Friday, December 14, 2012

Get That Chip Off Your Shoulder Already

I'm really not sure if this post was meant for anyone in particular, or if it's just a general rant. I haven't really decided yet.

What I do know is that there are far too many people walking around amongst us thinking that the world owes them something. Nothing annoys me more than watching some moron play the victim card because they believe that their lot in life has got nothing to do with the choices they have made, and has everything to do with the hurdles life placed before them.

Here's the honest truth, and it's the same truth I will teach my kids every day of their blessed lives.

  • The world doesn't owe you a damn thing. Not sunshine, not water, not the sound of birds nor the wind blowing through the trees. Not a damn thing! If you want those things, get up off your ass and seek them!
  • You are not a victim of circumstance! If you had a shitty upbringing, put on your big-girl panties and deal with it. You wake up every morning with a choice. Either you can be a bitter caustic cesspool of hate, or you can drag your sorry ass out of bed and start a new beginning... every single day... as hard as it sounds. Humanity doesn't care either way, because the world was here long before you started whining and it will be here long after you're silent.
  • Everybody had some event in their past that they wish had never happened. Yes. Everybody. Some worse than others. That doesn't mean we get to have those events define us. You either dust yourself off and lift yourself up, or you go about life blaming every bad thing that's ever happened to you on why your life sucks. Those of us that chose option 1 have lifted ourselves up and dusted ourselves off, and quite frankly life doesn't suck as bad as we thought it would.
  • Lastly, if watching everyone else have themselves a pretty damn fine time going about their lives depresses you, maybe you need to have yourself a nice big cup of STFU every morning to kick-start your day. Just maybe.



Right.
Now that I got that off my chest, how about some festive cheer?

2012 has been awesome, in more ways than one. The highs were spectacular, the lows were phenomenal. It was a year like no other, but the birth of my baby girl Zia undoubtedly ranks as the defining moment. There's something about holding your little girl in your hands that makes you realize that nothing else matters. The thought that her entire life is completely reliant on you suddenly makes you sit up and acknowledge the immense responsibility placed on you as a parent.
Looking into her eyes and knowing full well that this honor is not one passed on lightly.... that's the kind of precious moment one could never capture in a photo or a sentence. The enormity of the task ahead makes me want to be a better man, the kind Sabreen and Zia would go to school and brag about as being their dad.

We lost some remarkable people this year, both in the public arena and in my personal life.
I read a blog the other day that had a dedication to someone that had passed on. The deceased wasn't mentioned by name, but the post ended with "You know who you are."
I'd like to think that when the dearly departed leave us, they have better things to do on the other side than read our shitty blogs. If I knew I'd have to read blogs when I go upstairs someday, I may just be inspired to live forever!
To those that have lost loved ones, friends and family this year, may this bring us closer to those still around and may we realize that the phrase "Life is too short" is a harsh reality.


I have no idea what 2013 has in store for me.
I do know with absolute certainty that it will be a kick-ass year, whether it expects to be or not.


Here's wishing one and all an awesome 2013!

Monday, November 26, 2012

100 000 And Counting!


I always knew that I have much to say. I just never knew that some of it would interest others.
So when I started this blog, it was always meant to be a sounding board for my ranting and raving, and the occasional peek into my personal life.... but mostly it was just for the ranting and raving.

100 000 hits later and I truly am humbled. It's the clearest indication yet of just how mentally disturbed my friends, fans and followers actually are. I'm in great company!

To kick off today's piece, I thought we'd start with a bit of ranting and raving since that's really why most of you come around these parts anyways. That and the hope that I'll be giving away free iPhones or porn links.

Moving right along.

This is a pic of a stalwart in the fight for liberation of the people of South Africa from the clutches of the National Party back in the Apartheid era. As with most of this countries struggle hero's/ heroines, Tina Joemat started her political career in that intellectual incubator our generation know as the Azania Students Organization, back in 1985. This was the same organization that boasted Steve Biko and Ben Ngubane amongst it's members.
Next she joined the South African Democratic Teachers Union, in 1992. Again, an institution that housed, produced and polished some of our greatest, brightest and sharpest minds, many of whom helped shape and draft the South African Constitution; a document which is still hailed today as one of the most all-encompassing democratically representative constitutions in the world. That's no easy accomplishment for a new democracy as ours.
Two Chairmanship positions followed thereafter, one with the South African Communist Party of the Northern Cape, and the next with the ANC Finance Committee.

With such a sterling CV and impeccable liberation movement credentials, it was with no surprise that Tina Joemat took up a role within the ANC National Executive Committee, where she is currently still a member along with her official post as Minister of Agriculture, Forestry And Fisheries.

Not to be judgmental or anything, but she looks the business in this picture. As they say, there's a story in those eyes that speak of a struggle history, and a proud one at that.



Fast-forward about 15 years and with Tina Joemat now firmly entrenched in her ministerial position, we suddenly see an amazing metamorphosis of our once proud struggle hero and staunch communist into a reckless spender of public money that would make the most unashamed capitalist blush in his silk boxers.
Complete with fur coat and all the trappings of luxury, she is now under investigation for having spent over R150 000 unlawfully, in violation of the executive ethics code. I imagine fellow communists must be frantically looking for a side note in the Communist Handbook to explain how one of their brightest stars felt no remorse at swapping gumboots and union caps for Louis Vuitton and Prada.



I read an article earlier this year in which a member of the ANC NEC was questioned about the lifestyle of once highly regarded liberation movement and struggle hero's who have suddenly become multi-millionaires with a penchant for opulence and extreme reckless spending. His answer had me surprised but not completely shocked.
"We didn't join the ANC and liberate the country to remain poor."
Interesting.

I may have been a teenager when the battles were being fought between struggle hero's and the Apartheid government, but I'm pretty sure I recall the battle-cry and freedom songs of the day having one core ideology in common: a better life for the people. All people. All previously disadvantaged. All blacks. All poor.
Suddenly the goalpost has been moved and it's only a few people, a few disadvantaged, and a few blacks who are reaping the benefits of present day.

Next time this liberation movement comes around, and these things usually have a way of repeating themselves, I must remember to sing and march and protest for a better life for the poor and the destitute and the down-trodden, while keeping a beady eye on political ambitions and a position amongst the ruling elite.



I wish this post celebrating 100 000 hits was more upbeat and positive and fun, but in keeping with tradition I just had to rant.
I promise it's back to smut and porn and general sleaziness from tomorrow onward.

In the meantime, I truly would like to thank every single one of you for coming around these parts and pretending to read my crap.
I know most of you are just here for the pictures, in the hope that you'll see some nipple or vajayjay.
Tomorrow. I promise.

PS: To all my Indonesian friends who don't understand a word of English yet visit my blog daily, thank you for keeping my hit-count so high! I have no idea what you're saying in my message bar, but it's all fair since you have no idea what I'm saying in my blog posts :)
I love you anyways!






Saturday, November 17, 2012

Full Circle


Every guy has a story about how some ex-girlfriends dad once threatened to beat him up or have him killed. If a guy doesn't have such a story, he either dated the girls who's dads were just glad their daughters had a 'friend' or worse still, he spent more time with the girls brothers!

