Wednesday, June 30, 2010
A Frenchman, an Italian and an Englishman walk into an airport...
| From my favourite satirical news website. If you're not following www.hayibo.com , you're not on the internet! June 2010 | Issue 5 |
 We were going to start this with a World Cup joke but there are just so many to choose from: France, Italy, England... Meanwhile Rear Admiral Field Marshal Bheki Cele says the fan who wandered into the England dressing room was in cahoots with a British journalist hell-bent on embarrassing South Africa. We at Hayibo are taking Cele's story very serious because when it comes to embarrassing South Africa, he's an expert. Besides, we're also not that into journalists this week after our awesome FEEFA 2.010 WHIRLED CUP t-shirt got rave reviews in an article on News24 and The Sunday Times. Our best publicity ever! Instant riches! Just a pity the journalist forgot to mention Hayibo or our shop. The final count? Two million people read about our t-shirt, one person bought it. We promise not to spend the cash all in one place... The good news is that there are still a few left over for you to snap up before the end of the World Cup next week. Of course, life goes on beyond the World Cup. Or not, if you're off to become a man at an initiation school. Good luck, boys, you're going to need it. And Doctor, remember to hold the blade away from you. No, away from you, Doctor. No, that's towards you, just...No, Doctor, that's a butter knife. And no, Doctor, Klipdrift is not an anaesthetic. Oh, I see it's for you... But now let's bid the losers bonjour, ciao and cheers, salute the General as he goose-steps into Cloudcuckooland, and reach for our cleanest scalpels as we do what we do best: breaking the news – and Euro-weenie hearts – into lots of little pieces.  |
 |
First up, Wazza is drying his tears. |
 Happy Rooney arrives home just in time for new season of Top GearA fatigued and disillusioned Wayne Rooney was granted a small amount of solace yesterday when he returned to his home in Cheshire to discover that his wife, Coleen Rooney, had remembered to tape last Sunday’s broadcast of popular motoring magazine show, Top Gear. |
| Read more... |
Meanwhile, in 15th Century Switzerland... |
 FIFA rejects goal-line technology, warns of soul-capturing devicesFIFA has once again refused to discuss goal-line technology, describing cameras and video replays as the work of the devil. “You say camera, we say soul-capturing device,” said a spokesman this morning, explaining that any technology not based on cuckoo-clocks or fermenting Swiss cheese was “diabolical”. |
| Read more... |
Sepp has fessed up, but then we always suspected this, didn't we? |
 Blatter admits his balls are misshapen, makes scoring difficultFIFA chief Sepp Blatter has admitted that his balls are misshapen, which makes scoring extremely difficult. “It’s embarrassing, especially when your misshapen balls are being viewed by a global audience,” said Blatter. He added that FIFA had handled the balls of dozens of manufacturers before the tournament, and all had felt absolutely normal. |
| Read more... |
Get busy livin' or get busy begging for parole... |
 No black friends for Hani killer means no Shawshank RedemptionChris Hani killer, Clive Derby-Lewis, looks set to spend the rest of his life in jail after SACP Secretary General Blade Nzimande attended his parole hearing on Wednesday to give reasons why it should be denied. Parole was Derby-Lewis’ final hope of seeing the outside of a cell after earlier plans to tunnel out were scuppered by the conservative’s fear of being mistaken for a miner. |
| Read more... |
Zut alors! You call zis an hairliner? |
 French team’s flight home “a disgrace”The French football team’s flight back to Paris yesterday was marked by “several incidents of insubordination and a shocking lack of professionalism,” insiders on the coaching staff reported, adding: “that’s the last time we fly SAA economy”. Coach Raymond Domenech, meanwhile, spent the flight sulking in the toilet after refusing to sit next to a passenger who he claimed had called his momma fat back in 1983. |
The Week That Was - June 30
Wow!
Its been so long since I last posted on my blog its almost like i'm starting all over again.
It's been a rather eventful week, so without further ado i'll get right into it.
Telkom had their copper cables stolen in our suburb last week, hence my absence from the interweb.
Eight calls later, the last one bordering on a hysterical rant, and they finally sent over a technician to inspect the problem. It took them four days before before he arrived, but once i'd gotten over the fact that they were actually at my place I then had to get over the fact that the technician was somewhere between 70 years old and death!
I keep my main telephone line and modem upstairs in my office.
Madala as he called himself seemed like he was in no condition to climb out of a paper-bag, let alone climb up a flight of stairs! An hour later and he had me back online... !
I wonder what Telkom's pension plan is like?
Moving on.
So today I arrived at a clients building where I needed to inspect some structural issues. I hadn't scheduled a meeting since the client owns numerous buildings in the city, and most of the security and maintenance personnel know me. The odd few who don't know me usually get to know me pretty well within an hour or so, and this is how most of my working relationships start.
Alisha seemed destined to test my patience and end up on the wrong side of a smooth working relationship from the outset. As the building manager to this particular high-rise, she immediately came across as being obnoxious and a first-class bitch. I could tell from the outset that her admin and security team were partly afraid of her and partly annoyed by her.
I introduced myself and proceeded to inform her that I needed to inspect the building.
She cut me short and told me that I needed a security pass, and since the admin lady who issued these passes had already left for the day, I would have to come back another time.
Trying a different but equally polite tact, I informed her that i've never needed a security pass for any of the buildings i've ever been to for my regular clients.
That's when she got all bitchy and said it was possible the other buildings were lax in doing their jobs, and that any further discussion was going to be a waste of her time.
What?!!
Did she just diss me?
Ok so I hardly ever pull rank because I really do believe it's cruel and crass, but sometimes the situation calls for cruel and crass.
I looked her dead in the eye, whipped out my mobile, called the owner of the building who just happened to be a golfing buddy as well, and proceeded to tell him about the attitude I was getting from this junior rent-a-cop.
I handed the phone over to her, and watched her face go from anger, to shock, to remorse, and finally she broke down and started crying.
I half expected her team, who had all stood by watching the scene unfold, to break into song and dance when her sobs started. I even got a few smiles from them.
I'm guessing I wont be needing a security pass on my next visit. Just a hunch.
My last meeting was 2 blocks down the road from rent-a-cops playground.
My meeting was scheduled for 4pm with a very charming north-african lady named Fynans.
I got to the building which happened to be owned by Standard Bank. There's no actual bank within the building, but it seems as though much admin and offshore banking related matters take place on the premises, if the floor demarcations at reception were anything to go by.
I went up to the lady at the reception desk, introduced myself and said I was from Sikama Contracting (that's the name of my company). She asked what the company did and I said we were a construction and consulting company. She asked who I needed to speak to and I said I was there to meet Fynans.
I was told to take a seat and somebody would be down to see me shortly.
This is a true story!
Ten minutes later there was a suit who introduced himself to me as David, and asked me to follow him.
We went 6 floors up, and proceeded into a rather posh boardroom.
Inside were 3 more suits.
They offered me tea and coffee and introduced themselves as well.
By this point I suspected something was seriously amiss.
My meetings with suits only ever take place at my own bank, and only after I had scheduled them.
Why would I be called in to a boardroom meeting to meet these guys who I clearly did not know?
So I stopped them halfway into what seemed like a mini-presentation, and told them I suspected there was a misunderstanding.
I said I was there to meet with Fynans, who was definitely a lady last I spoke to her.
They looked at each other, then at the suit who had brought me up from ground floor, and burst out laughing.
It seems the lady at reception had misunderstood.
She thought I owned a construction company and had come to them for finance. Since they specialised in offshore, they assumed I did offshore construction and required high-level financing!
Fynans, however, was simply the buildings manager!
How desperate are these banks for business that they would mistake ME for a high roller?
The weeks hardly over and already i've had more excitement come my way than most people have in a year.
Having said that, these things have a knack of following me wherever I go.
Watch this space!
Its been so long since I last posted on my blog its almost like i'm starting all over again.
It's been a rather eventful week, so without further ado i'll get right into it.
