T06:51:00.003+02:00

I sent this to a very special person just a few weeks back. I am not sure I can remember where I found it, but I enjoyed it through and through. A sublime piece of writing for the likes of PlanetPi. The brilliant thing though is that then it came back to me. Yesterday my younger brother - the Kitchen guy, sent it to me as he thought I would enjoy it. Totally from left field you see which was fantastical stuff indeed.
If you are going to read please promise yourself one thing though... read it right till the end. Read out loud or to a friend. Or to yourself but make sure you read the whole catoot.

Oh! The Places You’ll Go!
by the incomparable Dr. Seuss

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

You’ll look up and down streets. Look’em over with care. About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.” With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet, you’re too smart to go down a not-so-good street.

And you may not find any you’ll want to go down. In that case, of course, you’ll head straight out of town. It’s opener there in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen and frequently do to people as brainy and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen, don’t worry. Don’t stew. Just go right along. You’ll start happening too.

Oh! The Places You’ll Go!

You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers who soar to high heights.

You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed. You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead. Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best. Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don’t.
Because, sometimes, you won’t.

I’m sorry to say so but, sadly, it’s true that Bang-ups and Hang-ups can happen to you.

You can get all hung up in a prickle-ly perch. And your gang will fly on. You’ll be left in a Lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch with an unpleasant bump. And the chances are, then, that you’ll be in a Slump.

And when you’re in a Slump, you’re not in for much fun. Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked. Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked. A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin! Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in? How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And if you go in, should you turn left or right…or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite? Or go around back and sneak in from behind? Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find, for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused that you’ll start in to race down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space, headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.

The Waiting Place…for people just waiting.

Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting around for Friday night or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil, or a Better Break or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. Everyone is just waiting.

No! That’s not for you!
Somehow you’ll escape all that waiting and staying. You’ll find the bright places where Boom Bands are playing. With banner flip-flapping, once more you’ll ride high! Ready for anything under the sky. Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done! There are points to be scored. There are games to be won. And the magical things you can do with that ball will make you the winning-est winner of all. Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be, with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don’t. Because, sometimes, they won’t.

I’m afraid that some times you’ll play lonely games too. Games you can’t win ‘cause you’ll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not, Alone will be something you’ll be quite a lot.

And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants. There are some, down the road between hither and yon, that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

But on you will go though the weather be foul. On you will go though your enemies prowl. On you will go though the Hakken-Kraks howl. Onward up many a frightening creek, though your arms may get sore and your sneakers may leak. On and on you will hike. And I know you’ll hike far and face up to your problems whatever they are.

You’ll get mixed up, of course, as you already know. You’ll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go. So be sure when you step. Step with care and great tact and remember that Life’s a Great Balancing Act. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)

Kid, you’ll move mountains!
So…be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray or Mordecai Ale Van Allen O’Shea, you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!

Do you beleive in the Devil? You know a supreme evil being dedicated to the temptation,corruption and destruction of man?" "I'm not sure man needs hel

2008-10-15T06:45:00.004+02:00

"Do you believe in the Devil? You know, a supreme evil being dedicated to the temptation, corruption and destruction of man?"
"I am not sure that man needs the help." Calvin & Hobbes

Once again that little critter Calvin and his imaginary Tiger have some fantastic comments on the state of what they see in front of them. I found the clever words relevant to the crumbling castle syndrome that seems to be on everyone's minds at the moment. An interesting point to me is the way people actually react to this chaos in the world financial markets, politics and lively weather that has created such uncertainty and fear for the future.
All the reports are looking at reasons for, and why, the banks and leaders have failed us and presented us with this mess to deal with. The realisation is starting to set in that perhaps the system is not as stable as we thought is was. People are stressing as the prospects of keeping their homes, jobs and comforts in their lives are looking ever more frail, and as they feel the control slipping away from their hapless grasp, that fear and panic turns outward to find the reasons. The blame is directed away from themselves. Why is this happening to us? Why are things so difficult and is it necessary that we are punished with such hardship?

Is it not clear and simple though that this is all self inflicted? All that is falling apart was created by ourselves. Not with very much good intention either mind you. The act of growing larger and larger just for the sake of growth itself should not be seen as good intention. Is it not clear that we have neglected our inner selves and what is supposed to be happening on this planet with regards to interacting in a positive way with our natural environment and not trying to squeeze every ounce of what we think is worthwhile from it in a one way relationship? That we are concentrating just on what is outside of us and how it can serve us?

Obviously this is not clear to the majority of people. All the hustling to get things right seem to result in solutions outside of ourselves. Reasons for the upheaval are pinned on instability here and evil leadership there; natural disasters and climate change wreaking havoc upon our innocent selves, or diseases that are ravaging the worlds population so ruthlessly.

We find ourselves victims ... when we would do well to realise, we just need to find ourselves.

You don't have a TV? Well then what does all of your furniture point at? – Joey

2008-10-13T15:12:00.003+02:00

Over a good few years since I have been taking note of it, I have yet to find a friend or hear a person in conversation say that they really enjoy TV. Its just not seen as the right thing to say: "You know I just love watching TV."
I don't buy that though. I think a lot of those in denial actually do really love watching. There is so much on TV that I dig to watch, from total rubbish entertainment only every now and again, to incredible documentaries on all sorts, to travel channels where you get to see fantastic place on the planet that two decades ago we would only hear and read about, to sports (yes I am a sports nut and can watch a ton of it on the box) to some great movies and one or two brilliant news channels. The Biography channel rocks and I even watch the odd cooking channel vibe or play some old music videos on VH-1 in the background every now and again.
The thing is off course, as with much in life, it is how much effort you put in that makes it worthwhile or not. If you just push the power button on and wait for the TV to entertain you then there is little chance you will manage to be presented with anything that you are keen on at that moment. If you do some research though and know what is on when, then there is a much greater chance that you will find those pearls that are well worth watching. I even think that knowing my stuff when it comes to what I want to watch, even though it is quite a few different genres and channels, I watch less than those that just aimlessly surf for stuff to watch every evening.
Of course if you don't have DSTV then you are a bit screwed. PVR is the way forward though and I look forward to my first one so I can get the likes of 'Johnny Bravo', 'Nigella', 'The O.C' and 'Hanna Montana' on tap.