I once dated a girl who's dad called me up and threatened to kill me and shoot me in the kneecaps!
True story.
I always wondered whether he was going to kill me first, and then shoot me in the kneecaps, or the other way around. He never did come across as the brightest of people, so it's highly possible he planned on maximizing my agony by killing me dead and then torturing me afterward.

Another girl I dated would sneak out of her parents home at midnight when I flashed my cars lights through her bedroom window (no pun intended there!), and I would have her back by 4am to sneak back into her home before her dad woke up for his morning prayers.
When we broke up, she immersed herself into religion and became a teacher.
I guess it's heartwarming to know that after me, some women find God...

Now you know you're off to a bad start when your hearts all a-flutter and butterflies abound over a girl you're smitten with, only to have her mom tell her "I'm warning you about those Indian boys. They're all about loud music and cars with tinted windows...."
She and I remained inseparable long after the car was gone and the music had stopped playing.

In retrospect, now that I'm the proud father of two beautiful daughters, I was exactly the kind of young punk full of arrogance and youthful bravado who's arse I'd kick if ever he came knocking on my door to see my girls. To a father, nothing could be more precious than his daughters. This goes without saying.
The mere thought of some smooth-talking player trying his charms on my girls would have me reaching for my gun. Having said that, I'm glad that I was THAT guy back in the day, because it makes it so much easier for me to spot the type.

Sabreen and I were watching a bridal show on TV the other day (Disclaimer: This never happened if any of my buddy's ask) and she asked me what I would tell her husband when I walked her up the aisle.
I said I'd wait until I got right up next to him, shake his hand, then kick him in the nuts.
She thought it was the funniest thing ever.
I didn't.

In the Indian community, there's a word called 'Ghar Jamaai'.
Loosely translated, it's when a groom moves in with his wife's family and for all intents and purposes, ends up working with his father-in-law and almost becomes an adopted son.
Growing up, we'd make fun of the men we knew were Ghar Jamaai. What man wants to lose his identity and independence and live with his in-laws?

As a father of two daughters, the answer finally came to me....

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Free Advice Is Like Herpes

That's right.
I said Herpes.

Everybody who has it wants to pass it around. Like some kind of 'security in numbers' deal. I mean the advice. And the herpes too.

I'm not saying all free advice is bad advice. I'm just saying verify the source.

Like the fat greasy car guard at the gym who inspired this post.
He sees me walking out the gym after a rather strenuous and physical workout, waddles over to me like a fat blubbery seal in search of dead fish, and drops this thought-provoking gem :"You look exhausted. You mustn't over-exert yourself ne'...."
He looked like the kind of guy who's only threat of muscle injury would come from racing to the open buffet at Spur.
My car was parked about 50m from the entrance, so I upped my pace thinking I wasn't really in the mood of conversation with Hoover The Hungry Seal. He surprised me by keeping up the pace, possibly mistaking my body odour for rotting sardines. By the time I got to my car, he was out of breath, leaning his hairy sweaty lard-infested arm on my door and asking me to give him a minute.
I think he said minute.
He could have said help. I'm not sure.
I wasn't taking any chances with Hoover having a heart attack right next to my car. Lord knows he may have expected some mouth-to-mouth action to resuscitate his obviously overworked heart. For a split second the image of his heart in that massive neanderthal frame reminded me of a Mini-Cooper trying to tow the Titanic cross-country on holiday.

So I quickly shut my door, opened my window just enough to squeeze a R2 coin through as a tip in case he needed a deposit or down-payment for the ambulance, and left.

Now I'm going to have to park my car on another level, just in case he thinks he's found a friend in me and I'm going to throw him sardines every time he waddles in my direction.
Either that or get a new car. Maybe change gyms.
I don't know.
This is freaking me out.
Maybe I'll report him for harassment.... but he didn't really harass me. Dammit!
I'm sure if they look at the video footage of today, it will look like he was chasing me and I was trying to run away.

AAARRGGHH!!!!!!
I don't need this stress in my life!

That's it.
Tomorrow I'll just go to gym with a pack of frozen sardines in my bag.
Just in case.

Trusting Your Instinct

This post is inspired by an interesting piece I read on my dear friend Azra's blog, which can be found here.

Every so often, when confronted with decisions, we find ourselves torn between what our heads tell us to do and what our hearts tell us to do; and sometimes our instinct is the shining beacon of light helping us make that decision. Except, being the blundering bumbling fools that we are, we choose to ignore this 6th sense to our own peril.

My Gran always said that the nagging voice inside each of us, guiding us and telling us what to do when confronted with decisions, are in fact the Angels usually found perched on our shoulders.
If I look back on some of the decisions I've made in life, and scored those made after much pondering against those made by virtue of gut instinct, I have a sneaky suspicion that the perched Angels would win by a landslide.

Sometimes we stay when we should go.
Sometimes we go when we should stay.
Sometimes our instinct taps gently , and sometimes it screams out loudly.

We make hundreds of decisions every day, and as a forex trader I'm making them in split seconds.
We need to silence the noise and listen more intently to that inner voice within each of us. Maybe it won't help me find the path to financial success, but I'm pretty sure it will help me trust myself a little more, believe in myself a little more, and feel like I'm more in control of my destiny.

My revised Bucket List should read "Trust your instinct more often."
Everything after that will simply be an affirmation of my faith in the process.



Tuesday, September 18, 2012

The True Price Of Perfect Abs


I started gyming. Again.
I may have mentioned this before in a previous post, but since nobody who visits my blog remembers anything I write, let's pretend this is the first time you're hearing about it ;)
My target body is the one I had back in my college days. I've lost the original pics, but for all intents and purposes it was pretty close to the one above . That's my body, that's my story, and I'm sticking by both of them.

My first week into my gym routine and I realized that my OCD (as diagnosed by my best friend who moonlights as a clinical psychologist when she's not buying me exotic tea's and drinks or bestselling books) was going to be tested to it's limits.
I have a thing for cleanliness.
Nothing crazy or abnormal by any stretch of the imagination. I'm just finicky about certain things.

Like other people's sweat or bodily liquids. Especially if these are to be found on the handle-bars of the bicycle I'm about to use, or the seat of the rowing machine I was heading toward, or the bench I was about to sit on in the locker-room, or on the little button I need to press at the water cooler, or on any handle of any door I'm meant to open or close at the gym.
Like I said, nothing crazy or abnormal.
Everybody has a freak out when they see or come within 1 meter of someone else's perspiration. And if they don't, they bloody well should.

That's why I never fully understood the Steam Room at the gym.
I'm no scientist, but my Standard 6 understanding of basic precipitation tells me that the steam room is one huge recycling contraption that circulates other peoples sweat. You go in there with 4 strange fat guys, they each drip sweat like a burst geyser, the steam circulates that dripped sweat around until it latches onto you like a hungry leach, and you come out thinking "Wow! Look at how much I perspired in there! I feel awesome!"

