I must confess that I do not watch a lot of telly. That said, my attention is always drawn to the BBC channels available to us in South Africa whenever I venture toward the ... what the hell does one call it seeing that it's flat nowadays?
I found a gem about 2 weeks ago on 120 BBC Entertainment ... a sitcom called Miranda. Turns out it's a rerun of the first series of 2009 (2 more series since). Miranda Hart is one funny lady. I laughed loud enough that the Viking came to check on me.
Now he would be the first to tell you about this strange affliction I suffer. He says that I never laugh out loud when watching a sitcom ... something that irks him to no end. I can find something hysterically amusing and maintain a perfectly straight face.
Well, apparently there's a cure. And I am about to place my order my over-the-counter fix directly from Amazon.
Such fun ...
Friday, June 7, 2013
Monday, June 3, 2013
Irrevocable
Delicious word. It rolls seductively off the tongue because it sounds sort of dirty, doesn't it?
OXFORD Definition of 'irrevocable':
Adjective - not able to be changed, reversed, or recovered; final:
Example - 'an irrevocable step'.
And therein lies the problem. Not being able to change, reverse or recover. Guillotine-final, if you will. It is with shock and horror that I am feeling every bit of the finality in so many choices I have made to date. And these choices cover issues such as selecting the wrong pair of denims, becoming a vegetarian nearly 6 years ago, preposterously thinking I could be "mother-figure' to a broken teenager and also 'settling' in my country of birth despite claims of being a 'citizen of the planet' (thanks for the poetry, Allie).
If anything it would seem there is one thing I consistently excel in and that is to make a decision and stick with it, no matter what the consequences.
So now it would seem there is only one choice to make:
Change it up ...
I double-dare me!
OXFORD Definition of 'irrevocable':
Adjective - not able to be changed, reversed, or recovered; final:
Example - 'an irrevocable step'.
And therein lies the problem. Not being able to change, reverse or recover. Guillotine-final, if you will. It is with shock and horror that I am feeling every bit of the finality in so many choices I have made to date. And these choices cover issues such as selecting the wrong pair of denims, becoming a vegetarian nearly 6 years ago, preposterously thinking I could be "mother-figure' to a broken teenager and also 'settling' in my country of birth despite claims of being a 'citizen of the planet' (thanks for the poetry, Allie).
If anything it would seem there is one thing I consistently excel in and that is to make a decision and stick with it, no matter what the consequences.
So now it would seem there is only one choice to make:
Change it up ...
I double-dare me!
Monday, March 4, 2013
Life's a beach ...
Sometimes you just need a holiday. You don't necessarily have any days due to you, or any money to go somewhere nice or any clue where it is you want to go. But you just need it.
Well, I have more than 3 weeks due, have a travel kitty and have a few places I'd really like to see. And here I am at my home desktop just clacking about it on a keyboard.
I blame calvinistic guilt.
'Nuff said.
Well, I have more than 3 weeks due, have a travel kitty and have a few places I'd really like to see. And here I am at my home desktop just clacking about it on a keyboard.
I blame calvinistic guilt.
'Nuff said.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Check it out, my mate!
Since Friday past, after being privy to an hour of staring at the chess board which found itself in front of me, I've been thinking about the fascinating combination of pieces on the board. Hell no, I wasn’t playing … I have some self-respect left after all! What I know of chess can bring down the status of the institution as an official sport!
Anyhow, barely knowing how each piece is allowed to move and being a self-confessed ignorant on the subject of chess, I still feel the need to lament on my understanding of each of the pieces if you would indulge me:
The Pawn: The poor little eunuchs were put in place by a King to protect his lady’s honour. Many other such atrocities began as an innocent thought. These little boys are so short-sighted that, after their initial hesitant move, they seemingly forget that they were allowed two spaces before and continue their lives one step at a time. They are also not even missed on the board and are so easily sacrificed for a “real” piece. On very rare occasions one or two of the little ones get to shine when they take another piece on the board, even more rarely a “real” piece. Sadly, this is only to be taken in the very next, cleverly calculated and sequenced move. You have to wonder if any of them have even thought of taking this up with their union.