I have never let my schooling interfere with my education – Mark Twain

2008-10-10T09:36:00.003+02:00

I have super intelligent cousins. One has written a book about being home schooled while living in Botswana and its a cracker. The publishers world wide went mad for the book even though Robs has never written a book before. 'Twenty Chickens For A Saddle' is a hit in the USA and the UK and also available in South Africa.

I think I will school my own children too. I better marry a boffin though as I reckon all they will learn from their Dad is:

How to cook pasta perfectly,
How to pass a rugby ball pinpoint over 18m,
How to dance like a black dude in a white dudes skin,
What the directions are to The Ledge on Table Mountain,
The secret of a power nap in any location,
How to eat a loaf of bread in one sitting,
The art of stubbornness,
How to do a head stand,
How to interrupt others at all costs so as to get your own point across,
Appreciation of pain and suffering,
The merits of the Golden Ratio - Phi,
Why sweetener and many other foods are evil,
How you can never watch Snatch nor The Big Blue too many times,
How to see the moon and the sun in just one look!
Why not to vote,
That Johnny Wilkinson and Michael Owen are the same person,
How to put one's mouth over a pint glass,
How to survive a migraine,
That Eskimos are really Inuits,
Father Christmas is real,
How to put over 100 grapes in your mouth (no not via a bottle of wine),
The importance of summer rules of no socks no jocks,
Why not to protest when given a temporary nic name so as to not make it stick,
The real reason for it all and how to go about making it all worthwhile.

“My name?It’s Cesar Mendez but they call me Cuz.You know, on account of me being a doorman and all of a sudden everyone's family.”CeaserMendez Bouncer

2008-10-09T08:52:00.005+02:00

I used to work in London, doing my thing for the world economy at JP Morgan. It seems I had escaped my nic name of Pi Face for a few months, but that was short lived. I worked in trade support and after about 6 months of making new friends and nobody knowing any of the more sordid and dodgy details of my past (after all I lied through my teeth on my CV saying I had a B.Com degree with no mention of my actual sports science degree) a guy I knew from Cape Town - Riley, joined as a junior trader on the futures and options desk which is the one I worked closely with. It was not even lunchtime and I had all the traders ringing up asking to please speak to Piiiiiii Faaaaaace... they are a brash and confidant bunch these money makers and always looking to get the upper hand in a small piece of knowledge and having this one over me was as sweet as making a huge score on a deal I can tell you. The entertainment did not stop. Obviously Riley had spilt the beans the night before, using this tit bit of knowledge to gain some points of favour with the big boys.
Well now it was time for the big wheel to turn.

I popped up to the trading floor and while still about 20 rows of trading screens back from my guys, I could hear the over friendly and gratuitously loud greetings in their poncy toff accents: "Oh look, it's Piiiii Face. How are you today Piiiii Face." I quietened the rowdy bunch down with some 'I will beat you so hard you will fink youz surrounded' looks that the oaks in Kempton Park use on each other.
Then I dished up the goods on Riley. He used to be a bouncer at LA MED in Camps Bay you see. So it was just too easy to get the traders all excited about this little pearl of info. They could not wait for him to come in. He was scheduled for the late shift and was only due in a few hours but they all wanted a go at him, so they called him in early under the pretence of a work issue and then when he got there you can imagine how they let fly. Not too many doorman working on the JP Morgan trading floor I can assure you.
When the dude who hired him (Giles was his name ... of course it was) heard the spicy bit of news he was overjoyed. "Bouncer!" He exclaimed."I thought when he said that in his interview he meant Duetsche!"

post script: By saying Deutsche he was referring to the Deutche Bank which is possibly one of the references Riley would be giving when trying to impress his new employers.

Post post script: I too have done my stint as a doorman. At a club in Boston. The image of me above was sketched by my buddy Jeff who worked across the street as a Pizza maker before becoming a Mafioso hit man. I used to sit at this fancy cocktail lounge and 'card' all the 30 year olds. Aaaah the power of the Bouncers. Don't you hate them so?

“Somebody STOP me” – Camps Bay Beach ice cream seller

2008-10-06T16:21:00.003+02:00

As the sun hits Cape Town the ice cream sellers on the beaches come out in force. Like irritating horse flies they interrupt those perfect days on Camps Bay with loud intrusive shouts at 4min 28second intervals. So persistent and totally bullet proof to any remarks or looks of displeasure cast their way. They irritate the crap out of me. If playing beach bats and they come with in striking distance I let fire without hesitation.

Then you get the guy that makes me laugh. He's the one that delivers Jim Carey's line from The Mask with exuberance and commitment. Volume never being a problem.

If you see him this season go ahead and take a Granadilla Lolly from the old fella. Tell him its on me. Either that or smash a ball at him too. Did I mention how much I can't stand them? The ice cream men that is, not the Granadilla Lollies.

post script: Granadilla Lollies are the business.

‘When Hemingway put his brains on the wall, that was style’ - Gazzara

2008-10-02T09:12:00.006+02:00

Not many people read Hemingway these days. It seems he endured a bad patch of sledging sometime towards the end of the last Millennium when the critics decided to lay into, the long since deceased, American Author. I do still read his books as I really get an incredibly vivid surge to my imagination of the places and people he is writing about. More about the places than the people though. From Paris to the Florida and the African bush he had an incredible talent to make it live in my head in a fantastic form of reality. His characters were not as attractive to me. I am not a fan of his 'manliness'. The dude was a huge hunter and bull fight enthusiast and I suppose this is how his male characters are portrayed.
He had an eventful time on the planet until he leaned up against a shotgun that he wedged between the skirting board of his house and his kakebeen (a beautiful Afrikaans word for Jawbone) and pulled the trigger. On purpose you understand ... to kill himself. To commit sewage pipes - suicide. Unlike a one of his beloved Matadors who just slice those sword blades into the bulging shoulders of a hapless bull by the dozen with no chance of missing the dying target - old Hemmers missed and only partially blew his head off. Obviously he died later on, but I am not sure if it is then actually officially called suicide as he missed the main shot see.