Now I know most gyms have a strict policy about having a shower before using the swimming pool, and for good and obvious reason too. But let's be honest, who's policing this policy? I've seen a group of guys come out of the Sweat Exchange Room and jump straight into the pool like it was the most natural thing since carrying portable disinfectant wipes.
Your average gym swimming pool is approximately 200 000 litres.
On average most gyms chlorinate their pools once a week, at a weak concentrate so as not to affect the skin and eyes of gym goers.
I only know this because I made some inquiries, as I'm sure everyone who's ever signed a gym contract has done.
Based on these numbers, if herds of sweaty people are jumping into the pool every day, compounded by the Sweat Exchange Room dripaholics, and gyms are using the bare minimum in chlorine to disinfect their pools, it would mean that by my rough calculations, within 6 months all natural water has been replenished by OPS (other peoples sweat) and you're practically swimming around in a massive Perspiration Pool.
I'm pretty sure this thought has crossed your minds before.
Next time you think wearing swimming goggles helps keep germs out of your eyes, think again about opening your mouth in that pool!

Next week we discuss the ultimate germ warfare incubator. The kind of germ laboratory that would make Al-Qaeda proud.
Yes ladies and gents, the gym toilets and showers comes under the spotlight.
Watch this space...

Here's to 6pack abs :)



Thursday, September 13, 2012

iPhone 5 vs Samsung Galaxy S3 Review


                                                                               VS


Seriously?
Who cares?
They're just bloody phones, and 6 months from now they'll be outdated anyways!

That's my official review and I'm sticking by it.

PS: I used to love Apple for being cutting-edge and progressive, but now I just think they're douche bags for trying to patent everything under the sun.
Based on this, I'll buy the Samsung.

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

9/11 War On Terror, Brought To You By Hallmark


It's that time of year again when every news channel and every radio station and every newspaper insists we never forget the acts of terror on 9/11.
Not that we could, even if we wanted to. America would never allow that, and neither would it's marketing machine run by the mass media.

Before I get accused of being unsympathetic toward those who lost their lives on 9/11, let me clarify.
I sympathize with the families and loved ones of every single one of those innocents who lost their lives on that fateful day, including the brave men and women who were part of the search and rescue efforts.
But I also sympathize with the families and loved ones of those innocents, men, women and children alike, who lost their lives subsequent to the event. People who lost their lives without ever knowing where New York is on the world map. People who had never seen the Twin Towers. People who didn't even know that two planes hijacked by Saudi terrorists had flown into American buildings, until they themselves were being bombed by American forces in every country surrounding Saudi, except Saudi itself.

I sympathize with men, women and innocent children who lose their lives daily because of government policies regarding health care, social services and poverty.
I sympathize with men, women and innocent children who never know whether they will see tomorrow because they have been displaced by civil wars funded by America and it's allies.
I sympathize with men, women and innocent children throughout Africa who's survival rates beyond the age of 25 are so minuscule, lab rats in pharmaceutical companies stand a better chance of life.

HIV Aids, Malaria, poverty, civil war, hunger... these are things we should never forget.
These are the people who are most vulnerable... who are never remembered every year by the mass media... who will never make forwarded posters on Facebook or hashtags on Twitter.
These are the people who's families will never receive compensation for their unnecessary deaths thanks to governments around the world who have turned a terrorist event into a Hallmark occasion.

But these people were not killed or murdered as a result of an act of terror, you say?

Where are the mass media and American propagandists on the anniversary of Hiroshima?
Where are the mass media and American propagandists on the anniversary of the Tuskegee Experiment?
Haiti... Guatemala... Hungary... Laos... Vietnam... Ecuador... Congo... Bolivia...Chile... Iran... Iraq... Afghanistan... Palestine...
The list is endless, the anniversaries never remembered and the dead long forgotten.

I respectfully remember August 6th, 1945.
I respectfully remember December 1987 and September 2000.
I respectfully remember September 11, 2001.
I respectfully remember every date in between.
Funny how only one of those dates don't require you to Google the event.

So please don't ask me to glorify a date that led to more innocent deaths than any excuse or reason could ever justify. The American propaganda machine is doing a good enough job of convincing others never to forget 9/11.
Personally I have too many other dates to remember, that in my opinion are more important.

*with no disrespect to the friends and family who lost loved ones on 9/11*



Monday, September 10, 2012

What If....?



What if you had taken that chance on that fateful day all those years ago?
What if you'd thrown caution to the wind and decided to see where fate leads you?
What if that moment presented itself to you today? Would you take that leap of faith and get out of your comfort zone, or would you watch the opportunity pass you by again?

This pic is one of my favorites for many reasons.
That's me walking the streets of Zurich in Switzerland armed with nothing but a backpack, a pocketful of change and an inquiring mind.

I've been told on more than one occasion that I'm a risk taker; that my personality type is one of high risk roller; that my aptitude dictates I would bet everything including the clothes on my back to follow a dream.
I used to believe this, but for far too long I found myself second-guessing what my gut was screaming.
It's a profound thought and an awe-inspiring one to know that every decision we make in our lives, every single decision no matter how small or grave at the time, will forever change the course of our lives.
Every single decision.
Every choice we make presents an impact moment that continuously changes the course of our destiny.
Think about that for a minute.
If our destiny is pre-determined, how could anything we do or any decision we make change it's course?

I used to ponder this thought until it dawned on me.
If I have faith that the Universe is predisposed to inherent goodness, and every decision I make is with the intention of learning and exploring without hurting or harming, then every decision and choice I make will be supported by the Universe and everything around me will align itself to help me achieve my goal.
Put another way, if we simply trust the system and do the best we can with good intentions, whatever is meant for us along our path will present itself to us.

They say the saddest expression in a mans eyes is the look of a love lost.
I disagree.
I think the saddest expression in a mans eyes is the realization that he's dreams will die with him. The feeling of never having truly achieved and accomplished. Nothing could come closer to knowing that your life was wasted, than to know that you lived it void of fulfilling your hearts desire... and if it was love that was your hearts desire and you never chased that dream, then you have truly lived a life of sadness.

We've become so immune to those inspirational posters and emails and forwarded messages and bumper stickers telling us to live our dreams, that we've forgotten how to dream.
I spoke to a friend the other day and asked him what he'd rather be doing at that very minute. He looked at me and said "Sleeping."
With the choice of doing anything his heart desired, being anywhere else, doing anything else, being with anyone else, he chose sleeping above all. That pretty much sums up our lives. We're so busy chasing our bills, we've forgotten how to chase our dreams.

Dreams don't pay the bills, you say?
Maybe we need to adjust our bills instead of adjusting our dreams.











Saturday, September 8, 2012

Survivor Jozi: Outlive, Outlast, Outplay

 If you've never lived in Johannesburg, or Jozi as we fondly call our little piece of heaven in these parts, then you've never truly experienced the amazing spectacle of a Highveld Thunderstorm.
Our coastal cousins down south are prone to running for the bleachers with umbrella and sunscreen in tow at the slightest murmur of thunder or the first pitter-patter of rain. Around these parts, it would take a storm of epic proportions before we even button up a jersey or don a jacket.

So it was on Friday morning that the missus awoke in a frenzy as is her routine, rushing around like Oprah at the buffet table after the last of the chocolate eclairs, trying to get Sabreen done and ready for school.
Since I only go to bed around 3am (my new work hours ever since I started trading the Asian markets) I was about two-thirds of the way into a blissful dream that had to do with Woolies Peppermint Tart and Lucy Liu when the missus came barging into the room informing me that a tree had fallen across the driveway.
Assuming this to be your standard garden variety tree, I mumbled that she should get the gardener to move it.
That's him in the pic above, wondering how to accomplish this objective armed with a handsaw and a cap.