Telkom had their copper cables stolen in our suburb last week, hence my absence from the interweb.
Eight calls later, the last one bordering on a hysterical rant, and they finally sent over a technician to inspect the problem. It took them four days before before he arrived, but once i'd gotten over the fact that they were actually at my place I then had to get over the fact that the technician was somewhere between 70 years old and death!
I keep my main telephone line and modem upstairs in my office.
Madala as he called himself seemed like he was in no condition to climb out of a paper-bag, let alone climb up a flight of stairs! An hour later and he had me back online... !
I wonder what Telkom's pension plan is like?
Moving on.
So today I arrived at a clients building where I needed to inspect some structural issues. I hadn't scheduled a meeting since the client owns numerous buildings in the city, and most of the security and maintenance personnel know me. The odd few who don't know me usually get to know me pretty well within an hour or so, and this is how most of my working relationships start.
Alisha seemed destined to test my patience and end up on the wrong side of a smooth working relationship from the outset. As the building manager to this particular high-rise, she immediately came across as being obnoxious and a first-class bitch. I could tell from the outset that her admin and security team were partly afraid of her and partly annoyed by her.
I introduced myself and proceeded to inform her that I needed to inspect the building.
She cut me short and told me that I needed a security pass, and since the admin lady who issued these passes had already left for the day, I would have to come back another time.
Trying a different but equally polite tact, I informed her that i've never needed a security pass for any of the buildings i've ever been to for my regular clients.
That's when she got all bitchy and said it was possible the other buildings were lax in doing their jobs, and that any further discussion was going to be a waste of her time.
What?!!
Did she just diss me?
Ok so I hardly ever pull rank because I really do believe it's cruel and crass, but sometimes the situation calls for cruel and crass.
I looked her dead in the eye, whipped out my mobile, called the owner of the building who just happened to be a golfing buddy as well, and proceeded to tell him about the attitude I was getting from this junior rent-a-cop.
I handed the phone over to her, and watched her face go from anger, to shock, to remorse, and finally she broke down and started crying.
I half expected her team, who had all stood by watching the scene unfold, to break into song and dance when her sobs started. I even got a few smiles from them.
I'm guessing I wont be needing a security pass on my next visit. Just a hunch.
My last meeting was 2 blocks down the road from rent-a-cops playground.
My meeting was scheduled for 4pm with a very charming north-african lady named Fynans.
I got to the building which happened to be owned by Standard Bank. There's no actual bank within the building, but it seems as though much admin and offshore banking related matters take place on the premises, if the floor demarcations at reception were anything to go by.
I went up to the lady at the reception desk, introduced myself and said I was from Sikama Contracting (that's the name of my company). She asked what the company did and I said we were a construction and consulting company. She asked who I needed to speak to and I said I was there to meet Fynans.
I was told to take a seat and somebody would be down to see me shortly.
This is a true story!
Ten minutes later there was a suit who introduced himself to me as David, and asked me to follow him.
We went 6 floors up, and proceeded into a rather posh boardroom.
Inside were 3 more suits.
They offered me tea and coffee and introduced themselves as well.
By this point I suspected something was seriously amiss.
My meetings with suits only ever take place at my own bank, and only after I had scheduled them.
Why would I be called in to a boardroom meeting to meet these guys who I clearly did not know?
So I stopped them halfway into what seemed like a mini-presentation, and told them I suspected there was a misunderstanding.
I said I was there to meet with Fynans, who was definitely a lady last I spoke to her.
They looked at each other, then at the suit who had brought me up from ground floor, and burst out laughing.
It seems the lady at reception had misunderstood.
She thought I owned a construction company and had come to them for finance. Since they specialised in offshore, they assumed I did offshore construction and required high-level financing!
Fynans, however, was simply the buildings manager!
How desperate are these banks for business that they would mistake ME for a high roller?
The weeks hardly over and already i've had more excitement come my way than most people have in a year.
Having said that, these things have a knack of following me wherever I go.
Watch this space!
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Kids Today Are Spoilt!
When I was a kid, adults used to bore me to tears with their tedious diatribes about how hard things were.
When they were growing up; what with walking twenty-five miles to school every morning....Uphill... Barefoot....BOTH ways Yadda, yadda, yadda
And I remember promising myself that when I grew up, there was no way in hell I was going to lay a bunch of crap like that on my kids about how hard I had it and how easy they ' ve got it!
When they were growing up; what with walking twenty-five miles to school every morning....Uphill... Barefoot....BOTH ways Yadda, yadda, yadda
And I remember promising myself that when I grew up, there was no way in hell I was going to lay a bunch of crap like that on my kids about how hard I had it and how easy they ' ve got it!
But now that Im over the ripe old age of thirty, I can ' t help but look around and notice the youth of today.
I hate to say it, but you kids today, you don ' t know how good you've got it!
I mean, when I was a kid we didn't have the Internet. If we wanted to know something, we had to go to the damn library and look it up ourselves,in the card catalog!!
There was no email!! We had to actually write somebody a letter - with a pen!
Then you had to walk all the way across the street and put it in the mailbox, and it would take like a week to get there! Stamps were 10cents!
Child Protective Services didn't care if our parents beat us. As a matter of fact, the parents of all my friends also had permission to kick our ass!
Nowhere was safe! There were no MP3's or Napsters! If you wanted to steal music, you had to hitchhike to the damn record store and shoplift it yourself!
Or you had to wait around all day to tape it off the radio, and the DJ would usually talk over the beginning and @#*% it all up!
There were no CD players! We had tape decks in our car. We'd play our favorite tape and "eject" it when finished, and the tape would come undone. Cause - that's how we rolled, dig?
We didn't have fancy crap like Call Waiting!
If you were on the phone and somebody else called, they got a busy signal, that's it!
And we didn't have fancy Caller ID either! When the phone rang, you had no idea who it was!
It could be your school, your mom, your boss, your bookie, your drug dealer, a collections agent, you just didn't know!!!
You had to pick it up and take your chances, mister!
We didn't have any fancy Sony Playstation video games with high-resolution 3-D graphics!
We had the Atari 2600! With games like ' Space Invaders' and ' Asteroids ' .
Your guy was a little square! You actually had to use your imagination!! And there were no multiple levels or screens, it was
just one screen... Forever!
And you could never win. The game just kept getting harder and harder and faster and faster until you died!
Just like LIFE!
You had to use a little book called a TV Guide to find out what was on!;
You were screwed when it came to channel surfing! You had to get off your ass and walk over to the TV to change the channel!
NO REMOTES!!!
There was no Cartoon Network either! You could only get cartoons on Saturday Morning.
Do you hear what I'm saying?
We had to wait ALL WEEK for cartoons, you spoiled little rat-bastards!
And we didn't have microwaves.
If we wanted to heat something up, we had to use the stove!
Imagine that!
That's exactly what I'm talking about! You kids today have got it too easy.
You're spoiled.
You guys wouldn't have lasted five minutes back in 1980 or before!
Regards,
The Over 30 Crowd
Sent from my Apple iPad® wireless device
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Wimbledon Record!
John Isner (AP)
London - Play was suspended on Wednesday in the longest tennis match ever played as France's Nicolas Mahut and John Isner of the United States came off court at 59-59 in the final set at Wimbledon.
France's Mahut and Isner of the United States made tennis history as they set a new record for the longest Grand Slam singles match ever.
France's Mahut and Isner of the United States made tennis history as they set a new record for the longest Grand Slam singles match ever.
They surpassed the previous time of six hours and 33 minutes set at the 2004 French Open, when Fabrice Santoro beat fellow Frenchman Arnaud Clement 6-4, 6-3, 6-7, 3-6, 16-14.
The record number of aces served in a match at Wimbledon also fell.
Croatian Ivo Karlovic previously held that record, having served 51 aces in a defeat to Italian Daniele Bracciali in 2005.
But both had surpassed that mark in the clash between 23rd seed Isner and grass-court specialist Mahut, who were still contesting the final set of a match carried over from Tuesday.