The Rook: Well, with a name like that, one can only conjure up thoughts of Goliath-like giants, fully armoured in metal and ready to defend King and country. And if that alone did it for me, I’d have been able to select these dudes as my piece of choice. But alas, their armour is just waaay too restrictive for any kind of rendezvous to be arranged easily. But it is when these oafs would open their mouth that I just know I’m likely to be bored, don’t I? Anybody who can only move in a straight line seems just a little sad to me. Yeah, so they get to do that fancy move where they cross over the King, but so what? Because they still just end up covering the big knob’s royal hinee a little too closely.
The Knight: Major swoon points here. I’m such a girl … not even going to pretend that I'm sorry! But I don’t put it down to the beautiful shape of this lovely piece, even though thoughts of a prince-like (not Charles, for heaven's sake!) hero on a beautiful stallion springs to mind rather naturally. To me, the attraction sits more in the moves of this piece. He covers 4 spaces in an unusual “L” shape – “L” is for Love, Lust or Long. Coincidence? I think not! And when he moves, he also does not care who is in his way – he politely ignores everybody around him in his quest and asks no permission. What I love most though, is the mathematics of it all!!! That “L” shape can cover absolutely every square on the board without ever touching the same square twice! Besides, 4 is the preferred number for people who suffer obsessive compulsive disorder. Yeah baby!
The Bishop: This little chap is a little bit devious, isn’t he? He is definitely carrying something under that innocent and mock-holy garb. This is one piece that I feel sneaks up on you from afar in the blink of an eye without warning, mostly because your attention is elsewhere. Always close to the royals and always with something up his sleazy sleeve. What is it about men of the cloth that make you feel uneasy anyhow?
The King: Nope, no sequence error here. The king is next on my list. Deal with it! To me, he is nothing but the crown. No more than the piece of paper the other team is after. I imagine him to be a really short guy (SMS of note!!!) on a very high throne. Waaay too many frills, mind you. Imagine moving so slowly all the time and never getting anywhere. Ooh, I think I’ll move here! No, there! Ooh, back again!?!? Always on the defensive and needing a full army of men and one woman (imagine that, hey?) to cover your scared butt.
The Queen: Come on, you know she rules! I’m not saying it’s right, I’m just saying that’s the way it is. She holds the most power. Is there any other piece on the board worth “winning back” by moving a forgotten pawn to the far side? And let’s face it: with her kind of moves (when her men don't get in her way) she must get pretty bored sometimes with all the incompetent men surrounding her. She has the King on one side, but he is too busy getting fat on elaborate banquet meals. Besides, you know she didn't marry him for his charm and good looks. The bishop is on her other flank, but quite frankly he can’t even “think straight”. And then there's all these brain-dead little guys in front of her who have been “safe-guarded” from her advances. What's a smart girl to do, I ask you? It’s not surprising that she sometimes just wonders what she is doing it all for and throws in the towel and yells: “Have the King, you bloody fool!”
Anyhow, barely knowing how each piece is allowed to move and being a self-confessed ignorant on the subject of chess, I still feel the need to lament on my understanding of each of the pieces if you would indulge me:
The Pawn: The poor little eunuchs were put in place by a King to protect his lady’s honour. Many other such atrocities began as an innocent thought. These little boys are so short-sighted that, after their initial hesitant move, they seemingly forget that they were allowed two spaces before and continue their lives one step at a time. They are also not even missed on the board and are so easily sacrificed for a “real” piece. On very rare occasions one or two of the little ones get to shine when they take another piece on the board, even more rarely a “real” piece. Sadly, this is only to be taken in the very next, cleverly calculated and sequenced move. You have to wonder if any of them have even thought of taking this up with their union.