By the time I awoke 2 hours later, the missus and Sabreen had settled themselves onto the sofa cuddling hot chocolates and having clearly written the day off, since no cars were leaving or entering my driveway today.

The scene above is what greeted me when I came outside to inspect the progress.
It seems my gardener is more adapt at using that handsaw than I give him credit for.

Unfortunately my insurance company isn't so adapt at resolving problems. They informed me that they would send a professional tree-feller out by Friday afternoon. Somebody may have come, I'm not sure. What I do know for sure is that there is still a massive tree laying across my driveway, and I haven't been able to take my cars out all weekend.

On the plus side, I have firewood to last me until sometime around the next ice-age. Maybe sooner if I start working on an ark.
You never know when God may decide to do landscaping of biblical proportions again!

They really should shoot the next season of Survivor around these parts. If you can survive the crime, nature AND Noeleen on SABC every week, you may just have a shot at a Million Dollars!

Jozi ain't for sissies. That's all I'm saying.

Friday, September 7, 2012

How Big Is This Family?


I must have been about 12 or 13 when I got the first really memorable smack on the back of my head.
Not because I had been caught smoking or bunking school or had my ear pierced.... but because I had walked passed my Mom chatting to the neighbor and simply greeted said neighbor with "Hi Sheila."

My 12 year old brain was trying to figure out what I had done wrong, when my Mom brought me up to speed with the threat of another smack unless I addressed the neighbor by her proper name, Aunty Sheila.

Ever since then, everyone and anyone who looks possibly older than I am, even if it be by a single grey hair, naturally becomes my Aunty or Uncle.

That's fine when you're pre-pubescent or even a teenager. Everybody is older than you are... and if they're not, it's easy to spot.
Turn the clock forward 20 years and suddenly kids are calling you Uncle and you're calling their dad's Uncle and before you know it, the vicious circle has no end!
When does it all stop? When do I have to stop worrying about being smacked on the head for not referring to an elder as Uncle or Aunty? Do they have to fit a certain criteria before being given the title? What about the old geezer at the BP petrol station who fills my tank and washes my windscreen? Is he my Uncle too? What about the guy at my cricket club who's considerably older than I am, but who's wife was 2 grades behind me in school? Does she automatically become my Aunty?

I don't know.
I blame my parents for starting this madness. If we had just stuck to the Webster Dictionary definition of Uncle and Aunt, life would be so much simpler and family boundaries would be a lot more clear cut.
I visited a friend once who's dad was telling me a story about a family function they had attended over the weekend. He kept referring to one of the characters in the story as "Your aunty" and I kept wondering which aunty, and how would he know any member of my family.
Finally at the end of his long drawn-out saga which rivaled Days Of Our Lives for boring awards, he could sense I was having difficulty putting this 'aunty' person into context and when I asked who she was, he said "My wife man... haven't you been following?"
Clearly I hadn't.
Somewhere between visiting my friend to play video games and this boring story his father insisted on telling me, the woman of the house had become my Aunty!

I know my Indian friends reading this are going "Hey, that happened to me too! Everyone is my Aunty and Uncle".... and my white friends are going "What the dickens is he talking about?"
White folk don't seem to have this problem.
They also don't seem to get smacked on the head as often as Indian kids do.
My friend Shaun who was 14 at the time came home when it was still cool for Indians to bring white friends home, like showing off to your parents that you discovered a new species and it goes with your jeans and tekkies.
Anyways, so Shaun comes home one Saturday and I'm praying to God as we walked up my driveway that my mom wasn't making samoosa's or frying kebabs, because back then that's what everybody thought happens in Indian homes, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Just samoosa's and kebabs non-stop.
Thankfully, my mom was doing neither.
She was vacuuming the entire house with a stocking on her head and slippers.
Not a stereotype at all, thank goodness.

So Shaun walks in, sees my mom and goes "Hi Rashida."
I closed my eyes waiting for the smack, all the while thinking my days of bringing white friends home had just come to an abrupt end.
My mom replies "Hi Shaun. Good to see you. How are your folks?"
I stood there gobsmacked. Seriously? How are your folks? What happened to his smack on the head?

That's when I realized that my parents had two sets of rules.
One for their kids, and one for everyone else's kids.
Our rules always included a smack on the head at some point.
I guess it's that fear that kept most of us in line. I just wished they'd told me when I could stop calling random strangers Uncle and Aunty.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Embrace The Change



Oh look!
It's my Blog!
I thought this place looked familiar.

This is what happens when a guy survives on 3 hours sleep a night, thanks to the addition of a crying pooing hungry insomniac-induced baby. (Don't believe anything the missus says... I'm pulling my fair share of hours)
Suddenly everything that was on the top of my priority list gets relegated to the second-division, somewhere below nappy changes and warming milk bottles.
My blog hasn't been updated in weeks.
My clients haven't received quotes or invoices in a month.
I haven't shaved since that one awesome night when I got a full 8 hours sleep sometime back in mid August.

On the plus side though, Princess Zia is just absolutely adorable.... when she's sleeping.
Ok she's adorable when she's awake too, just not at 3 in the morning. Then she reminds me of that demon from Chucky. Chucky. Yes, that was the demon. That's who she reminds me of at 3 in the morning when I'm trying to calm her down while she screams blue murder and I'm barely able to balance with her in my hands and my boxers threatening to fall to my ankles while I stub my toe into her cot.
Would I swap this for anything else in the world?
Not a chance!
Ask me this question at 3am, and I might just swap it for a night under a bridge sleeping with homeless trolls.

Right. Let's get you lot up to speed then.
These are some of the things I've been getting up to since we last spoke...

> I finally joined a gym! Yes. It happened one morning when I ran up to my office to answer my mobile phone and by the time I got to the landing, I realized I was more out of breath than the only hooker on a German warship! So I'm now the proud owner of a Planet Fitness gym membership. Watch this space for upcoming specials on "Urgent Sale: Gym Membership... hardly used."

> My beloved baby (not the one who does Chucky impersonations) is finally in the process of being wound up. Yes folks. Sikama Contracting will soon be replaced by FxInvest24. The change has been slow and tedious, but the time is finally here. No more construction sites. From now on, my view will be of monitors and charts and graphs and hopefully Dollar signs. I'll miss Sikama Contracting. I've watched it grow from a one-man show doing maintenance work to a one-man show with a full staff compliment doing corporate projects. You can take the Indian out of the business, but you can never take the business out of an Indian. We just can't part with ownership and management of anything. Sometimes to our own detriment. It's something I've seen passed down through generations, and I'm guilty of it too. The belief that nobody will do it better than we can, and on every occasion I had to take on a management team, the very first thought would always be "What if they screw me over?" But all things said and done, it's been an awesome ride and I wouldn't change a thing. All the best to the new owners.

> One of my dearest cousins passed on earlier last month. His signature was always his beaming smile and gentle soul, and we shall never forget him for that.
Go well cuz, and may we meet again soon in a better place.