The previous record for the longest match at Wimbledon was six hours and nine minutes, set in the 2006 men's doubles quarter-finals.
In the men's singles here, it was five hours and 28 minutes, set in 1989 in a match between Holmes and Witsken of the United States.
The previous record longest set at Wimbledon was 62 games, set in a men's doubles match in 1968.
Back then, Olmedo of Peru and Segura of Ecuador beat Forbes and Segal of South Africa 32-30, 5-7, 6-4, 6-4, in the days before tie-breaks were introduced for all but the final set.
Mahut and Isner were still tussling at 59-59 in the final set on Court 18 when play was suspended.
Scoreboard: 6-4, 3-6, 6-7, 7-6, 59-59 and still counting...
Scoreboard: 6-4, 3-6, 6-7, 7-6, 59-59 and still counting...
The VIP Boys Club
It was 10am and I was contemplating another dreary day on the work front, much like the entire week has been already. My business goes through phases of immense excitement and supreme dullness, albeit the latter phase is few and far in-between.
My brother-in-law Ayub called me just after 10am to find out what I was up to. We chat often throughout the day partly because we're in the same field of business, but mostly because we're married to two sisters and this leaves us much to talk about.
Little did I know that my day was about to take a turn toward the surrealistically exciting!
It turns out Ayub had managed to get tickets to todays Soccer World Cup game, Algeria vs USA.
Now the teams may not be the most exciting to watch, but the prospect of watching the game in the VIP Box suite was something I was not going to think twice about, not in this lifetime nor any other!
We got to the stadium just after 2pm and immediately realised that this day was going to go down in the books as a totally memorable one.
Escorted to the VIP Suite by the concierge, we were treated to a fine buffet lunch and array of desserts that would have made Martha Stewart jealous.
My favourite moment came when the dedicated table waitress thought we were Algerian and proceeded to teach us some Xhosa!
Unfortunately the Secret Service and local security detail didn't allow pics to be taken of some of the dignitaries, who included Bill Clinton. I kid you not!
Ayub and I
The concierge and I.
On Sunday we travel to Soccer City to watch Argentina vs Mexico.
I could get used to this :)
My brother-in-law Ayub called me just after 10am to find out what I was up to. We chat often throughout the day partly because we're in the same field of business, but mostly because we're married to two sisters and this leaves us much to talk about.
Little did I know that my day was about to take a turn toward the surrealistically exciting!
It turns out Ayub had managed to get tickets to todays Soccer World Cup game, Algeria vs USA.
Now the teams may not be the most exciting to watch, but the prospect of watching the game in the VIP Box suite was something I was not going to think twice about, not in this lifetime nor any other!
We got to the stadium just after 2pm and immediately realised that this day was going to go down in the books as a totally memorable one.
Escorted to the VIP Suite by the concierge, we were treated to a fine buffet lunch and array of desserts that would have made Martha Stewart jealous.
My favourite moment came when the dedicated table waitress thought we were Algerian and proceeded to teach us some Xhosa!
Unfortunately the Secret Service and local security detail didn't allow pics to be taken of some of the dignitaries, who included Bill Clinton. I kid you not!
Ayub and I
On Sunday we travel to Soccer City to watch Argentina vs Mexico.
I could get used to this :)
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
The Kirby Travelling Saleslady
I got a call on Monday afternoon from Kirby, the vacuum company. They were offering a free carpet-cleaning demo, but quite frankly they had me at "Free".
They arranged to have someone sent over to my place at 8pm, and promptly on the hour I had a visitor waiting at my door.
Ok i'm not going to lie... she was cute. Cuter than I expected a Kirby saleswoman selling me a vacuum machine at 8pm to be. Her skimpy outfit certainly was not weather-appropriate, but i'm never one to judge. Or hardly ever.
She proceeded to go through the motions about how amazing the Kirby is; how it's 104 uses would improve our lives; how it's hefty price-tag is not an expense but an investment.... but all my mind was processing was how far South Africa had come as a nation. I would never have imagined that the day would come when an international company would willingly send over a cute white woman to vacuum an Indian family's carpets and curtains, after hours, for free!
Ok i'm not going to lie... she was cute. Cuter than I expected a Kirby saleswoman selling me a vacuum machine at 8pm to be. Her skimpy outfit certainly was not weather-appropriate, but i'm never one to judge. Or hardly ever.
She proceeded to go through the motions about how amazing the Kirby is; how it's 104 uses would improve our lives; how it's hefty price-tag is not an expense but an investment.... but all my mind was processing was how far South Africa had come as a nation. I would never have imagined that the day would come when an international company would willingly send over a cute white woman to vacuum an Indian family's carpets and curtains, after hours, for free!
Two hours into the demo, and I must admit that I was suitably impressed with the Kirby.
She asked where the bedroom was, but before I could respond that I did'nt think we knew each other well enough just yet, she continued with " I want to show you exactly what lurks in the bedroom."
I know exactly what lurks in the bedroom.
Me!
I'm the King of my bedroom, and I love lurking!
It turns out she was talking about bed-bugs and dust-mites.
The Kirby proceeded to extract particles from by bed and carpets which scientists and anthropologists have not yet identified.
By midnight I had seen every conceivable use for the Kirby, and some I don't even think the manufacturers had ever intended. Did you know you could cut your hair with one of these machines? I kid you not!
It's even able to vacuum-seal packages, like clothes and wedding dresses.
I asked if we could use it to vacuum-seal samoosa's. It turns out you can, but its not recommended.
So there you have it.
The Kirby left me very impressed.
Tomorrow I have to break the news to the cleaning-lady that she's fired.
She asked where the bedroom was, but before I could respond that I did'nt think we knew each other well enough just yet, she continued with " I want to show you exactly what lurks in the bedroom."
I know exactly what lurks in the bedroom.
Me!
I'm the King of my bedroom, and I love lurking!
It turns out she was talking about bed-bugs and dust-mites.
The Kirby proceeded to extract particles from by bed and carpets which scientists and anthropologists have not yet identified.
By midnight I had seen every conceivable use for the Kirby, and some I don't even think the manufacturers had ever intended. Did you know you could cut your hair with one of these machines? I kid you not!
It's even able to vacuum-seal packages, like clothes and wedding dresses.
I asked if we could use it to vacuum-seal samoosa's. It turns out you can, but its not recommended.
So there you have it.
The Kirby left me very impressed.
Tomorrow I have to break the news to the cleaning-lady that she's fired.
Monday, June 21, 2010
St Peter Cleared Of Blasphemy
This article appeared in todays News24 Online.
My question is this.... is it not irresponsible journalism to publish this joke in a widely circulated magazine?
Or is this Freedom of Speech in action?
My personal viewpoint is, if we treated each other with respect, we would treat religions other than our own with respect, and we'd never get to a point where we'd need to ask these questions.
I'm interested in finding out your views on this....
From News24.com
Cape Town - St Peter was expressing his feelings, not swearing or blaspheming, when he urged Jesus not to "fuck around" in a golf game, the office of the press ombudsman ruled on Monday.
The ruling followed a complaint by a member of the public against an article in the March edition of the Sports Illustrated magazine, about the pursuit of sporting perfection.
Deputy ombudsman Johan Retief said the article included a joke about St Peter and Jesus playing golf in heaven.
He said the joke went that when Jesus hooked his first tee-shot, an angel guided the ball back into play, the dove of peace caught the ball in its beak and dropped it on the green, from where the holy spirit blew the ball into the hole.
"So St Peter said to Jesus: 'Do you wanna play golf or do you wanna fuck around?'"
Retief said the complainant, André Williams, maintained the article went too far by telling a joke about Jesus, and that the word "fuck" was a swearword that amounted to blasphemy.
Williams had asked what would happen if the names of St Peter and Jesus were replaced with Muhammad and Allah.
However Retief said that in the joke, St Peter felt done in, and that Jesus was not playing fair.