The Rook: Well, with a name like that, one can only conjure up thoughts of Goliath-like giants, fully armoured in metal and ready to defend King and country. And if that alone did it for me, I’d have been able to select these dudes as my piece of choice. But alas, their armour is just waaay too restrictive for any kind of rendezvous to be arranged easily. But it is when these oafs would open their mouth that I just know I’m likely to be bored, don’t I? Anybody who can only move in a straight line seems just a little sad to me. Yeah, so they get to do that fancy move where they cross over the King, but so what? Because they still just end up covering the big knob’s royal hinee a little too closely.
The Knight: Major swoon points here. I’m such a girl … not even going to pretend that I'm sorry! But I don’t put it down to the beautiful shape of this lovely piece, even though thoughts of a prince-like (not Charles, for heaven's sake!) hero on a beautiful stallion springs to mind rather naturally. To me, the attraction sits more in the moves of this piece. He covers 4 spaces in an unusual “L” shape – “L” is for Love, Lust or Long. Coincidence? I think not! And when he moves, he also does not care who is in his way – he politely ignores everybody around him in his quest and asks no permission. What I love most though, is the mathematics of it all!!! That “L” shape can cover absolutely every square on the board without ever touching the same square twice! Besides, 4 is the preferred number for people who suffer obsessive compulsive disorder. Yeah baby!
The Bishop: This little chap is a little bit devious, isn’t he? He is definitely carrying something under that innocent and mock-holy garb. This is one piece that I feel sneaks up on you from afar in the blink of an eye without warning, mostly because your attention is elsewhere. Always close to the royals and always with something up his sleazy sleeve. What is it about men of the cloth that make you feel uneasy anyhow?
The King: Nope, no sequence error here. The king is next on my list. Deal with it! To me, he is nothing but the crown. No more than the piece of paper the other team is after. I imagine him to be a really short guy (SMS of note!!!) on a very high throne. Waaay too many frills, mind you. Imagine moving so slowly all the time and never getting anywhere. Ooh, I think I’ll move here! No, there! Ooh, back again!?!? Always on the defensive and needing a full army of men and one woman (imagine that, hey?) to cover your scared butt.
The Queen: Come on, you know she rules! I’m not saying it’s right, I’m just saying that’s the way it is. She holds the most power. Is there any other piece on the board worth “winning back” by moving a forgotten pawn to the far side? And let’s face it: with her kind of moves (when her men don't get in her way) she must get pretty bored sometimes with all the incompetent men surrounding her. She has the King on one side, but he is too busy getting fat on elaborate banquet meals. Besides, you know she didn't marry him for his charm and good looks. The bishop is on her other flank, but quite frankly he can’t even “think straight”. And then there's all these brain-dead little guys in front of her who have been “safe-guarded” from her advances. What's a smart girl to do, I ask you? It’s not surprising that she sometimes just wonders what she is doing it all for and throws in the towel and yells: “Have the King, you bloody fool!”
Friday, October 10, 2008
Tards and fatsos unite
I hate the old marketing ploy where advertisers use the “Only R999.95” trick. It concerns me to be part of a society where so many people cannot figure out that it’s a thousand smackeroos. You have to love it though! Why? Because for some obscure reason it actually works!
But my latest irritation is not regarding the pricing, but rather about the packaging on certain products. In this Twiggy age (which has been lasting waaaaaay too long for my decidedly reubenesque derrière) it has become a marketing focus to now point out to prospective buyers the fat content of various food products. I’m all for that, actually. I, for one, should be more careful about the amount of excess fat I stick in my gob. So tell me that your product has only 2% fat, that’s great. I feel adequately informed when I buy and consume (several packages of) your product.
For example, whilst in JHB a while back, I wanted to add some milk to my coffee. The carton exclaimed that it was more that 96% fat free. Honestly, what does that mean to the consumer? How can something be 96% fat free? It’s like saying that you’re 96% pregnant. And which 4% in the carton should I avoid if I were on a diet?
And I reiterate: You have to love it though!
Why?
Because there’s an entire sub-culture of my fellow country-folk stealing my oxygen, is why!