> My best friend is emigrating to Arsetralia. Yes, emigrating.
If you're thinking the word should be 'Immigrating', slap yourself on the back of the head and call your old school for a refund.
We've been friends for longer than Riaan Cruywagens been on TV. Longer than Stallone and Bruce Willis have been single-handedly saving the world in every one of their movies. Longer even than all the years the Jehova's Witness's have been searching for a witness so they can finally close that case.
I'll miss her terribly, and as all friends say when one is about to be distanced from the other, we'll keep in touch. The reality though is probably that we've come to that crossroads in our friendship where we wish each other well, and resort to birthday greetings once a year or a random email on a special occasion.
Such is life, and we embrace the change. I'll probably dedicate a blog piece to our friendship closer to the time.

Well folks, there you have it.
My reasons for having been preoccupied lately.

A guy walks into a bank and passes a beggar sitting at the door.
A few minutes later the beggar sticks his hands out as the guy exits the bank, and says "Any change Sir?"
The guy looks at the beggar, pauses and replies "Nope... you're still as ugly and smelly as when I saw you earlier."


Until next time.... embrace the change.


Monday, August 6, 2012

Welcome Princess Zia. We've Been Expecting You

Zia Kaloo at Age 4 Days



Some day when she's 16, maybe she'll stumble across this post, maybe she'll have been following the blog as early as she could read, or maybe she'll Google her name and end up here.

Either way, she'll know that her official welcome coincided with the day that both her parents and her elder sister Sabreen were left feeling immensely proud and completely over-joyed!

Zia, if and when you do get to read this post, know that when Sabreen was born I fully realized what it meant for a parent to feel unwavering love for a child.
When you were born, I realized what it meant for a father to have unconditional love for a daughter.




To the both of you, I'm so proud to have the honor of being called your Dad :)

I shall wear this badge with pride, and endeavour to do everything I can to be the King that my Princesses well and truly deserve.

Love always
Dad

Thursday, July 5, 2012

The Things I Never Got To Say

Myself, Sabreen & My Gran before she passed on
You always told me that the day would come when I would think back on your words.
On the lessons you taught me.
On the advice you gave me.
On the beauty of a message said not by words, but by a hug and a smile.
On the contentment one finds in forgiveness.
On the serenity to be found in the solitude of prayer.
On the character one builds in trusting and being trusted.

You never told me that you wouldn't be around when I finally got it.
When it all eventually made sense.
That the day would come when I'd make you proud, and turn to look your way... only to realize that it was too late.
That I never got the chance to say the things I wanted to say.

I know that you're looking down on me from Heaven.
And I hope that you're smiling that knowing smile.
As I look up and simply say....
Thank you.

For being my guiding light, Thank You.
For never giving up on me, Thank You.
For keeping me true, Thank You.
For loving me unconditionally, Thank You.
For being everything I needed in my darkest hours, Thank You.
For allowing me to shine on my brightest moments, Thank You.

For keeping my seat ready right next to you in that great theatre upstairs, Thank You.
Forever in my thoughts.
I love you Ma.
F.

Saturday, June 30, 2012

Taking Liberties

I heard the funniest story earlier this morning from my property agent.
She came to visit me for breakfast and we were discussing homes and the market and the usual blah blah, when she started telling me about a client she had last year.

Turns out there was a client who she sold a home to, and the wife was at the last legs of her first pregnancy. During one of her visits to this family, the husband asked if she'd please do him a favour.
Now for most of us a favor involves picking up a set of keys from somewhere or dropping someone off or maybe even looking after your dog while you're away for the weekend.
Not for our intrepid expectant father.
Oh no.
Here's his idea of a 'favor'.

He wanted to know if my agent friend would kindly have both himself and his wife keep her number on speed-dial, just in case the wife went into labour and needed someone to rush her off to the hospital!
Seriously?
Isn't that something you'd ask of a friend or family member?
Who asks their property agent to be on standby just in case a baby decides to stick its head out of a vajayjay and say howzit to the world unexpectedly?

Which got me to wondering about the strange 'favors' we've all been asked at some point or other in our mundane lives.

Like the time my friend asked me to turn his home lights on and off for the week he was away on holiday, except he forgot to mention that in order to get from his gate to his front door, I would have to brave 2 vicious dobermans. Of course I didn't bother with his lights as my legs were more important to me at the time than his TV and household contents were.
Or the time I was going down to Durban for what was then the Gunston500 beach party, and my neighbor asked if I'd take a parcel with and have it dropped off at his sisters. I said yes and didn't mind at all until I saw the address on the box. She lived near the Wild Coast, which is as close to Durban as Paris is to Zimbabwe. Ok maybe a bit closer, but you get my point.

I can't conclude this post without mentioning an incident that happened during my college days.
A guy I knew asked if I would give his girlfriend a lift home since she lived in the same suburb as I did, and he lived in the opposite direction.
Except when he brought her to me, this is how he phrased it:
"Thanks for helping out Kaloo... And please look after my bitch."
I stood there gobsmacked, and she raised her eyebrows but never said a word.
Needless to say, the 45 minute drive to her home was rather uncomfortable. I kept hoping she had a puppy in her bag. That would have made it less awkward. Of course she didn't, and years later when we were dating (call it my community service year) I bought her a puppy.
I don't know why I felt the need to, and she never understood my gesture.
At least the puppy survived longer than the relationship did.
I hope.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

That WTF Moment

Every now and then, I come across a traders forum (where fellow traders discuss trades and strategy) and find a post that has me doing a double-take and going WHOA!!
Sometimes it's because some trader has pulled off a brilliant trade and cleaned the market up, and sometimes it's because a trader let his ego get in the way of making money and he saw his backside in technicolor.

It's not often that I go WHOA! because a trader posted his account balance, strategy and advice and ALL THREE WERE RIDICULOUSLY LAUGHABLE!


Now I know many of you don't speak Forex, so I'll try and keep this simple.
This 'trader', and I use that term very very loosely here, had a trading account of $300.
In Forex, that's like taking your kindergarten piggy-bank, dressed in your Ben10 pyjamas, and walking into a Ferrari showroom hoping to be taken seriously.
Forex ain't for sissies, and it requires deep pockets and an even deeper understanding of risk!
He then proceeds to start trading with a strategy reserved for traders with at least $500 000 in their accounts. Just to be clear, that's HALF A MILLION DOLLARS.
He blows his account in under 2 minutes.
And then proceeds to give advice to new traders!!!

(This is a true story just so you know!)


Above is what a professional traders chart looks like.
You really have to know what you're doing in order to regard this as a profession.
If you last less than 2 minutes, clearly trading is not for you. Maybe you should donate your body to the manure industry. Even a circus clown may be aiming too high. I don't know.

I don't even know how to end this blog post.
I'm so shocked that there are idiots out there so stupid, the SPCA hasn't put them down yet and the Zoo allows them to roam free amongst us.
I think I'll just sit here and shake my head. It's starting to feel really good.




Monday, June 25, 2012

To Shafi & Roxie On Your Wedding Day



There's an old saying about marriage and the union of two souls being destined and preordained in Heaven.
I don't quite recall how it goes, but I'm almost certain I just summed it up right there.