"The phrase 'fuck around' is used to express this feeling, and does not as such amount to swearing. 'Fuck you' would have been swearing."
"Although it can be said that the use of the phrase 'fuck around' constitutes bad taste, it does not, by definition, amount to a breach of the Press Code."
He also said the context of the joke in the story - that technology could turn sport into a joke in its pursuit of perfection - was of vital importance.
The fact that the joke had been published many times all over the world indicated a moral climate that tolerated it.
The question of what would happen if the names were replaced with Muhammad and Allah was hypothetical as each case had to be considered on its own merits.
Retief dismissed the complaint.
My question is this.... is it not irresponsible journalism to publish this joke in a widely circulated magazine?
Or is this Freedom of Speech in action?
My personal viewpoint is, if we treated each other with respect, we would treat religions other than our own with respect, and we'd never get to a point where we'd need to ask these questions.
I'm interested in finding out your views on this....
From News24.com
Cape Town - St Peter was expressing his feelings, not swearing or blaspheming, when he urged Jesus not to "fuck around" in a golf game, the office of the press ombudsman ruled on Monday.
The ruling followed a complaint by a member of the public against an article in the March edition of the Sports Illustrated magazine, about the pursuit of sporting perfection.
Deputy ombudsman Johan Retief said the article included a joke about St Peter and Jesus playing golf in heaven.
He said the joke went that when Jesus hooked his first tee-shot, an angel guided the ball back into play, the dove of peace caught the ball in its beak and dropped it on the green, from where the holy spirit blew the ball into the hole.
"So St Peter said to Jesus: 'Do you wanna play golf or do you wanna fuck around?'"
Retief said the complainant, André Williams, maintained the article went too far by telling a joke about Jesus, and that the word "fuck" was a swearword that amounted to blasphemy.
Williams had asked what would happen if the names of St Peter and Jesus were replaced with Muhammad and Allah.
However Retief said that in the joke, St Peter felt done in, and that Jesus was not playing fair.
"The phrase 'fuck around' is used to express this feeling, and does not as such amount to swearing. 'Fuck you' would have been swearing."
"Although it can be said that the use of the phrase 'fuck around' constitutes bad taste, it does not, by definition, amount to a breach of the Press Code."
He also said the context of the joke in the story - that technology could turn sport into a joke in its pursuit of perfection - was of vital importance.
The fact that the joke had been published many times all over the world indicated a moral climate that tolerated it.
The question of what would happen if the names were replaced with Muhammad and Allah was hypothetical as each case had to be considered on its own merits.
Retief dismissed the complaint.
- SAPA
Back In Time
I watched a fascinating episode of Carte Blanche tonight which dealt with time-travel.
I'm no rocket-scientist but I was intrigued to learn that it is absolutely possible to go back in time! Theres something called Relative Physics and then theres Quantum Physics.
In a nutshell, while it may be possible to go back in time and change certain events, how those events would affect the present falls under the realm of "uncertainty".
The example the scientist gave was a person who goes back in time, far back enough to ensure that his grandparents never meet, hence his parents never meet, culminating in the person never being born.
Possible? Yes, absolutely. But it does not mean he will not continue to live in a parallel universe. Huh?
Ok so heres the thing. Yes you could prevent your grandparents meeting.
Yes you could prevent your parents meeting.
Yes if they don't meet it would mean you were never born.
However, since it is YOU that is doing all this prevention, it would mean that you have to be alive at that time. How else would you prevent all the other events from happening?
Since you have to be alive at the time, and having come from the future, whilst preventing your grandparents and parents from meeting, it means that you would now exist in a parallel universe!
Cool huh.
Now heres another conundrum for everybody who ever thought they could go back in time to get the winning Lotto numbers, or the name of the horse that won the July Handicap.
Imagine having arrived in the past, and finding that valuable information you came looking for, and headed back to the future to make use of this information... Oh hang on, if you went back in the past to get those Lotto numbers and winning horses name, in order to make use of them you would have to go further back in the past to claim your prize, because if you went to the future you would have missed the events completely!
This has got to be the most confusing post i've ever written!
For anybody who understands any of the above, i'm offering a free trip back to the past.
I'm no rocket-scientist but I was intrigued to learn that it is absolutely possible to go back in time! Theres something called Relative Physics and then theres Quantum Physics.
In a nutshell, while it may be possible to go back in time and change certain events, how those events would affect the present falls under the realm of "uncertainty".
The example the scientist gave was a person who goes back in time, far back enough to ensure that his grandparents never meet, hence his parents never meet, culminating in the person never being born.
Possible? Yes, absolutely. But it does not mean he will not continue to live in a parallel universe. Huh?
Ok so heres the thing. Yes you could prevent your grandparents meeting.
Yes you could prevent your parents meeting.
Yes if they don't meet it would mean you were never born.
However, since it is YOU that is doing all this prevention, it would mean that you have to be alive at that time. How else would you prevent all the other events from happening?
Since you have to be alive at the time, and having come from the future, whilst preventing your grandparents and parents from meeting, it means that you would now exist in a parallel universe!
Cool huh.
Now heres another conundrum for everybody who ever thought they could go back in time to get the winning Lotto numbers, or the name of the horse that won the July Handicap.
Imagine having arrived in the past, and finding that valuable information you came looking for, and headed back to the future to make use of this information... Oh hang on, if you went back in the past to get those Lotto numbers and winning horses name, in order to make use of them you would have to go further back in the past to claim your prize, because if you went to the future you would have missed the events completely!
This has got to be the most confusing post i've ever written!
For anybody who understands any of the above, i'm offering a free trip back to the past.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Father's Day
My dad and his soccer team had just won their local league, and had decided to celebrate by going to a resort not too far from where we lived.
The plan was to have a braai (barbecue) at Club Shalimar, and spend the rest of the day at the resorts rock-pools.
My dad was an avid swimmer, and as soon as the team arrived and had done unpacking, he headed for the pools. It was the early part of the morning, and hardly anybody else had arrive at the resort.
That was the last anybody saw him alive.
It turns out he encountered severe cramp as soon as he dived into the frigid water, and was unable to swim to the surface.
I was 3 years old at the time.
Father's Day for me has always been one filled with awe and fascination toward other families. I'd watch friends and cousins go out shopping and prepare all manner of surprises and hearty lunches for their dads, and it never really struck me that I was missing out on any of this.
Its not easy to miss something when you've never really had it at any point in time to begin with.
That was until today.
Being woken up by my 3 year old daughter Sabreen with kisses all over my face while singing "Happy Fathers Day" suddenly made me realise how special the day truly is.
To all those dad's celebrating fatherhood today, to those dads that cant be with us, and to my dad watching down on me, heres wishing you a truly Happy Father's Day.
I hope i've made you proud dad.
Love always.
Your son
Fareed
The plan was to have a braai (barbecue) at Club Shalimar, and spend the rest of the day at the resorts rock-pools.
My dad was an avid swimmer, and as soon as the team arrived and had done unpacking, he headed for the pools. It was the early part of the morning, and hardly anybody else had arrive at the resort.
That was the last anybody saw him alive.
It turns out he encountered severe cramp as soon as he dived into the frigid water, and was unable to swim to the surface.
I was 3 years old at the time.
Father's Day for me has always been one filled with awe and fascination toward other families. I'd watch friends and cousins go out shopping and prepare all manner of surprises and hearty lunches for their dads, and it never really struck me that I was missing out on any of this.
Its not easy to miss something when you've never really had it at any point in time to begin with.
That was until today.
Being woken up by my 3 year old daughter Sabreen with kisses all over my face while singing "Happy Fathers Day" suddenly made me realise how special the day truly is.
To all those dad's celebrating fatherhood today, to those dads that cant be with us, and to my dad watching down on me, heres wishing you a truly Happy Father's Day.
I hope i've made you proud dad.
Love always.
Your son
Fareed
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Where Time Stood Still
My client called me early this morning wanting to know if I was available for a viewing of his latest purchase.