The reason I have been thinking about suicide ... hang on, hang on. Not thinking of testing it out I can assure you (although the sound of those f$%^&#g sheep skin slippers dragging along our oak floors is driving me as close as I have probably ever been), but rather thinking about the particular fact that has come to me a few times in the last few weeks. And that is that the weather actually has an effect on a persons decision to kill themselves. I am not talking about extreme weather conditions, where the option of falling on your bread knife rather than die at the hands of frostbite or putting a bullet in your brain while drowning to escape that uncomfortable situation. I am talking about persistent but totally durable weather conditions leading to the fatal decisions.
What got me to thinking in this (weather) vein is the incessant complaining by my fellow Capetonians about the huge amounts of rain we have had this winter and: "oh my goodness when will it all stop" and "It's already October and where is the summer" and on and on and on. Stop the whinging already. The rain is incredible! The more we have this winter the better. So have another warm coffee or even better a good full glass of shut the fuck up and enjoy the life giving drops from the sky. Summer is summer and it is on its way ... just for the same fools to start moaning about the South Eater wind. Haaaa haaa! Forgot about that little fella that comes to visit with Mr Summer didn't you?
Well even for you whinging bastards there is good news about the rain. The suicide rate does go up with weather conditions (what are we ... pillars of salt? Blocks of butter?) but it seems it is more the hot weather that puts the fear into us and not so much the rain. As per CSI last night and more research I have done since, the surge in hot weather causes higher levels of street violence and attacks, as well as rioting and unrest + Suicides.

So enjoy the rain.

Here are 10 weather phobias the Scientists and there psyhcologically minded buddies have put together to officially show how screwed we are when it comes to being anti weather and not actually intelligent enough to enjoy it (I have added some of my own so see if you can spot the PlanetPi contrived phobias).

10 Weather Phobias

Brontophobia - Fear of thunder
Astrapophobia - Fear of lightning
Anemophobia - Fear of wind
Chionophobia - Fear of snow
WetTshirtophobia - Fear of water wetting white shirt
Cryophobia - Fear of ice and frost
Asterixophobia - Fear of sky falling on head
Heliophobia - Fear of the Sun and light
Frizzophobia - Fear of hair going curly
Homichlophobia - Fear of fog
Nephelophobia - Fear of clouds
Ombrophobia - Fear of rain
Psychrophobia - Fear of cold

post script: drowning as used above as a weather condition leading to suicide IS totally acceptable as its caused by water ... so shut it!

When I was just a baby my mama told me. Son,always be a good boy, don't ever play with guns,but I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die-JohnnyCash

2008-10-01T14:27:00.003+02:00

This line comes from a flipping awesome song Johnny Cash wrote (Folsom Prison Blues) about - and then actually performed in - Folsom Prison. Did he do it before or after Elvis? Can't tell you to be sure. Now, did the 'King' actually sing in a prison for Jailhouse Rock, or was it just screwing around making a music video? Not really my thing this so you'll have to go to some other fools blog to get that sort of info.
What I can tell you is our boy Johnny C performed for the bad asses in the prison as part of his vibe and caused a fracas while he was at it. A victim of being beaten by his old man as a young squirt, Johnny boy was always ready to throw 'it' back into the face of authority whenever he got the chance. With a mic and a band behind him those opportunities were a plenty. So you can imagine when he got the crowd going things got a little raucous. There is another song he sings right in the prison ( bravely as the warders were within truncheon reach) called San Quentin where he sings the lines:
"San Quentin, I hate every inch of you.
You've cut me and have scarred me thru an' thru.
San Quentin, may you rot and burn in hell.
May your walls fall and may I live to tell."

Brave cat our boy!

South Africa has got a good whack of prisons of course and although most seem to be pretty shabby affairs where cash still rules the day and can buy you a more comfortable time in the joint than the poor man, there are some pretty hectic maximum security facilities to lock a couple of the perceived bad eggs up good and proper.
One that I know of is Brandvlei Prison near Worcester in the Western Cape. I place of exquisite beauty, surrounded by mountains tipped with snow in the winter and lush green vineyards standing stoutly and top heavy full of grapes under sunny skies in summer.
My Aunt and cousin went along for a visit to hear some of the good work the prisoners were doing recently. One of the dudes they went along with actually did have a guitar and played some tunes that the prisoners went mad for. They don't get to see any of the magical surroundings. The walls are high and these guys are murderers and rapists. Convicted and serving what usually amounts to a hefty sentence. What they can see above those walls is just sky. Their world consists of just those prison walls and sky.
What interested me was the story my cousin told me about after her visit. She said the one guy was absolutely fanatical about Liverpool United and was after any information that she had on the famous football side. My cousin is a brainy thing indeed but her knowledge does not go so far as to keep tabs on the English Premiership football scores. The guy was adamant that being free, she must have some notion of how his team was doing. I am not sure if she made up some good news for the guy in the orange suit, but when she asked him if he had always supported Liverpool and sympathised with his not being able to watch them, he replied that he had been in prison since a young man and never actually supported the team, but his parents loved the Beetles at the time and he knows they are from Liverpool so that is why he supports the fantastic team.
A long long time to be in prison that is. A long time indeed and hanging on to what ever he can to keep his inspiration going. Sure he murdered someone to end up there and therefore may deserve his predicament. Don't think for a moment you can judge though. Well at least his parents chose the Beetles and not Pink Floyd as then the football loving criminal would be spending his energies on chasing Cambridge United! Actually, young Robyn my cousin would be a lot more helpful in volunteering any information about Cambridge.

post script: Elvis Presley's music video of Jailhouse Rock was the first bit of music ever to be performed on the Television (except for when they play those bugles on 'The Life Of Brian' which was obviously in Bible Times so that was much longer ago). When Michael Jackson watched it for his 356th time, under strict instruction from his father - who also used to thrash young Mike, he was inspired to make his own music video. The result = 'Thriller' (the most successful selling album ever until Robert Mathew Van Winkle (Vanilla Ice) re-launched his career with Mind Blowin.
The point being ... Johnny Cash and Michael Jackson have a lot more in common than you might have thought.