But my latest irritation is not regarding the pricing, but rather about the packaging on certain products. In this Twiggy age (which has been lasting waaaaaay too long for my decidedly reubenesque derrière) it has become a marketing focus to now point out to prospective buyers the fat content of various food products. I’m all for that, actually. I, for one, should be more careful about the amount of excess fat I stick in my gob. So tell me that your product has only 2% fat, that’s great. I feel adequately informed when I buy and consume (several packages of) your product.
For example, whilst in JHB a while back, I wanted to add some milk to my coffee. The carton exclaimed that it was more that 96% fat free. Honestly, what does that mean to the consumer? How can something be 96% fat free? It’s like saying that you’re 96% pregnant. And which 4% in the carton should I avoid if I were on a diet?
And I reiterate: You have to love it though!
Why?
Because there’s an entire sub-culture of my fellow country-folk stealing my oxygen, is why!
Thursday, September 18, 2008
The writing's on the wall
I have always appreciated raw talent. I remember being about 4 and staring at some protégé or another who could play the piano or violin or maybe sing a song beautifully or even calculate a math problem in a flash. This fascination for raw talent has stuck with me through the years and I still appreciate many forms of various arts.
Not least of these art forms is graffiti. I love graffiti. Mind you, let me rephrase that so that you understand me correctly: I love REAL graffiti. Not the stuff I am left to purvey every morning when doing my usual drive in. What is that anyway? You find a can of spray paint in the garage and you happen to pass a wall and you stand there for a while thinking to yourself: “Hmm, what shall my statement be for today?” I can’t help wondering what kind of moron you need to be to come up with “fuck”. Like it’s never been done before! Ooh, I am rebel, hear me roar! Not even an artistic “fck” or “fcuk” in a specific and recognisable style of graffiti, but just “fuck” in the scrawl of a 5-year old, which is seemingly the norm for these supposed “gangsters” of dull repute. It’s you giving this art form the bad publicity, so sod off and get some training, you git!
And then I avert my eyes from this random and thoughtless art crime to the grey canvas (a.k.a. the wall separating the incoming from the outgoing traffic on the N2) and I get to thinking: Why not actually allow real aspiring artists to paint this fugly wall (which is taking 4 years from my life to build)? Give each artist a section and give the lot of them a running theme to work around. Nothing wrong with making a global statement, getting talented kids off the streets and decorating a rather dreary world all in one go. Why not nurture talent rather than condemn it outright?
And since we, as a race, are so easily bored and need instant gratification in a rat-race world (okay, so maybe I am talking about ME), archive the art-works, paint the canvas white again and pick a new theme next year.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder … so give me something to behold.
Not least of these art forms is graffiti. I love graffiti. Mind you, let me rephrase that so that you understand me correctly: I love REAL graffiti. Not the stuff I am left to purvey every morning when doing my usual drive in. What is that anyway? You find a can of spray paint in the garage and you happen to pass a wall and you stand there for a while thinking to yourself: “Hmm, what shall my statement be for today?” I can’t help wondering what kind of moron you need to be to come up with “fuck”. Like it’s never been done before! Ooh, I am rebel, hear me roar! Not even an artistic “fck” or “fcuk” in a specific and recognisable style of graffiti, but just “fuck” in the scrawl of a 5-year old, which is seemingly the norm for these supposed “gangsters” of dull repute. It’s you giving this art form the bad publicity, so sod off and get some training, you git!
And then I avert my eyes from this random and thoughtless art crime to the grey canvas (a.k.a. the wall separating the incoming from the outgoing traffic on the N2) and I get to thinking: Why not actually allow real aspiring artists to paint this fugly wall (which is taking 4 years from my life to build)? Give each artist a section and give the lot of them a running theme to work around. Nothing wrong with making a global statement, getting talented kids off the streets and decorating a rather dreary world all in one go. Why not nurture talent rather than condemn it outright?
And since we, as a race, are so easily bored and need instant gratification in a rat-race world (okay, so maybe I am talking about ME), archive the art-works, paint the canvas white again and pick a new theme next year.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder … so give me something to behold.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
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