For those that don't know, my company specialises in commercial & residential property maintenance and renovations. I work closely with clients who purchase repossessed or dilapidated property with a view to have me renovate or mordernise it, and then have it re-sold.
So it was that by 8am on a chilly Saturday morning, Richard and I were en-route to a suburb in Vanderbijlpark creatively named Section CW5. The suburb closely borders two other creatively named residential areas, CW4 and CW6.
I had visions of arriving at a military outpost or a secret and clandestine alien research zone, much like Roswell, Area 51 in the United States. Upon arrival, it seems I was'nt too far off the mark with my "clandestine alien research zone" analogy.
The entire suburb and its surroundings seems to have somehow gotten stuck in the late 70's, with just a scattering of evidence that it tried clawing its way into the early 80's. If you ever wondered where the Beehive hairstyle, Ford Sierra's and Ford Cortina's went to die, this would be the place! I kid you not.
I recall once watching a really bad horror movie where the lead character wore pink high heels, balloon pants that seemed to have been stapled together with tin-foil, a green sequinned top, and hair so teased it stopped being funny as soon as the director yelled "Action". Well folks, I met that lead character today! She was still wearing her movie wardrobe. She even had a fan base who dressed almost identical to her.
The cars in Section CW5 have never done battle with soap or auto-wax. "Pale" seems to be the most popular shade of colour for all makes of car in this place. At one point I thought I had died and gone to "Ugly 70's Car Hell". The odd thing though is that every one of these cars, if we could still call them that, had the latest in Racing car seats, 16V boot stickers and the words "Turbo" sprayed on every conceivable empty space on the faded bodywork.
I pulled up at the local Spar to buy some cooldrink and upon my exit, found my shiny and polished car sandwiched between a bubble-shaped 1970's cream/baby-puke coloured Mazda 323, and a hooker-pink stained Datsun 1600 that seemed to be held together entirely with duct-tape! Even the bumper had rolls of duct-tape holding it to the bodywork. Force of habit made me walk around my car to inspect it for any scratches, though subconsciously I was just checking to see that it had'nt caught any contagious car-diseases. I really would'nt want to be driving back to the Northern suburbs with any form of auto-herpes or leprosy on my bumper!
I gather Richard may have sensed my disdain toward my surroundings, and offered me a subtle smile as we drove toward the house he had recently purchased.
We pulled into a leaf-strewn driveway with a simple and unassuming dwelling surrounded by an unkempt garden. My impression of the area had not changed in the least bit since first arriving, and hope it this changing was fading fast; faster than the fade on those Fords.
"Oh helloooo Richard. Its so cold today I thought you may not come."
Mrs Maritz.
Somewhere between 80 and a mortician.
If Plascon ever wanted to introduce a range of facial paint called "Extreme White", Mrs Maritz would be the pin-up girl.
It turns out she's the neighbour to Richards empty house, and has lived at the same place since she was a little girl; 5 years old to be exact. She looked like Mary from that famous painting of "The Last Supper", standing next to Jesus. I'm convinced its actually her. Why she'd be hiding out in Vanderbijlpark, Section CW5, is beyond me.
Anyways, we got invited in for a hot cup of tea before I began my inspection of Richards place, and I was half-expecting to be offered biscuits from the original gifts left by the Three Wise Men.
Barely two sips into my Rooibos tea and Mrs Maritz engaged me in conversation.I think she may have sensed my trepidation at becoming too comfortable in the surroundings.
It may have been the combination of the soothing tea & crunchy home-made biscuits, or maybe it was her soft manner, possibly even her gentle demeanour masked behind her toothy smile, but this charming woman had me totally disarmed of preconceptions before I could see the bottom of my tea-cup!
We chatted for almost an hour and at one point I even called her "Ouma".
Her neighbour from two doors away stopped by for a visit and to return a weathered and faded romance novel. The fade no longer reminiscent of a society stuck in the past, but rather one holding on to a bygone era brimming with history and culture.
Mrs Maritz and her friend Peggy had me so enthralled in tales of their fascinating lives and memories of the suburb, that the shackles of my first impression soon began opening; the cold chains now resembling a treasured charm bracelet.
I experienced an amazing moment as we stood on her sunlit porch, where I was able to look beyond the superficial and actually saw the people. I saw humanity where once only contempt dwelled.
It was an extraordinary afternoon, and it afforded me a lesson in life so many never have the opportunity to learn.
It taught me to give people the opportunity to pleasantly surprise you, and given this opportunity, they usually do.
I'm truly blessed to do the things in life I love doing; to have a career which thrills me every single day; to meet the amazing people I come across; but mostly i'm truly blessed to have the burning desire to always want to learn. To never stop learning about people. To always want to learn from life. To have the patience to allow the lessons to sink in.
To Mrs Maritz and Peggy, I bow my head in shame and whisper a humble Thank You.
Shame for having passed a judgement before I knew better.
Thank You for leading me with gentleness and kindness toward a better understanding.
As for you Richard, you knew all along what I had only today discovered.
I'm grateful that you led me to the river, and waited patiently until I drank, and realised, and truly saw :)
I shall be visiting Vanderbijlpark, Section CW5 again soon.
Sooner than I first thought.
For those that don't know, my company specialises in commercial & residential property maintenance and renovations. I work closely with clients who purchase repossessed or dilapidated property with a view to have me renovate or mordernise it, and then have it re-sold.
So it was that by 8am on a chilly Saturday morning, Richard and I were en-route to a suburb in Vanderbijlpark creatively named Section CW5. The suburb closely borders two other creatively named residential areas, CW4 and CW6.
I had visions of arriving at a military outpost or a secret and clandestine alien research zone, much like Roswell, Area 51 in the United States. Upon arrival, it seems I was'nt too far off the mark with my "clandestine alien research zone" analogy.
The entire suburb and its surroundings seems to have somehow gotten stuck in the late 70's, with just a scattering of evidence that it tried clawing its way into the early 80's. If you ever wondered where the Beehive hairstyle, Ford Sierra's and Ford Cortina's went to die, this would be the place! I kid you not.
I recall once watching a really bad horror movie where the lead character wore pink high heels, balloon pants that seemed to have been stapled together with tin-foil, a green sequinned top, and hair so teased it stopped being funny as soon as the director yelled "Action". Well folks, I met that lead character today! She was still wearing her movie wardrobe. She even had a fan base who dressed almost identical to her.
The cars in Section CW5 have never done battle with soap or auto-wax. "Pale" seems to be the most popular shade of colour for all makes of car in this place. At one point I thought I had died and gone to "Ugly 70's Car Hell". The odd thing though is that every one of these cars, if we could still call them that, had the latest in Racing car seats, 16V boot stickers and the words "Turbo" sprayed on every conceivable empty space on the faded bodywork.
I pulled up at the local Spar to buy some cooldrink and upon my exit, found my shiny and polished car sandwiched between a bubble-shaped 1970's cream/baby-puke coloured Mazda 323, and a hooker-pink stained Datsun 1600 that seemed to be held together entirely with duct-tape! Even the bumper had rolls of duct-tape holding it to the bodywork. Force of habit made me walk around my car to inspect it for any scratches, though subconsciously I was just checking to see that it had'nt caught any contagious car-diseases. I really would'nt want to be driving back to the Northern suburbs with any form of auto-herpes or leprosy on my bumper!
I gather Richard may have sensed my disdain toward my surroundings, and offered me a subtle smile as we drove toward the house he had recently purchased.
We pulled into a leaf-strewn driveway with a simple and unassuming dwelling surrounded by an unkempt garden. My impression of the area had not changed in the least bit since first arriving, and hope it this changing was fading fast; faster than the fade on those Fords.
"Oh helloooo Richard. Its so cold today I thought you may not come."
Mrs Maritz.
Somewhere between 80 and a mortician.
If Plascon ever wanted to introduce a range of facial paint called "Extreme White", Mrs Maritz would be the pin-up girl.