Meetings - "None of us is as dumb as all of us."

2008-09-29T18:45:00.004+02:00

How many do you have this week? Try skipping the big ones. As many as you can. I mean those meetings with more than say ... 2 people. Then ask the bright nerd or chick that always takes notes what the important parts were. You'll get a lot more done I can assure you.

Now if the meetings are at Vida e' Cafe on the nearest corner. That's another story. A good buddy assures me there are not enough hours in the day to get all his scheduled meetings in at Vida.

Geeez I hated meetings and the way people love to listen to their own voices and opinions just for the sake of it. Shit I I used to feel like I was stuck in on a horror ride of ego's. Sipping a orange juice and just nodding in agreement in the sunshine on the Atlantic Seaboard strip is a whole lot more agreeable. Okay so I don't have a job now so perhaps I am not qualified to talk about those types of meetings.
Rush along back to yours though and let me know anything decent that comes from it. Anything that you missed? Anything vital that you could not grab from the other fools who did attend? I'll meet you at Vida to discuss, just the two of us. Perfect.

"How fortunate for leaders that men do not think." – Adolf Hitler

2008-09-25T09:40:00.003+02:00

They knew it then and they know it now. Guys as clever as that lunatic Hitler are cashing in on the fools that will actually back them as leaders. There are just too many cases to mention. What is it then that people follow in other men that makes them leaders?
Is it a situation of circumstance so they just keep backing them ... that is the idea that 'well, he has got so far so there must be something good about him'. Is it in fact our inherent ability to spot great leaders and then be willing to support them? Nooo I don't think we have that ability working for us right now. Perhaps it is the fact that we know the position is not for us, so any other that shows confidence must be good for it? Could be a bit of that.
I think the way a leader used to be picked was probably a little more honest and natural. In small groups it was just the one who managed to be physically stronger than the others or intelligent enough to be 'tight' with those of the community that had the strength, and then harness that in a group effort.

Now days I think that has gone out the window and people will just back whom ever comes across strongest in the media. I think the 'spin' that the media has to play is the most powerful factor in choosing a leader. The media and word of mouth, but most word of mouth will have its original source at some form of media. Very few people really know what is going on with the agenda of those they are placing their mark next to and that's just what the guy at the top is counting on.
Do people really believe that these punks have the populations best interests at heart and not just their own agenda? Not the likes of any I see that have access to the power to rule. In fact I don't believe it is possible in this environment and the way it stands, to be able to stay in one's position if all you had to say was presented for all to hear.
But they don't need to because we accept the things that they tell us only because they know it is what we want to hear! How simple we are (your part of we that is, my part of we DOES NOT VOTE!). Its like a formula that with a couple of other pieces in place, even the likes of Reagan, Schwarzenegger, Clint Eastwood, Jesse 'The Body' Ventura (wrestler), Boris Johnson and in the nearish future Lance Armstrong are able to tap into.
Actually there is more openness about these guys than about the actual politicians and I even quite enjoy Boris Johnson and look forward to his next move ... not just for entertainments sake, but because it actually might do some good without him having to worry about all the crap of politicking - something he is still good at and has to deal with, but not something that he puts above his actual tasks as London Mayor.

The problem in the guys ruthlessly after power know all the tricks and have all the friends in the media to help them get it. No wonder its all falling apart.

‘I’ve found the link between apes and civilized man – it’s us’ Konrad Lorenz

2008-09-18T10:27:00.003+02:00

I watched CNN news again yesterday. I generally skip around between SKY, BBC and CNN and watch every second day or so. I must admit though the only reason I watch these and not Aljazeera and CNBC news channel is only because the signal for the latter two are, for some extremely confusing reason, only able to give me a little tease before loosing the picture. It is all really rather baffling to be sure, but I have no idea how to go about getting this sorted out. Dealing with call center fools you say? You got to be kidding me right?

So CNN yesterday showed a clip of the American President yesterday. He was commenting on the attack on the US embassy in Yemen. Leaving the politics aside and just having a look at Georgie Bush doing his thing I was once again astounded at what a fool the man is. It really is just intolerable to accept that this absolute prick is the leader of the most powerful nation in the world. He is clearly not interested in anything but his self preservation. A man of such little substance he may as well be a sack of fertiliser and the quicker he decomposes the better.
What is worrying though is that there are so many that obviously back this type of Cretan. Now that is a poor reflection on the state of man. The existence of a fool like Bush is understandable. Mistakes are made in the evolution of all species. The existence of those standing in line behind him lending support and feeding him energy and power though, is doing nothing to bring us closer to bridging the gap to reaching civilisation, rather it has us sliding backwards so perilously.

Not to worry PlanetPi is here to help tilt the balance.

I believe that every human has a finite number of heartbeats. I don't intend to waste any of mine running around doing exercises. – Neil Armstrong

2008-09-16T08:41:00.003+02:00

What a twit this Armstrong punk. I have never been a fan ever since he lied to us about landing on the moon with Buzz Lightyear. Calm down calm down. I am not saying the Yanks never got to the moon, I'm just pointing out that what they presented as a trip up there was a lie. I reckon they had actually been there before they claimed this landing, but with the cold war and all the timing was not quite right to tell the world. When they did eventually present their story of the lunar trip ... it was all a sham.
No stress though, some strange shit happened back then which is just too bizzare to get ones head around in today's mayhem.

