2007 April « the other side of the mountain

A short step from communi to forni

26 April 2007 at 9:19 am | In Relationship ruminations | 26 Comments

The other day I got drawn into an interesting discussion on emotional infidelity. My first reaction was, “Eh? Wazzat?” but after it was explained to me, it made a weird kind of sense. This is a serious post, by the way, so if you’re here to snigger at misfortune, then I suggest you pay Chitty a visit instead.

It’s fairly safe to say that the internet has altered the way we interact with one another. Or is it? There are many aspects of this brave new World Wide Web that would have made poor old Aldous Huxley gibber, but other elements might have struck a familiar chord. Contact with someone on the other side of the globe (or indeed, the mountain) hardly makes us bat an eyelid+, but all that’s really changed is the technology. Communication-at-a-remove has been with us ever since some enterprising troglodyte managed to convince someone else to carry a message-bedecked rock on their behalf.

The Victorians used to conduct intensely passionate courtships using little more than pen and paper++. Putting aside the reliability of the postal service for a moment, it translates into essentially the same thing as pouring your heart out via e-mail, doesn’t it?

You may find yourself+++ telling your darkest secrets to someone with an “@” in their name. You may even discover that you share a greater degree of intimacy with that person than with your significant other. And that, in a nutshell, is emotional infidelity. Next to alcohol, it’s the primary entry drug to actual infidelity.

”But liefie, it was only a meeting of the minds. It meant nothing to me, I swear!”

+ unless your monitor refresh rate is stuck on 60 Hz, in which case, you probably need to blink more
++ Kinky bunch, those Victorians.
+++ in another part of the world… Aaaarrggh! Bloody Talking Heads again. Make it stop!!

A load of balls

24 April 2007 at 8:56 am | In Office excitement | 25 Comments

Hot on the heels of our company function, we recently had our company team-building weekend. Clearly someone in HR has a new “How To Motivate The Disgruntled Herd” manual.

Of course, we never get to do cool stuff like paintball, extreme ironing or bog-diving. No, it’s always that tired old favourite: action cricket. I have nothing against action cricket as such, as long as the “action” does not involve me directly. I’ve been roped into taking part in numerous bouts in the past and the results have been uniformly demoralising for all involved. You see, I have the reflexes of a severely hungover sloth and I throw like a girl (who happens to be particularly unskilled at throwing). On a bad day, I’m even worse. Brian Lara I most definitely ain’t.

Although I have long since accepted the sorry fact of my less-than-spectacular sporting prowess, others haven’t. I have also come to the conclusion that honesty in this regard is often not the best policy:

“So whose team are you in?”
“I’m not playing”
“Why not?”

Recommended response:
“Injured knee. Old war wound”
“Bummer”

Non-recommended response:
“I have no ball-sense whatsoever. I think I’d have trouble finding my own testicles if they weren’t attached”
[Glazed eyes. Crickets chirping]

There’s no “I” in “team” and really, I’m okay with that.

Targazing

20 April 2007 at 10:04 am | In Traffic terrors | 20 Comments

I was recently asked if there was one thing I wanted to see before I die. My answer: the N2 free of traffic cones, temporary barriers and some bored construction worker lackadaisically twitching a ratty old red flag. Welcome to beautiful Cape Town – city of mountains, beaches and never-ending bloody roadworks+.

I am well aware of the necessity for periodic maintenance of the transport network, but they’ve been at it for fucking decades now. Oh sure, every so often, they move the party a few hundred yards north or south, but they never actually finish.

Of course, it would be considerably less dire if everyone responded to roadworks in a consistent manner. Admittedly, most motorists just sigh deeply and resign themselves to lengthy delay. Unfortunately, in any large group, there are always statistical outliers. In the traffic, they seem to consist of two main types:

Type 1:
“Roadworks. Oh no!” [Panic attack. Slam on brakes. Apply death grip to steering wheel. Roll eyes back in sockets]

Type 2:
“Roadworks. Whoohoo! No rules!” [Hit accelerator. Shut down higher brain functions. Carve through traffic like a complete tit]

No prizes if you guessed that I nearly got squished between type 1 and type 2 on my way to work this morning.

+ Killer squirrels as well, but you’ll have to ask Betenoir about them

Dinner theatre

18 April 2007 at 8:32 am | In Abdominal rumblings | 23 Comments

I met up with The Artist Formerly Known As The Granny Wrangler yesterday evening. She’s in South Africa on a book-signing tour+ and was able to pencil me in to her busy schedule. I suppose I could regale you with tales of her charm, good looks and wit, but I have limited space here. Also, my fingers get tired when I type too much++.

Dinner was over in flash. It was about the third or fourth time that our waitress came to ask us if “everything was still alright” (we were in the middle of a Deep and Meaningful Conversation on the Croyden Facelift phenomenon) that the penny finally dropped…

“Are you saying you want us to fuck off?” The Artist sweetly enquired.
“No. No. Nonono“, squawked the hapless innocent and fled, blinking tears of frustration from the corners of her eyes.

We never saw her again. A little bit later, one of her male colleagues arrived and very pointedly asked if we “wouldn’t like to settle the bill?”

Amateurs. This is Cape Town – the Paris of Africa. You expect the service to be shocking and the waiting staff to be surly. If you’re all demure and polite and stuff, people are just going to take advantage.

+ or attending her best friend’s wedding. Something like that. God, I meet so many celebrities these days, it’s hard to keep track

++ and this severely impacts on my nose-picking ability. It’s all about priorities

Soul food

16 April 2007 at 1:38 pm | In Philosophical meanderings | 26 Comments

Lassitude and perspective: Too much of one and not enough of the other make Jack a dull boy. And by “Jack”, I mean me. Try to keep up.

Maybe I’ve been searching for inspiration in the wrong places, although surprisingly, an afternoon in the cemetery can be quite diverting. It’s certainly less stressful than slamming your head repeatedly against the wall (not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course). However, the stony silence and headless cherubs do take a bit of getting used to.

I’m sure it could become a popular hang-out for goths, vandals and photographers if someone decided to open branch of Vida e Caffe there. Although perhaps a name change might be in order+.

+ I wouldn’t recommend selling biltong at the snack counter, either