It turns out she's the neighbour to Richards empty house, and has lived at the same place since she was a little girl; 5 years old to be exact. She looked like Mary from that famous painting of "The Last Supper", standing next to Jesus. I'm convinced its actually her. Why she'd be hiding out in Vanderbijlpark, Section CW5, is beyond me.
Anyways, we got invited in for a hot cup of tea before I began my inspection of Richards place, and I was half-expecting to be offered biscuits from the original gifts left by the Three Wise Men.
Barely two sips into my Rooibos tea and Mrs Maritz engaged me in conversation.I think she may have sensed my trepidation at becoming too comfortable in the surroundings.
It may have been the combination of the soothing tea & crunchy home-made biscuits, or maybe it was her soft manner, possibly even her gentle demeanour masked behind her toothy smile, but this charming woman had me totally disarmed of preconceptions before I could see the bottom of my tea-cup!
We chatted for almost an hour and at one point I even called her "Ouma".
Her neighbour from two doors away stopped by for a visit and to return a weathered and faded romance novel. The fade no longer reminiscent of a society stuck in the past, but rather one holding on to a bygone era brimming with history and culture.
Mrs Maritz and her friend Peggy had me so enthralled in tales of their fascinating lives and memories of the suburb, that the shackles of my first impression soon began opening; the cold chains now resembling a treasured charm bracelet.
I experienced an amazing moment as we stood on her sunlit porch, where I was able to look beyond the superficial and actually saw the people. I saw humanity where once only contempt dwelled.
It was an extraordinary afternoon, and it afforded me a lesson in life so many never have the opportunity to learn.
It taught me to give people the opportunity to pleasantly surprise you, and given this opportunity, they usually do.
I'm truly blessed to do the things in life I love doing; to have a career which thrills me every single day; to meet the amazing people I come across; but mostly i'm truly blessed to have the burning desire to always want to learn. To never stop learning about people. To always want to learn from life. To have the patience to allow the lessons to sink in.
To Mrs Maritz and Peggy, I bow my head in shame and whisper a humble Thank You.
Shame for having passed a judgement before I knew better.
Thank You for leading me with gentleness and kindness toward a better understanding.
As for you Richard, you knew all along what I had only today discovered.
I'm grateful that you led me to the river, and waited patiently until I drank, and realised, and truly saw :)
I shall be visiting Vanderbijlpark, Section CW5 again soon.
Sooner than I first thought.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Waving Flag
I was on Page 2 of this note when I decided to delete the entire thing.
Nothing I was writing made much sense. My mind was in a blur.
It's akin to the feeling of having lost a pet or a loved one. I'm not eating right. I'm having restless sleeps. I feel moody and crabby all the time. If I were female i'd seriously contemplate a pregnancy test.
Why?
This the question I keep asking myself.
Why did Bafana lose?
Why did they play so hopelessly and terribly?
Why did Saurez have to betray the nation so?
Why did Forlan's mother have to do the horizontal samba with his father?
Why?
I guess i'll never know the answer to these questions.
In the meantime, I have K'Naans song to keep me company.
I'm not thrilled with Shakira's WakaWaka; i've said this before.
But whenever I here Waving Flag, I love it!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=utl-uOdX12w&feature=player_embedded
In other news, I realised I don't have as many pics uploaded on this blog as I did on all my previous blogs.
So in a feeble attempt at addressing this shortcoming, I present to you one of my favourite pics of Princess Sabreen.
She turns 4 in July!
I think I started my very first blog just before she was born! How time flies when you're having fun..
Nothing I was writing made much sense. My mind was in a blur.
It's akin to the feeling of having lost a pet or a loved one. I'm not eating right. I'm having restless sleeps. I feel moody and crabby all the time. If I were female i'd seriously contemplate a pregnancy test.
Why?
This the question I keep asking myself.
Why did Bafana lose?
Why did they play so hopelessly and terribly?
Why did Saurez have to betray the nation so?
Why did Forlan's mother have to do the horizontal samba with his father?
Why?
I guess i'll never know the answer to these questions.
In the meantime, I have K'Naans song to keep me company.
I'm not thrilled with Shakira's WakaWaka; i've said this before.
But whenever I here Waving Flag, I love it!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=utl-uOdX12w&feature=player_embedded
In other news, I realised I don't have as many pics uploaded on this blog as I did on all my previous blogs.
So in a feeble attempt at addressing this shortcoming, I present to you one of my favourite pics of Princess Sabreen.
She turns 4 in July!
I think I started my very first blog just before she was born! How time flies when you're having fun..
Monday, June 14, 2010
The Journey of 1000 Miles
I must have been 18 when I first romanced the idea of travelling and exploring. Not the boys-weekend variety or the family vacation travel. I toyed with the idea of buying a motorbike and riding across the country taking pictures and writing poetry. I'd written poetry since I was 15 and had this dream of pinning my words to trees along my route. Maybe it was all those French movies I grew up watching. Either way, I stopped writing poetry and very soon thereafter I forgot about my dream of biking across the land and littering tree's with my babble.
Then I stumbled upon a book today.
A book bursting at the seams with the innocence of a child's fantasies.
A book abundant with colours and sounds and sights and smells, all written in black.
A book depicting the exuberance of youth hastily scribbled to form a rhyme.
I had found my old and dusty poetry book dating back about 20 years! Reading through it reminded me just how much I had changed, and how much I had remained the same. I always loved words, and the powers they wield.
Reading through my book took me on a fantastic journey through some of the most amazing moments and memories of my life.
It took me on road trips with awesome friends, and horseback rides through the relationship landscape, and boat trips with the folks, and all this while basking in the afternoon sun in the comfort of my armchair.
It reminded me of the day I wrote an essay for school titled "Grey Matters". I think I was about 14 at the time. The essay was about multiracial couples, and the possibility of a society filled with "Grey kids" if whites and blacks had children. This was before apartheid was abolished, and before we as a society were exposed to mixed-marriages. I remember fondly my classmates having a debate over what the world would be like when the day arrived. The innocence of youth. Played back so vividly to me in a magical afternoon of memories.
It reminded me of my first "Love Letter" to a girl I fancied so much, I once promised her i'd become a carpenter just so I could work for her dad, also a carpenter, which would mean we'd be together forever! Again, the innocence of youth.
It also reminded me of my first "Break Up Letter". Not to the same girl thankfully.
Who would think that the infamous phrase "Its not you, its me" would define men and their relationships from their early teens?!
So I finally put my poetry book down when the sun set and the chill began to set in.
I wondered as I closed the last page, whether I had also closed a chapter on my life I would only ever visit in my dreams.
I'd like to think that some day I could still buy that motorbike, and do that road trip, and write my poetry, and pin them to those trees.
But the reality is probably a much less romantic picture...... or is it?
"I bring you with reverent hands, the books of my numberless dreams."
W.B Yeats
Then I stumbled upon a book today.
A book bursting at the seams with the innocence of a child's fantasies.
A book abundant with colours and sounds and sights and smells, all written in black.
A book depicting the exuberance of youth hastily scribbled to form a rhyme.
I had found my old and dusty poetry book dating back about 20 years! Reading through it reminded me just how much I had changed, and how much I had remained the same. I always loved words, and the powers they wield.
Reading through my book took me on a fantastic journey through some of the most amazing moments and memories of my life.
It took me on road trips with awesome friends, and horseback rides through the relationship landscape, and boat trips with the folks, and all this while basking in the afternoon sun in the comfort of my armchair.
It reminded me of the day I wrote an essay for school titled "Grey Matters". I think I was about 14 at the time. The essay was about multiracial couples, and the possibility of a society filled with "Grey kids" if whites and blacks had children. This was before apartheid was abolished, and before we as a society were exposed to mixed-marriages. I remember fondly my classmates having a debate over what the world would be like when the day arrived. The innocence of youth. Played back so vividly to me in a magical afternoon of memories.
It reminded me of my first "Love Letter" to a girl I fancied so much, I once promised her i'd become a carpenter just so I could work for her dad, also a carpenter, which would mean we'd be together forever! Again, the innocence of youth.