I have been curious about Armstrong though, reading that he is a hermit and lives up on a hill away from everyone and not very able to deal with society. I also read this quote from him above and was not too happy with everyones favourite space traveler. Being a fit vokker myself I suppose I was at odds with his theory in both my actions as well as my reaction so I decided to do some basic mathematics to see what would transpire. The maths was done in my head at first while laying in bed one morning so now I have just backed it up on a marvelous new invention that counts numbers and stuff. My buddy Seth calls it a 'Calculator' and tells me it is really a fantastic machine so here goes:

Right, so Lets make the playing field standard as idiotic Scientists so enjoy (funny bunch those scientists. Clever but not very intelligent. They are like wind up toys that have been set off with so much energy, but in the wrong direction!) saying: "all things being equal" well I thought in keeping with their traditions I will haul Lance Armstrong into my equations ... so now we have Neil Armstrong or Neal Armstrong and Lance Armstrong. Lets just call them N and L.

So N reckons he will be wasting his heart beats if he exercises. Lets say is an avg man which would mean that his heart rate is 72bpm (that is beats per minute and would have been substantially higher than 72 when he was lying about his moonwalk back in the 70's ... actually 80's 90's and all the way into the 21st century). So lets take just 40 years of heart beats effectively taking out his childhood and old age time. 40 years is more likely to be the kind of period one would exercise so its a good number to work with.
That would give N an avg of 72bpm x 60min x 24 hours = 103 680 beats per day
We have said that we will take 40 years worth of days which will give N heart a workout of:
103 680 x 365 days x 40 years = 1 513 728 000 heart beats per 40 years.

N says L should not be doing any exercise as his heart will be pounding out unnecessary beats which eat into his quota and will therefore mean a shorter life as we only get a fixed amount of heartbeats to use from birth.

L thinks N is a dick head and decides to ride his bike from time to time and enjoy the odd run, generally becoming a pretty fit individual. Lets act in favour of N though and give L an avg mans exercised heart rate and not L's extra special condition. So again we will just deal with the 40 year time of L's life. Having exercised that heart muscle though his avg beats per minute will have come down a lot from 72bpm. One could safely say he would push out an avg of 55bpm as he is now in good shape from exercise. So his equation would look like this: 55bpm x 60min x 24 hours = 79 200 beats per day. Substantially lower but we must amend this as L does exercise during the day so his heart rate will be higher in that time. Lets not get too complicated and just say he does an avg of 1 hour a day every day for 40 years (again that is in favour of N but lets see where that leaves us) So now we must do two equations as follows:
[1(60min) hour a day x 170bpm (as he is exercising here) = 10 200] +
[60min x 55bpm (fit heart but at rest) x 23 hours = 75 900] = 86 100 per day

To carry that over to 40 years: 86 100 x 365 days x 40 years = 1 257 060 000 heart beats per 40 years. So L the exerciser would have 256 668 000 beats less a year which would equate to 2981 days of heart beats extra. That is more than 8 years.

Enjoy your finite number of heart beats Neil Armstrong ...seems they will be up a whole lot earlier with your decision to banish exercising your heart buddy.

"In reality the workings of your governing system are opaque and covert, while hiding in the chattering spotlight of an ostensible transparency, even"

2008-09-12T08:05:00.006+02:00

"In reality the workings of your governing system are opaque and covert, while hiding in the chattering spotlight of an ostensible transparency, even though the ultimate objective is clear." – Breyten Breytenbach

As you may have cottoned on, I am no fan of politics. The dude above was a South African poet I think. Eventually he was locked up, guilty of high treason against the Republic for being white, but having sex with a person of different race , and for generally causing too much trouble in the old system of government that you have heard referred to as Apartheid.
For a while back in the late 80's his brother or cousin was a teacher at my High School, which actually meant that he had Nelson Mandela locked away in the store room at the back of the class, ready to escape as soon as the next door Afrikaans teacher Vince Pauldon turned his back. Vince was head of Cadets so there was no chance of him giving sly Mandela a chance of escape and so Madiba actually spent many years living in a Breyten Breytenbachs brothers storeroom on the 3rd Floor of Wynberg Boys High School.

This week in Southern Africa we seem to have two stories in the news which just confirm my alignment with the kind of statement in todays quote.

Firstly: As Mugabe and the Wastern Province rugby team winger - Morgan Tondarai Tsvangirai, are reported to have struck a deal, Mbeki now claims to be the mediator over the last few weeks. How it will all actually unfold remains to be seen and although I will not hold my breath when Mugabe is involved, I remain hopeful for the country with the lowest life expectancy in the world. How farcical though, to see Mbeki trying to grab some headlines through the whole ordeal.

Secondly: This Zuma vibe is just too much. The precedent that it could set if he is not even taken to trial or if not found guilty puts in place one of the many 'plays' the ANC has set-up to gain absolute power in South Africa and render the current systems powerless. The cartoon that Zapriro came up with? Impressive.

Post script: In the chart to the right that you so studiously checked out and were about to raise you hand to point out what an idiot I am for mentioning Zim has the lowest Life Expectancy, when the Economist clearly shows it as 7th worst in the world. Well my little teachers pets, when your inflation rate is 11.2 Million percent then things tend to slide a little faster than reports can keep up with.
While you are so diligently scanning that list though, try spot the non African country in the top 50. Scary.

"You can’t really live in Cape Town," he says ...

2008-09-10T11:08:00.005+02:00

"You can’t really live in Cape Town," he says. "Everyone there seems to be retired or to have a trust fund. Joburg may be a mad, doomed city but boring it ain’t." - Rian Malan

A bit harsh by this controversial individual of old, but quite funny none the less. He seems to be the kind of guy that gets excited when a new batch of drugs hits town or happy hour kicks in at the bar so I would not really take his reference to Cape Town being boring too seriously. I just enjoy the way he mentions everyone in Cape Town seems to be retired or on a trust fund.
I think the vibe he is getting at is that people go out of their way to act really dis attached to their work at times.
I have noticed this a lot with the youngsters - especially lately, and one of the clear signs that the guys seem to be using to show they are either, trust fund kids, in a cool job, not bothered about their job or are actually from Durban, is by wearing slops... you know, plakkies? No idea? Sandals, flip-flops, slip-slops? If it was busting down with heat I would not look twice at the guys, but over the last two weeks with rain belting down and temperatures still in the low teens, I have noticed a substantial amount of Havaiana's at the end of a pair of jeans. The irony is that the winter scarves have not even been ditched yet so often you can spot a dude wearing both sandals, and a scarf and a beanie. Quite a vibe and totally acceptable. I think it contributes to the Cape Town character. These guys are showing their commitment to the vibe. When summer hits properly there will be no awkward transition phase. As Joburg comes stomping down to Cape Town in their thick soled, black leather Bronx with a lekker silver buckle, the Cape Town oues will be ahead of the game