So there I was, sitting at this gorgeous wedding venue set amongst the hills in a magical place called Makiti, witnessing the marriage of my dear friend Shafi to his beautiful bride Ruxina..... When it dawned on me that it really is something remarkable and special when two people can find each other amongst 7 billion earthlings. To be able to pick that one person that you're ready to declare your love to. To be able to find that one person that you want to spend the rest of your life with. To be able to find a single diamond that fits you just perfectly, you and only you, in a mountain of rock and stone.

Shafi found this in Roxie, and she found this in him.
Today was a truly special day, with the coming together of bride and groom, of families, and also of long lost friends. It's the very reason why days such as today are visited by angels themselves.

Their union was destined, their souls forever as one. And so their new journey together begins.

I'd like to wish them all the very best on this new chapter in their lives.

"Be close to that person who makes you happy but be closer to that person who can't be happy without you."

To Roxie : Love him, honor him, cherish him, and forever be his rock.
To Shafi : Just do the dishes and pick up your socks, and you'll be fine my friend ;)

All the best guys. I truly was honored to have shared this day with you.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Life Is Swell


I realized the other day that I'm one of those annoyingly positive people. Not annoying in the way that I like force-feeding joy down people's throats like foie gras. I just don't get down and depressed easily.
I do throw tantrums though.
Just ask those nice people at Nestle who overcharge for Hot Chocolate, or those Amila Ice-Tea people who sold me fermented drinks.

So when I sat down to review my 5 year Plan, which I do every so often (like once every 5 years), it dawned on me that the things which I had achieved had far outstretched my bucket-list.
Sure everybody wants to run with the bulls and jump out of a plane at 10 000 feet and swim with the dolphins, but in the absence of TV how many of us would really want to do any of those?
Would it not be infinitely more fun and exciting to spend an evening underneath the stars listening to the fish jumping in a moonlit lake?
Or maybe take the one you love to watch a sunrise upon a mountaintop?
How about attending a festival in the company of friends, and form memories that will truly leave you smiling in your golden years?

The irony is that many of us have done these and so much more, yet failed to look upon the very moment as one which we'll never get back. One so perfect at the time, that had we known we would have cherished it and hoped it would never end.
Years later, we make a list of all the things we'd like to achieve before we finally breath our last, forgetting the awesomeness of the life we've already lived.

There's a really simple rule I have about prayer.
When I get down on my knees and raise my hands skyward, it's to say "Thank You" instead of "I Want".
This simple rule when applied to our friends and family has an amazing effect. Just to be grateful for what we have, and thank those around us for being a part of our lives, makes all the difference. It is the very definition of a wealthy and successful individual. To be able to look around us and want for nothing, need for nothing, and know that we are blessed with what we have and who we have to share it with.

In an earlier blog I made mention of the fact that I am about to embark on an entirely new chapter in my life.
I know not where it will take me, but I am excited and anxious for the journey ahead, for in truth Life is about the journey and not the destination.

Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark, in the hopeless swamps of the approximate, the not-quite, the not-yet, the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish, in lonely frustration for the life you deserved, but have never been able to reach. Check your road and the nature of your battle. The world you desired can be won. It exists, it is real, it is possible, it is yours.
Ayn Rand

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Hello. Remember me?

One month.
That's how long it's been since I last blogged!
Trust me, this absence has been more difficult for me than it has been for you. Yes, both of you that read my blog.

It's been a month of change, and hopefully in six months I'll be able to look back on this and say that it was a defining moment in my life. My business, Sikama Contracting, was started on less than a shoestring of a budget. It was started on the dust at the bottom of a worn out sole of an old pair or tekkies that didn't even have a shoestring. Seven awesome years later and I'm at the crossroads where I have to decide between taking the business onward and upward, or follow a passion I've kept subdued for far too long.

And so it was that I chose to follow my passion.
(*note to self... Mrs Pather was wrong. You CAN start a sentence with 'And'. See, I just did!)
Life's too short to sit back and wonder "What if I chose the road less traveled by?" I choose to take that road and see where it leads. It's either going to be a spectacular success, or an amazing failure. Either way, I will be able to sit back and say "I did it!"

There have been many inspirations along the way. Words spoken that once voiced can never be unheard. Encouraging pats on the back and a smile that beamed pride. All of these have helped mould and nourish. Yet there was that one defining moment when a family member looked me in the eye and said "It's tough out there. You'll never be able to do it without me."
A defining moment. An impact moment as some would call it. A moment that I will carry with me through the rest of my  life, always knowing that it spurred me on to prove him wrong.

Yet there were those impact moments that left me inspired and thinking "They believe in me."
Moments in life that make you grateful for the people you surround yourself with.

Shortly thereafter I was sitting in my little flea-market stall named "The Blue Aquarian Room" where I had found a niche' market selling Valentines gift's months after the actual day had passed.
I didn't know it at the time, but when Selma walked in and browsed around, which in that tiny stall literally meant turning her head 180 degrees, she was the only person who appreciated the brilliance of my business plan. Needless to say, over Black Forest Cake and tea's which she thought were coffee's, we cemented the kind of friendship that most people never get to experience in two lifetimes, let alone one!
(I checked this fact out with my Hindu friends.)
Someday when I'm rich and famous, hopefully sooner rather than later, I shall have a huge party and invite everybody who's ever shared and inspired my journey.
In the meantime, if you're reading this, consider yourself already a part of the inner circle :)

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

That's How We Roll

Moe, Reaz, myself and Faheem


You know you've had an interesting and eventful week when you finally settle down to write a blog piece and smell the burnt rubber on your soles and notice the smoke emanating from the rear of your pants.

Between working on a new business venture which has me more excited than Oprah at an all-you-can-eat buffet, and my home renovations, I've had more highlights than Snooki from JerseyShore (don't ask).

For those that follow me on Twitter (@kaloo5) or are friends of mine on Facebook, you may have seen the pics from our recent family photo shoot. Tons of fun.

My ankle is still in the healing phase which means a drastic reduction in physical activity has resulted in an equally drastic increase in girth. On the plus side, my dream of emulating Marlon Brando in The Godfather is now within reach. Or maybe the Oros man. Either or.


I'm tempted to write another politically motivated piece, what with all the recent shenanigans our elected officials have been up to, and two retarded models having put the icing on the cake this week.... but I figured I need to ease myself back into my blog.


Did I mention the new business venture?

If there were smiley faces on this blog, right here --------> (___) is where I'd put a big fat smile.
All will be revealed soon, suffice to say that it's been a long time coming and I think the time is right. Sometimes you need to be in the right place, sometimes it needs to be the right time, and sometimes you need the right partner to pursue the dream.
This is the right time in the right place with the right partner.

The Siblings : Myself, Shamima, Aadilah, Faheem

Princess Sabreen & cousin Sameeha
In other news, Princess Sabreen is doing splendidly.
She turns 6 this year, with an attitude that turns 26 before that. Next year she starts at primary school. I'll be sending out apology letters to her classmates parents in advance, and maybe keep a few on standby for use throughout the year.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

A Time To Kill, A Time To Chill


Is it just me or are people generally more highly strung lately?