It also reminded me of my first "Break Up Letter". Not to the same girl thankfully.
Who would think that the infamous phrase "Its not you, its me" would define men and their relationships from their early teens?!
So I finally put my poetry book down when the sun set and the chill began to set in.
I wondered as I closed the last page, whether I had also closed a chapter on my life I would only ever visit in my dreams.
I'd like to think that some day I could still buy that motorbike, and do that road trip, and write my poetry, and pin them to those trees.
But the reality is probably a much less romantic picture...... or is it?
"I bring you with reverent hands, the books of my numberless dreams."
W.B Yeats
Sunday, June 13, 2010
If This Works...
If this works, I shall spend the evening knighting myself 'Blogging Genius!'
I'm testing this theory that its possible to post to my blog directly from my mobile.
Blackberry rocks if this works.
I'm a moron if it doesn't.
Here goes nothing.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device
I'm testing this theory that its possible to post to my blog directly from my mobile.
Blackberry rocks if this works.
I'm a moron if it doesn't.
Here goes nothing.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device
Feel It, It Is Here!
This is the phrase our soccer bosses and powers that be thought would make an excellent tagline.
Anything and everything that was related to the FIFA Soccer World Cup 2010 had the phrase "Feel it, it is here!" attached to it.
In the first few weeks of hearing it, I thought my country was promoting a new adult movie shot completely in the dark.
*cue darkness*
Here?
No, more to the left.
Here?
Yeah baby yeah! A bit more to the left.... naaaaice!!
"Feel it, it is here!"
*crowd applauds*
>> exit stage left <<
Then the phrase started to grow on me.
(no pun intended).
Now i'm supremely glad they chose that phrase. I fully understand what i'm supposed to be feeling, and its an exhilarating sensation unsurpassed by anything else I could possibly attempt to do! My country is totally galvanized by this event, and quite frankly Africa has stood up to be counted in the way only Africa can.
We have shown the world and its international media just how passionate we are as a nation about our soccer, and sport in general. I spent Wednesday afternoon at Nelson Mandela Square in Sandton and watched in awe as fans from across the globe paraded noisily by. It was a showcase for every fan from every soccer nation being represented at this football spectacular.
Then came the Mexicans... with their sombreros and senoritas and song.
Ole' Ole' Ole' Ole' reverberated throughout the square. Even non-Mexicans sang along; the song sliding so easily off the tongue.
I watched spellbound as the Argentinians responded, and then the Australians, followed by a scattering of Americans.... and when these minnows were done, the crowd burst into a cacophony of vuvuzelas soon transformed into a deafening war-cry when Shosholoza was sung as the backing vocals.
That was the very moment when the world realised that you may come to our country, and you may enjoy our hospitality, and you may even steal our trophy, but you shall never own our "Gees" !!
May the spirit of Africa live on and prosper.
Ke Nako.
Anything and everything that was related to the FIFA Soccer World Cup 2010 had the phrase "Feel it, it is here!" attached to it.
In the first few weeks of hearing it, I thought my country was promoting a new adult movie shot completely in the dark.
*cue darkness*
Here?
No, more to the left.
Here?
Yeah baby yeah! A bit more to the left.... naaaaice!!
"Feel it, it is here!"
*crowd applauds*
>> exit stage left <<
Then the phrase started to grow on me.
(no pun intended).
Now i'm supremely glad they chose that phrase. I fully understand what i'm supposed to be feeling, and its an exhilarating sensation unsurpassed by anything else I could possibly attempt to do! My country is totally galvanized by this event, and quite frankly Africa has stood up to be counted in the way only Africa can.
We have shown the world and its international media just how passionate we are as a nation about our soccer, and sport in general. I spent Wednesday afternoon at Nelson Mandela Square in Sandton and watched in awe as fans from across the globe paraded noisily by. It was a showcase for every fan from every soccer nation being represented at this football spectacular.
Then came the Mexicans... with their sombreros and senoritas and song.
Ole' Ole' Ole' Ole' reverberated throughout the square. Even non-Mexicans sang along; the song sliding so easily off the tongue.
I watched spellbound as the Argentinians responded, and then the Australians, followed by a scattering of Americans.... and when these minnows were done, the crowd burst into a cacophony of vuvuzelas soon transformed into a deafening war-cry when Shosholoza was sung as the backing vocals.
That was the very moment when the world realised that you may come to our country, and you may enjoy our hospitality, and you may even steal our trophy, but you shall never own our "Gees" !!
May the spirit of Africa live on and prosper.
Ke Nako.
A Note Of Thanks
I never really got the opportunity to give full and proper thanks to an awesome guy who did something totally amazing and selfless for me, someone he's never met before!
I made a humble request that I knew would require time and dedication, and without flinching he stood up to be counted and delivered more than he promised.
To the designer of this new blog, Irfaan Imamdin Sir, I say a heartfelt Thank You and salute your creative genius.
My blog is amazing and I brag about it to all who lend me an ear, every chance I get.
*bows*
I made a humble request that I knew would require time and dedication, and without flinching he stood up to be counted and delivered more than he promised.
To the designer of this new blog, Irfaan Imamdin Sir, I say a heartfelt Thank You and salute your creative genius.
My blog is amazing and I brag about it to all who lend me an ear, every chance I get.
*bows*
Thursday, June 10, 2010
The Pleasure Of Pain
I'm watching one of my favourite shows on TV; Taboo on the National Geographic channel.
Tonights episode is about a Chinese Daoist group in Phuket who believe in self-mutilation and extreme pain in order to get closer to their God.
Devotee's pierce their bodies with all manner of sharp objects, even having swords driven through their belly's. They seem totally oblivious to the pain and the bleeding.
Now i'm no expert on religion, but I cant help but wonder why there's no religion on earth that says a ritual should consist of eating buckets of ice-cream and dollops of chocolate, while being served Kola Tonic & Lemonade by beautiful nude Swedish cheerleaders.
Seriously.
Is that too much to ask?
Thats my kind of religious ritual.
I'd put it somewhere between Easter and Christmas.
I don't get this whole Hell and eternal damnation thing.
Why cant I just be spanked by Mariah Carey while Celine Dion sings in the background?
In my book, that should be a suitable punishment for any sin one may have committed.
Maybe I should'nt discuss religion after 11pm.
Tonights episode is about a Chinese Daoist group in Phuket who believe in self-mutilation and extreme pain in order to get closer to their God.
Devotee's pierce their bodies with all manner of sharp objects, even having swords driven through their belly's. They seem totally oblivious to the pain and the bleeding.
Now i'm no expert on religion, but I cant help but wonder why there's no religion on earth that says a ritual should consist of eating buckets of ice-cream and dollops of chocolate, while being served Kola Tonic & Lemonade by beautiful nude Swedish cheerleaders.
Seriously.
Is that too much to ask?
Thats my kind of religious ritual.
I'd put it somewhere between Easter and Christmas.
I don't get this whole Hell and eternal damnation thing.
Why cant I just be spanked by Mariah Carey while Celine Dion sings in the background?
In my book, that should be a suitable punishment for any sin one may have committed.
Maybe I should'nt discuss religion after 11pm.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Of Mice & Men
I uploaded a status on Facebook today that seems to have generated quite a response from my fan club.
Dishonor and Deceit.
What is the standard definition of dishonor and deceit?
- the quality of being deceitful; duplicity; falseness.
- lack or loss of honor; disgraceful or dishonest character or conduct.
Its been a week where I have encountered this in both total strangers and those I regarded as friends.
The total strangers I could easily forgive. The friends on the other hand, never cease to amaze me.
Thats the funny thing about forgiveness. We find forgiveness easier to sprinkle about like rice at a Chinese wedding when the perpetrators are people who don't really matter. It's when they're friends or family that we suddenly find the confetti heavier than lead.
I could easily have steered this post toward a rant and a lament, but i'd much rather use this as a cathartic process to cleanse myself of the stench of scum and chicken-poop.