“Nobody knows you, when you’re down and out” - Nina Simone

2008-09-09T11:40:00.002+02:00

This past weekend I actually experienced one of those moments that give you chills when you think about them. Take the lens in the picture above. A beautiful Canon EF-S 10-22mm f/3.5-4.5USM ... oh its a fine lens all right. A delicate piece of work right? Not one you would even place on a table or into it's casing without the necessary care. I mean if a child was to get within tripping distance of the thing your nerves would be on edge.
My eldest brother has let me in within grabbing distance of it a few times and this time I decided to take it for a trip up to the top of Table Mountain - the fresh air would do it some good. It was a special day of sunshine and the wide angle capabilities of this killer lens would be just the thing to get some good shots on such a clear, light day.
The lens was attached to the brothers Canon 350D. They are worth about the same amount of loot each that camera and lens, which makes a considerable sum of cash to take on any excursion. I've used them before with no drama. That all changed on Sat morning.
Once at the top of the mountain, done with the 3 hour hike up to the top and just about to jump into the cable car down to the city bowl, the camera literally jum... no let me not finish that sentence as, no matter how I say it, it will sound stupid and you will think I am making excuses for my clumsiness. Lets just say next thing I know there is a an excruciating sound of Canon lens disintegrating on a slab of concrete! OMF!
It was just before noon and there were about 40 tourists within ear shot. Although surely one of the busiest times of the day up there I can assure you it became instantly the most silent one as every person turned, as if in a well choreographed pantomime, to witness the reaction of the poor fool who was at the other end of the unfortunate accident. Mouths agape and clutching their own photographic equipment as they would their children in the presence of a murderer, they gawked intensely at me to see what I would do next. A group of 6 Japanese chaps (with lenses the size of their torso's) all looked towards the nearest access point of the mountain leading to a certain death fall in a very expectant fashion. One compassionate lady stuck out a hand in pity towards me as if she wished to help me, but anchored to the ground, she was not coming a step closer as if in fear that she would contract the dreaded camera throwing/dropping disease.
The two friendly Americans that I was with were as helpless as I felt and in fact anyone would be that did not have access to a portable time machine at that very moment.
My own reaction?
"Well," I explained to the now expectant audience. "Don't be fooled that that is just an R8000 camera lens that I have just lost here... I think it departs along with my eldest brother - the owner of said lens. "
Noticing that I was speaking coherently and not likely to finish the job of with a flourish of jumping on the photographic wreckage with my heavy mountain shoes, the crowd dissipated back into normal tourist behaviour. All except the Japanese fella's whom had now adopted a very professional mini gallery, right next to the easiest place to jump off the mountain and with all their own camera's pointing excitedly downward pre-focusing on what would be my point of impact if I were to do the 'honourable' thing. With no honour, hardly any nerves intact, a dry mouth and shaky knees I scooped up the pieces of the lens and slumped my way into a cable car and off the mountain. On the way down I took solace only in the fact that I had two more brothers to help carry heavy stuff in the future even if I had lost a good one along with his camera lens.

"The only certain thing about ideas is, like cats, they do not come when called." – Alan Fletcher

2008-09-07T16:33:00.005+02:00

This morning I stood outside and turned my head skyward. The idea was to get a good look at what was going on out there today. No specific reason. I had no plans at all and I kind of knew the weather was overcast and moody, I suppose I just felt like experiencing a bit more than I had up until then.
So I stood on the stoep (seriously, our house is 98 years old and does have a stoep with stairs leading up and down from either side - depending of course which side one originally enters from) and experienced the weather. Being about 10:30am or so and judging by the amount of traffic on the road I can only guess that is when the church goers get back in their cars counting themselves saved for another Sunday afternoon at least. It meant the weather I got to observe consisted mostly of carbon monoxide and hooters creating their very own little storm.

Then, a large dose of surrealism was dealt my way. It was presented in the form of a tall black man striding purposefully up the road. Barefoot and healthy looking if it was not for what he had on over his 'clothes'... he was wearing thick brown sacks, stitched and possibly forged together roughly but fitting his frame comfortably if that is possible. Under these large sack pieces his clothing was made up of ... well smaller sacks actually. They seemed to have a totally different purpose and where the outer layer was roughly torn and holed in places, the under layer was smooth cut and even better tailored.
If it was Christmas time I would have entertained the idea that he could have been at a Sunday morning rehearsal of a nativity play and was still in costume for the manger scene. It is September though so could this dude have appeared from a movie set? Sundays are a favourite time to shoot ads and movies in the Cape Town CBD. It was the direction sack-man was coming from after all. But as he got quickly closer with his large energetic striding I got a closer look at the rough sacks and the lived in vibe was all too apparent to keep me thinking along any other lines than this was what he wears - all the time.
I naturally assumed the poor bugger was ... well poor and the poor are always hungry right? I was about to whistle out at Sack-man to offer him some grub. I managed to stifle the whistle, well partly. A puuusssth still came out like a 6 year old starting a whistling career, but doing better for cash out of the tooth fairy.
As the abandoned whistle faded I opted for waving my hands at him wildly. Sack-man looked up, but seemed quite engrossed in his own thoughts so did not immediately acknowledge my gesticulation's. I stared at him intently though and he realised we were now in communications. For Sack-man this did not include stopping to chat. With his head held high and a bright white smile he turned down my offer of food without even missing a beat in his effortless stride. When he was past me, he gave a slight turn of his body and launched a big thumbs up to accompany that broad happy smile. I was left eating an imaginary apple on the stoep.