Maybe it's all that processed food and coffee we're shoveling into our bodies. Maybe it's something in the water, or the music we're listening to. I don't know.
I wish I did, because then I would have known how to handle the incident of road rage I witnessed yesterday.
Some huge crazy poster-boy for McDonalds Supersized Meals driving the regulation Hilux Bakkie issued to all steroid junkies tried to skip a clearly red robot, but was impeded by a skinny Ethiopian-looking refugee cyclist crossing the same road.

I sensed a fight a they both began a screaming match.
It was like watching two angry women fighting over the last pair of shoes on sale at Socrates.
So I did what any decent peace-loving citizen would o an whipped out my camera. Unfortunately it never escalated from a screaming match, which was a waste of time for at least 8 cars that had stopped to watch the show.

Remember when we would be kind and courteous to strangers for no other reason than it being the right thing to do? Remember when a kind word and a smile achieved more than anger and violence did? I recall such a time fondly. I want that time back, for myself an the generations to follow.

I think we should start by banning fast-food, processed foods, and coffee.
But not KFC HotWings. They can stay. Nobodies ever had KFC HotWings and then gone out to pick a fight. Nobody I've ever heard of. 

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Of Fathers & Daughters


To Sabreen, for today and everyday

Before you came into this world, I said a few special prayers for the things I wanted my child to have.
I wanted a child who was intelligent.
I wanted a child who was beautiful.
I wanted a child who was funny and pleasant and sweet.
I wanted all these things because I wanted you to be perfect.

Then you were born, and I held you in my arms for the very first time... and I realized...
That you would be more intelligent than I could ever imagine.
That you would be beautiful beyond words or description.
That you would be funny and pleasant and sweet and everything else in-between.
But mostly I realized that you were healthy and smiling and just so perfect.
From that day to this, you've blessed me with the kind of joy and love only a parent could ever understand.

I wish you many things in life, but mostly I wish that you live your life with passion.
In all that you do, do it passionately.
In all that you aspire to be and all that you hope to achieve, strive toward these with passion.
Live your life fully and live it completely, but mostly live it passionately.

When you write the final page in your journal of life, as some day I will write mine, let it end with the words 'Love, always' for this is the truest sign of a life well lived :)

Love, always
Dada



On Children
 Kahlil Gibran
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.


Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Car Shopping, Men vs Women


The missus decided that she had had enough of her rust-bucket Renault Scenic which had served her like a dutiful slave for the last 4 years. More dutifully than I had served her, she remarked... which in 'Married English' simply means I was less maintenance and more reliable. Armed with a choice of colors and no cooking clue about make or model, she suggested I chug along for advice and emotional support. Personally I think I was just there to carry her handbag and sign on the dotted line.

This turned out to be an exercise in the difference between the way men and women shop for cars.

Women start off with a color.
Once they've chosen a color, it's all down to storage space, number of mirrors, cup-holders and the smell. Yes the smell is very important. It must smell like musky leather, even if it's cloth. It must smell like cookies and cream, even if it's made in Korea. If it's a French car, it must smell like David Ginola.


Men shop for cars slightly differently.
We start off at the BMW dealership. This is a default setting. Women should never try to change this.
Depending on age, we head straight to the Top Of The Range for our relevant bracket.
1-series for under 30's
3-series for 30-40
5-series for 40 and above
7-series for those getting the hang of sitting in a hearse.

Without giving away my age, my peer's and I would make a bee-line toward the M3 coupe' or cabrio.
Next we'd pimp it out with extras, 19inch wheels, sound system, Sat-Nav and all the bells and whistles.
Lastly we decide on color.
Then we sit down with the finance lady, 3 cups of free coffee later and we sneak out through a side-door and head toward Toyota.
If a guy tells you he doesn't shop for cars this way, he's either a gay Renault driver or he's lying. 


I guess this is why married couples make the best decisions when it comes to big ticket purchases. There's a healthy balance of practicality, sensibility and class. Left alone we'd either all be driving pretty cars with no resale value, or expensive sexy cars we can't afford.

The missus finally settled on the Peugeot 3008 pictured above.
Sure it's French, but it's also practical and sensible and smells like David Ginola.... but mostly it has a warranty and service plan no other make or model can compete with.
See! Practical and sensible.

Tomorrow we decide on color. She didn't have the right handbag with her today to make that decision.

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Hello Blogger My Old Friend

This is probably the longest sabbatical I have taken from blogging, and it finally got to a point tonight where I felt like I either needed to write something or snort some coke. Since I'd never done the latter before, and also because writing is so much cheaper, well here I am.

For those who may not have known, I tore a ligament in my leg a few weeks back and the recovery has been rather slow and painful. This is partly the reason why I've been so scarce. The other being that Murphy in his infinite wisdom also decided that March will be the busiest month I have ever experienced in my business.
Back to my leg. How did I tear a ligament you ask?
The concise version is that I was trying to be a hero during a game of action cricket.

So here I am, a month later and still wobbling about on an unsteady ankle like your favorite grandfather carrying his overweight wife at a drunken orgy. While you pretend like you don't have such a relative, I'll make me a nice cup of Rooibos tea.

My sister arrived from Manchester this past weekend. She's married there and had a kid about a year ago, so this was the first time we got to see Maali. What a handsome boy he is. Reminds me so much of myself during my youth. I use the term 'my youth' very loosely, since I'm still at the prime of it. If it weren't for these damn crutches, I'd show you exactly what I mean.

Also, I closed the chapter on another long friendship this week. I may have mentioned it in a previous post. I'm too lazy to check and link right now. About my friend who kept complaining about her life and yet refused to do anything about it to make it better? Well, I finally decided that she was simply sucking my soul dry and I hated that every conversation ended with how much her life sucked. At the beginning of every year I set myself a quota of how often I want to hear and use the word 'suck', and usually I have about a 3 week supply left over by New Years eve. Lately though, she's been ravaging my quota with the grace of a hungry hippo at a House Of Cards convention. It's March and already I'm all sucked out. So it was with Ninja precision that I sliced off that umbilical chord.

Oh I almost forgot. My home renovations are going along superbly :) The new thatched roof should be complete by this weekend, and then I'll begin with the bathrooms and kitchen. It's going to be awesome once it's done, and I'll be sure to post pics, but in the interim it looks like a bomb site in Afghanistan. Last week the marines dropped a bag of rations and some medical supplies in my pool!

Now wish me a speedy recovery with my leg and I promise to blog again soon.

Monday, March 12, 2012

Revolutionizing Revolutions

It's been a while since I did a post about politics and revolutions and health.
So today's post is dedicated to revolutionary smoothies. People like Che Guava RaRa and Malcolm Eggs and Chris Honey.

Not a day goes by when we're not hearing about another scandal involving bribes and ministers or their wives, daughters, sons or pimps. I don't mean "not a day" as a figure of speech. I mean that literally. Even Sundays. The good Lord in his infinite wisdom rested on Sundays. Not so our corrupt government officials. Two years ago there was a story about tender rigging that broke on Christmas Day!
Nothing is sacred anymore.

Speaking of Sacred, what's up with the crappy quality of Sparletta 2L plastic bottles?
Yesterday I had some guests over, and since I'm a classy and sophisticated kind of guy, I poured them some cool refreshing Pine-Nut. Everything was going splendidly until the damn neck of the bottle caved in!
I looked completely ridiculous in my silk gown and snakeskin slippers with damn Pine-Nut spilling all over my vinyl floors!