Wait!
Did I just rant?
How deceitful of me!
Lol. You see what I just did there?
Moving along.
What an awesome week it has been for every South African able to breath and blow a vuvuzela!
Today made me feel truly proud to be South African.
I took Sabreen out to Nelson Mandela Square in Sandton at lunchtime and we were amazed at the turn-out of fans from across the globe. The highlight must certainly be the Mexican fans taunting the South African fans, and vice-versa. The Mexicans were in full song, with the chant of "Ole Ole Ole Ole" ringing loudly through the square. The South Africans in turn were torn between the tried and trusted Shosholoza and TKZees "In The Area", not so apt now that Benni has been dropped.
Its at this precise moment that I realised we as a nation don't truly have a song we can call our own during sporting events. Shakira's "Waka Waka" sounds great but it's not really a South African song. Neither is "Waving Flag", as much as I wish it were because it's such an awesome song.
Halfway through the afternoon, I could'nt help but notice how many South Africans were singing along to "Ole Ole Ole Ole". This is going to seem rather odd during the opening game. South Africa vs Mexico. How are we supposed to tell who the fans at the stadium are supporting? Worse still, what happens when the Mexican Wave comes around? Can you imagine thousands of South African fans singing "Ole Ole Ole Ole" and doing the Mexican wave while our boys are playing the Mexicans?
Is this the definition of a Mexican Stand-off?
Dishonor and Deceit.
What is the standard definition of dishonor and deceit?
- the quality of being deceitful; duplicity; falseness.
- lack or loss of honor; disgraceful or dishonest character or conduct.
Its been a week where I have encountered this in both total strangers and those I regarded as friends.
The total strangers I could easily forgive. The friends on the other hand, never cease to amaze me.
Thats the funny thing about forgiveness. We find forgiveness easier to sprinkle about like rice at a Chinese wedding when the perpetrators are people who don't really matter. It's when they're friends or family that we suddenly find the confetti heavier than lead.
I could easily have steered this post toward a rant and a lament, but i'd much rather use this as a cathartic process to cleanse myself of the stench of scum and chicken-poop.
Wait!
Did I just rant?
How deceitful of me!
Lol. You see what I just did there?
Moving along.
What an awesome week it has been for every South African able to breath and blow a vuvuzela!
Today made me feel truly proud to be South African.
I took Sabreen out to Nelson Mandela Square in Sandton at lunchtime and we were amazed at the turn-out of fans from across the globe. The highlight must certainly be the Mexican fans taunting the South African fans, and vice-versa. The Mexicans were in full song, with the chant of "Ole Ole Ole Ole" ringing loudly through the square. The South Africans in turn were torn between the tried and trusted Shosholoza and TKZees "In The Area", not so apt now that Benni has been dropped.
Its at this precise moment that I realised we as a nation don't truly have a song we can call our own during sporting events. Shakira's "Waka Waka" sounds great but it's not really a South African song. Neither is "Waving Flag", as much as I wish it were because it's such an awesome song.
Halfway through the afternoon, I could'nt help but notice how many South Africans were singing along to "Ole Ole Ole Ole". This is going to seem rather odd during the opening game. South Africa vs Mexico. How are we supposed to tell who the fans at the stadium are supporting? Worse still, what happens when the Mexican Wave comes around? Can you imagine thousands of South African fans singing "Ole Ole Ole Ole" and doing the Mexican wave while our boys are playing the Mexicans?
Is this the definition of a Mexican Stand-off?
Saturday, June 5, 2010
The Pressure, The Pressure
Talk about time-management!
I've been working on this document for 5 hours now, and quite frankly that fireplace is starting to look like it needs more fuel.
I spent all week looking forward to this weekend, and i've spent it with my head buried eyeball-deep in paperwork :(
That cannot be good.
It's the same routine almost every week.
I look forward to my weekends, and when they finally come around I spend them doing the same things I do during the week... Its almost as though i'm in a never-ending loop of work and projects.
Right.
Rants over.
Tomorrow morning at 6 I leave for Sun City.
Breakfast overlooking the mountains at 8am.
Tee-off at 9:30am.
Aaah, I feel better already :)
I've been working on this document for 5 hours now, and quite frankly that fireplace is starting to look like it needs more fuel.
I spent all week looking forward to this weekend, and i've spent it with my head buried eyeball-deep in paperwork :(
That cannot be good.
It's the same routine almost every week.
I look forward to my weekends, and when they finally come around I spend them doing the same things I do during the week... Its almost as though i'm in a never-ending loop of work and projects.
Right.
Rants over.
Tomorrow morning at 6 I leave for Sun City.
Breakfast overlooking the mountains at 8am.
Tee-off at 9:30am.
Aaah, I feel better already :)
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Cheaters
I should be working on a rather important document due first thing tomorrow morning, but once again i'm stuck between two TV shows.
Last Comic Standing, and Cheaters.
So i'm watching an episode of Cheaters when I suddenly realised the show most definitely contains the most dumb question and equally most dumb answer constantly asked and answered every week.
The women who catch their men cheating ALWAYS ask "What are you doing?"
Like naked guy on top of naked girl in compromising position is not already a dead give-away!
The men who get caught cheating ALWAYS respond with "Its not what it looks like!"
Really?
Thats the best you got?
How could you possibly have guessed what it was I was thinking this looks like?
Dang! Its just gone midnight.
I'd best get started on that document.
Last Comic Standing, and Cheaters.
So i'm watching an episode of Cheaters when I suddenly realised the show most definitely contains the most dumb question and equally most dumb answer constantly asked and answered every week.
The women who catch their men cheating ALWAYS ask "What are you doing?"
Like naked guy on top of naked girl in compromising position is not already a dead give-away!
The men who get caught cheating ALWAYS respond with "Its not what it looks like!"
Really?
Thats the best you got?
How could you possibly have guessed what it was I was thinking this looks like?
Dang! Its just gone midnight.
I'd best get started on that document.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Taboo
Its 11:30pm and I should be warmly tucked in bed with my latest issue of Golf Digest keeping me company . . . but all these recorded episodes of one of my favourite Discovery Channel shows, "Taboo", has me riveted.
Tonights episode is about ritual customs throughout the world which see young boys enter adulthood.
Theres a tribe in Papua New Guinea that uses razor blades to make over 1000 cuts on the backs of these young boys, and then has them kept isolated for 6 weeks for the cuts to heal and ultimately have their bodies resemble a crocodiles skin. Looks extremely painful to say the least.
Theres another tribe in a similar region that has their young boys swallow bamboo vine until the vine reaches the pits of their stomachs, and then they have the vine painfully pulled out. This custom just seemed gross.
I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if either of these guys had accompanied me in my youth through my customary right of passage into adulthood.
Me hanging with my homeboys, a pair of cannibals. Naaice.
I wonder how they would have handled their first experience at Teazers?
Coming from Papua New Guinea, its possible the three of us would be sitting there with me thinking "lapdance" and the two of them thinking "lunch".
One mans Happy Meal is another mans lunch, or something like that.
Tonights episode is about ritual customs throughout the world which see young boys enter adulthood.
Theres a tribe in Papua New Guinea that uses razor blades to make over 1000 cuts on the backs of these young boys, and then has them kept isolated for 6 weeks for the cuts to heal and ultimately have their bodies resemble a crocodiles skin. Looks extremely painful to say the least.
Theres another tribe in a similar region that has their young boys swallow bamboo vine until the vine reaches the pits of their stomachs, and then they have the vine painfully pulled out. This custom just seemed gross.
I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if either of these guys had accompanied me in my youth through my customary right of passage into adulthood.
Me hanging with my homeboys, a pair of cannibals. Naaice.
I wonder how they would have handled their first experience at Teazers?
Coming from Papua New Guinea, its possible the three of us would be sitting there with me thinking "lapdance" and the two of them thinking "lunch".
One mans Happy Meal is another mans lunch, or something like that.
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