“I think computer viruses should count as life. I think it says something about human nature that the only form of life we have created so far is pure

2008-09-03T18:48:00.003+02:00

“I think computer viruses should count as life. I think it says something about human nature that the only form of life we have created so far is purely destructive. We've created life in our own image.” Stephen Hawking

My own image is fading fast. I have a virus, I am not sure if it is a computer virus or some other little critter that has hopped into my system. I had to cancel an appointment for tonight at 7pm and the client mentioned that if I was feeling better by Tuesday we could reschedule for then. If I am still shedding weight from all the 'shedding weight points of the body' my estimate is I will have dropped from 81kg to a maximum of 22kg and probably closer to 15kg.

This was all scientifically worked out in a haze of delirium and the aid of 3.5 toilet rolls (the first two were two ply and had puppies on them, the current one ... not), a count of just under 30 flushes in 3 hours, a stomach workout more intense than the one that Patrice beast from the gym gives those babes working on their pre-summer weight loss programmes and the fact that I slept 6 hours of the day yet don't seem to have made a dent in my mattress. Yup fading fast I certainly am with no end in sight. PlanetPi may soon be just a moon. MoonPi, quite apt for the amount of times I have to pull my rods down every hour.

post script: Yes that is Cyrus the Virus, no not from the talented Mr Ripley. Con Air you say? That's the one.

"It seems like the chaos of this world is accelerating, but so is the beauty in the consciousness of more and more people." – Anthony Kiedis

2008-09-01T08:07:00.004+02:00

There seems to be chaotic weather all over the world at the moment. Cape Town got a taster, but I think that was just one last clean up before summer comes along. Preparing a clean slate for a much anticipated season as it were.
I can assure you there is nothing tasty about the way things are going down in Louisiana, Alabama, Cuba and parts of India though. Having already done with summer, I am not sure what their excuse is for such impressive storms. The weather is going mental and the people are struggling with it. I suppose it is not ideal if you are living on the banks of a river which reverses its direction of flow as it did in one of the towns in India this weekend.
Cape Town was told to brace for a storm which was supposed to be pretty intense. Nothing like what those guys above have experienced though and if you embraced it like many of the Capetonians did you would have seen much beauty in it. In my brothers case it was while cruising home from Bravo restaurant on the beach road in Greenpoint. He said it was like driving through a giant Cappucino as the foam caused by the pounding waves on the promenade was so thick and high even as far back as on the actual road itself. Those that popped into Polana restaurant in Kalk Bay for a quick glass of red wine were treated to a surprise amusement park style ride. The cozy room refurbished to really enjoy the ambiance of the rocks and ocean, just a stones throw away, was embraced by a large wave thrown up by the storm. It was so large it broke a window upstairs at the Harbour House so you can imagine the fanfare caused with the tons of water washing right into Polana. Lifting small children off their tiny feet and perhaps dragging a couple back out to sea ... I am not sure I was not there, but if they were misbehaving in the car earlier on then that is probably what happened ... and fare enough.
I know the roof blew of the Point Virgin Active gym. The beauty in that? Well I suppose nothing, but well worth a mention.
Not all fun and games in Cape Town storms though, our cleaning lady is not able to come in to work as her house was flooded. Chaos and beauty.

Ambition - The journey of a thousand miles sometimes ends very, very badly

2008-08-27T18:29:00.003+02:00

Its good to have goals. Its not ideal being attached to them. The only certainty is that you can then be disappointed in the outcome. What is important is to set those goals and work full tilt at reaching them. You'll find once you loose the attachment to the end resuuuuuuuult that you will actually be more effective AND enjoy the journey to the end goal so much more.

This little salmon dude hopefully had a good life and was not looking forward too much to the outcome (even if it was to find a hot babe salmon chick and get laid at the end of his journey up stream) as you can see all too clearly he is just a piece in a greater puzzle ... in this case a 10 000 piece puzzle of a hungry Grizzly.

Taking this thinking into the world we do our thing in from day to day, I think there is a good scenario to demonstrate these thoughts in action.
Take old people: In simple cultures the old people are so much more content with their situation after living a life with daily challenges that brought them happiness and satisfaction there and then. Those are the cultures least caught up in the trappings of the society I live in. Those oldies still remain a very important part of the community for the people that they find themselves in the company off, even respected and admired. My perception is that they are far more content and peaceful than the ...

Old people in my world? Not much is thought of them I am afraid. Perhaps the odd passing thought of how funny they dress or how out of touch they are. Not many seem too happy either. There just seems to be a ton of regret, bitterness and self loathing as the realisation hits of how futile 'its' all been. They are treated like they have become children again. They are made to feel helpless because they are told that is what they are. The adjustment to becoming older has been ignored as they have been too busy chasing what they thought was important. So much invested in that pursuit and now it suddenly hits home that the important things are all too simple, free and were there all the time to get their teeth into and they missed it!
Not likely to be able to start fresh now, it is into a wallowing pool of despair or at best apathy that they now exist and that's where we expect them to be. To work past all the crap that they have built up over the years is not even contemplated for most - I don't think.

My Grandmother who died just a few years back was sensational. Never one to move with the flock of other western grannies. I would always be expecting her back from places like India, with strange musical instruments or cushions with miniature mirrors in them. Totally exotic vibe for the time. She would never wear those funny granny outfits that seem to be handed out at old age homes and places the oldsters gather. Always a skirt of bright flowers with a neatly tucked in white shirt and some comfy shoes. Those eyes were constantly alive and awake with much intelligence and confidence. There was tons of pain and disappointment to deal with in her life I am certain, but I never noticed her striving for something that was not worth the journey. The journey of her life seemed so worthwhile and not because of the results, but because of the way she lived it.
My buddy Andy recently posted a piece on hindsight ... it is generally accepted that you can't have it. Fortunately on PlanetPi, time in not linear so this whole blog serves as hindsight for YOU when you are 82 ... come back from that age now and adjust, add to and savour your life so you don't get too caught up in those attachments you are told, and sold, are all important.