Normally I would write them a sternly worded letter and escalate the matter all the way to the board of directors at Sparletta, but I heard somewhere that school comes out at 1pm and they are not allowed to use the Internet when they get home.

On the topic of directors, what the heck is up with these scammy pool maintenance companies?
I had one that started in the beginning of Feb. They promised to keep my pool sparkling blue. A month later and the pool is neither sparkling nor blue. They come once a week, usually on a Monday, get the pool looking brilliantly, and by Friday it looks like I was using the pool as a dip-tank for Mad Cow diseased death-row bulls. You know there's something wrong with your pool when you dive in and come face to face with a bullfrog taking his kids to frog school!

Finally, I need to voice my opinion on this whole American primary elections issue.
They're all a bunch of douchebags.
That's my opinion.

Until next time....

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Here's To Goodness



People are always talking about Karma, but how many truly know what it means or how powerful it really is?
The word Karma has become like the phrase 'Social Responsibility' or 'Going Green.' We all sort of kind of know what it means, and we'd like to think we're doing it somehow, but the truth is that if Social Responsibility or Going Green were a train and we were laying naked tied to the tracks, we still wouldn't know what hit us.

One of the people that I have known for a few years now in the business environment proved to me this week why I regard him so highly as a person. There are a handful of people, just a handful, who are doused in as much ethics as my grandad was in Old Spice. They just reek of ethics and integrity. They're almost annoyingly good and ethical and so full of integrity, you just want to smack them and then shag them.
Except in this case it was a dude.

I want people to regard me that way someday.
There goes Kaloo. So full of integrity and ethics, I want to shag him and smack him.

Not like the guy I met on one of my building sites last week.
He came over and introduced himself as one of the sub-contractors. He hardly turned to walk away and answer a call when everyone in the group started talking about what a deceitful shady character he is.

It's the one thing I constantly tell my loved ones.
You can lose everything you own, but never lose your name and the value that goes with it.




Monday, February 27, 2012

Break A Leg


I guess it was inevitable.
All those years of playing sports and getting through unscathed, my luck was bound to run out sometime. I just wish it happened while I was playing Chess or Poker. Is poker regarded as a sport? I don't know. I'm sure I read somewhere that someone once received a gash to the head during a game of poker.

Friday night at the Action Cricket arena was supposed to be like every other night of cricket I've played for the past few years. I get there, we kick some ass, we celebrate, I come home and brag about how brilliant our team is over a hot meal, I shower and go to bed.
I've played for a few teams over the years, and each one has been better than it's predecessor. This season's team is no exception. What makes it different though is that this team comprises of 6 Pakistanis and just two of us local boys. (There's 8 team members in an action cricket team, for those who didn't know)

On Friday night, we were scheduled to play against a team comprising of 8 Indian nationals!
That's not 8 Indians from Durban or 8 Indians from Fordsburg.
That's 8 Indians from India, the motherland, who look Indian, speak Indian, and play cricket like Indians. The fact that they now live in South Africa matters not.

As captain of the team, I knew that the game would be tense. If the handshakes before the game were anything to go by, this game might as well have been the Cricket World Cup Final between Pakistan and India. The only thing missing was the threat of bombs and the heightened security, and maybe the smell of Biryani being cooked court side.

We won the toss and decided to field first.
Just before the end of the 4th over, I dived to the right to field a ball at arms length above my head and was in mid-flight when I knew I was in trouble. My trajectory was not in sync with my landing gear, and I crashed to the ground landing on my knee, twisting it in the process. I think I may have screamed before I even hit the ground.

It's the most pain I have ever felt, and I have felt tremendous pain during my time in Vietnam in my first few years of marriage.
When I opened my eyes, I was surrounded by my team-mates, the umpire, Jesus and Elvis. Three of them asked how I was feeling, while one of them offered me some crack. I won't mention names.

The rest of the night was a blur, but I do recall my team trying to lift me into the air after we won, then there was a painful moment when I tried to remove my clothes before climbing into bed, and finally this morning I woke up and realized I'd be walking on crutches for a while.

The highlight of my weekend was bumping into an 80year old geezer also sporting crutches, who hobbled toward me and asked "So what happened to you then?"
I was tempted to tell him it was a sex-related injury, but kept silent when he said he hurt his knee years back riding a motorbike.
I guess I'll be hobbling about on these crutches for the next few weeks at best.

Bring on Monday already. I've experienced pain. There's nothing Monday could possibly do to scare me now.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Adventures Of An 80yr Old Boob

I was halfway through a post earlier today when I hit 'Save' and figured the world could hold on just a little longer to hear my views on this whole Syrian revolution and Iranian nuclear crisis.

I had to rush off to a meeting with an 80year old client whom I've been servicing for about 5 years now.
Wait. Let me rephrase that!
I've been the contractor to all of her commercial properties; her Go-To guy if you must.

Today was supposed to be a quick in-and-out. Any meeting that lasts less than 30 minutes is a quickie. I've had meetings that lasted longer than some marriages. Well, in this day and age that doesn't really say much about the length of the meetings, but you get what I'm trying to say.

So anyways, there I was with said client, when she decides to lean sideways in her summery flimsy teenage dress (did I mention she's about 80?) and the thin strippy thingy that's supposed to hold her dress up on her shoulders decides to slide off.
Out pops this wrinkly old boob and glares at me like an angry baby crocodile who hasn't been fed for weeks!
Like that's my fault!
Her little poodle goes batshit crazy (and NO! That's NOT a sexual innuendo!) and starts yapping at me like I just exposed her masters boob.

Now normally I'm pretty good at maintaining composure, but I've never been accosted by an angry poodle or an angrier wrinkled boob before, so I did the polite thing since that's the way I was brought up, and I vomited all over her carpet (and NO! Thats NOT a sexual innuendo!)
Ok no seriously, I gagged but stopped short of vomiting.

She just looked at me, popped that bad boy back into it's cave, said "Oops" and gave me this grin that reminded me of Darth Vader for some reason. She even sounded a bit like him.

Anyways, just thought I'd throw my afternoon sojourn with an 80yr old boob out there in the hope that I'll sleep better tonight.

Now back to my piece on the Syrians and Iranians and world peace.


Monday, February 6, 2012

The Power Of The Twitter Activist


Can we as South Africans please attempt to go a week, just one week, without some racial incident rearing it's ugly head?
Is that too much to ask?
Can all the racists just pipe it down or piss off to New Zealand so that the rest of us can get on with making this country a better place?

It turns out two racist pigs at the Morningside branch of Virgin Active hurled insults and slurs at a fellow gym member, simply because she was shouting out 'Yebo!' during her spinning class.
Seems as though this didn't go down too well with these two white guys in the spinning class.
You can read the article here

So Virgin Active were rather inactive in their response and handling of the matter, possibly hoping that it would simply go away. Kudos to Liz Hleza for insisting her story be told, and not taking the abuse lying down.

There's really only one correct response from Virgin Active : Cancel the membership of these racist pigs and ban them from ever joining the gym or any of it's affiliates again.

I'll be following this story with a keen interest, and if these guys think they will simply fly under the radar, they have seriously under-estimated the power of Twitter and other social networks.