"It doesn’t mean much to be a man of importance. The most important person at a funeral is the dead man." - CJ Langenhoven

2008-08-26T10:17:00.006+02:00

A person I knew briefly, died a few days ago. Until recently I never understood death and how it fits into our cycle of interaction on this planet. I had no real way of reacting naturally to death and the way I did end up reacting was - I am ashamed to say - contrived. I knew I was supposed to feel things in a certain way and even coaxed the odd tear or two. Not to fake it just convincing myself this is how I should be at the time to fit into reacting to death. It never felt right though.

I have been very fortunate now to understand the meaning behind death with a lot more clarity. The perpetuated sadness is not ideal. I am not advocating massive changes to dealing with losing a child, husband or friend. Understanding what occurs though is well advised as it is far removed from the lazy, yet bizarre notions most of the people I know have on the subject. In fact the effects of how we deal with death are not lost, but have impact on the being departed from the physical world, so it is not only worthwhile working out what the vibe is with death, but in fact beneficial to the person you love.

"You guys line up alphabetically by height." and "You guys pair up in groups of three, then line up in a circle." Colin Cooper Hirricanes Head Coach

2008-08-25T08:43:00.003+02:00

I don't think even this genius could do worse than our head clown Peter de Villiers. So many South African's are watching helplessly as a team of players as good and usually better than any others in the world, crumble into an unnatural role of losers. Watching these Springbok beasts wilt against there natural rivals is like watching Obelix having his super strong powers (from falling into a magic potion cauldron at Birth) taken away and receiving a beating from some insignificant roman legionaries. The expressions are not just those of frustration but those of helplessness, perhaps with a touch of longing too. Longing for the philandering Jake White to leave his gallivanting behind, skip the session with the shrink and to return to the change rooms of the World Champions that he was so much a part of.
De Villiers is a total and utter screw up and it seems as though those of us that were holding onto the hope that Garry Glitter and Dick Pure would keep the shine and integrity of the Champs in place, well even we are losing our grip on that hope as we watch mouths agape at the shit pouring out of Peters:

"What we try to tell them is when you point your finger into the sky, don't concentrate on the finger because you'll miss all the heavenly glory out there." - On telling his players to enjoy life.

"So we will be aware of the threats they can pose to us but, then again, it's war and you die." - On Australia's (slightly over-stated) likely aggression in Perth.

"The laws are there and we are law-abiding citizens of South Africa and we will never over-step anything." - On the Boks playing to the referee.

"Now we have to go out there and do it ourselves and maybe it is going to be not too good for the two teams if they take the law into their own hands, if it is not being officiated the way that we want it to go." - Two minutes later, on the referee playing to the Boks.

"We are playing the Tri-Nations under the Experimental Law Variations. With respect to the Welsh, what do South Africans see as the biggest challenge this year, the most important games for the Boks? I think you can answer that question for yourself. Everyone wants us to beat New Zealand, we play them twice in New Zealand during the Tri-Nations," - On the importance of the friendly series with Wales.

"Test rugby is war. We're going back to the trenches. We have to build a side that will die for the country." - On preparations for a friendly series against Wales of hitherto secondary importance.

"My preparations for the Springbok team are secondary. It's about what the country wants." - On being happy with his squad depth.

"A lot of guys put up their hands and I want to make it clear that the Springbok door is not shut to anyone." - On leaving out players from his first Springbok squad.

"There is a time to come and a time to go. I am looking to the next four years, and some people may find that their time to go is earlier than expected." - One week later, on leaving out players from his first Springbok team.

"Either you can give him the opportunity to play himself into form or he can take the opportunity to play himself out of form because players always want to be the best and they can push themselves too far." - On...erm... something to do with squad rotation.

"Even if you're playing a game on the moon, if you have the skills and you play well, you will win." - On choosing the right team for the right time.

"I am a very competitive person, I can't play a card game and not be competitive. There is nothing friendly about what I do." - On trying to be the best (said with a big warm smile).

"The fact is, they were so spoon-fed by the previous regime. Now we are asking them to think a bit, it is a culture shock for them. They are scared to make decisions because they have been so spoilt. Everything was there, they didn't have to decide on anything. They didn't take the blame for anything." - On his new-look team's failure to respond to recent setbacks.

Peter de Villierisms from www.planetrugby.com

"If the world were to blow itself up, the last audible voice would be that of an expert saying it can’t be done." – Peter Ustinov

2008-08-20T12:40:00.004+02:00

It's interesting stuff these limits we put on ourselves and others by arrogantly declaring "it can't be done". I was once challenged to eat a loaf of bread and did so with ease. The prize was a couple of Big Macs which I cleaned up no problem right afterwards. The strange thing is we place all these constraints on ourselves. That is, when we are born we are pure, but quickly tainted by our parents and others to make sure we have little chance in truly interacting as humans to our fullest potential. Did you know that up to about 6 months, if a baby is placed in water it will come up for a breath naturally and then of its own free will, it dives back down again in the water as a natural reflex. By choice. There is not much of that going about later on in life though. Watching the athletes in the Olympics breaking records it is so cool to see that the boundaries are overcome really quickly. I mean from one four year period (not a long time in evolution of man at all) to another the performances get better and better. It does take a huge effort to pass the existing marks set by others. Far too much energy as much of it is spent on a coach trying to psyche his charge up to believe they can actually take on the records. Then you get a guy like Michael Johnson or Phelps (he eats about a dozen eggs in a sitting ...they would have a good home with the loaf I mentioned earlier) who are specimens not too bothered about other peoples performances and have supreme confidence in themselves. They seem to cruise past the records. The African long distance runners are not just breaking the seemingly incredible feats already set up by their countrymen in previous years, they are doing so at the ages of 18 years and 20 years old. It does not make sense to the masses watching, especially those that know some simple maths. Where will the records stop in the question you see ... there is simply no answer that will come out in the form of a year, date or time now is there? So when will they stop? How can they though and why must they. Because eventually they will reach zero you answer, and you can't run the 100m in 0 seconds can you.
0 is just a number, a barrier at the end of a scale created by our good selves. I reckon that Jamaican Bolt characters great great grandchild - Lightning, will still be knocking that time down steadily in 60 years time and we'll still be saying it can't be done.