This is what I got. Laurika Rauch’s 19 Treffers van 21 jaar. I love it, I love it, I love it! I got it last night at Musica. Was listening intermittently while watching The West Wing, which is my current obsession.
It brings back fond memories of the early nineties, when I would watch television and Wielie Walie or Liewe Heksie would be punctuated with ad breaks featuring Ms. Rauch’s music. My all-time favourite song? Mmmkay. It’s Stuur groete aan Mannetjies Roux. I’m not quite sure what makes this song so special. Back then I didn’t even realise how sad it is. I only liked the cadence.
But now I listen to the CD with a more mature ear and I marvel at her wonderful words. It’s lovely. I think I’ll buy an Afrikaans CD every couple of months or so. God, it’s fabulous.
Fabulous! Although I think they could’ve done it sooner. Even I am a bit slow to take note of it, as MyBroadband has an article on it here. I wonder how many people fell for the iBurst promotion? I mean, come on now, paying R49 for 40Megs is a rip off that not even Telscum will inflict upon us. Or perhaps they do, in the form of paying R88 for 80Megs. But at least they spell it out quite plainly.
At first, I only noticed black women who wear shoes like these. It used to make me wonder “Why?”. I would look at their pretty outfits, and compare it to the shoes they’re wearing, and get slightly angry. Don’t ask me why.
Eventually, I started noticing this disturbing trend among white women as well. I initially thought it must be a class thing. How else to explain it?
But no, the woman I photographed this morning appears to be part of the so-called middle class. I’m pretty sure she would be able to afford R20 at her local Nanucci’s to repair the shoe’s heels. R20 is really not much to pay, right? But if R20 isn’t a lot of money to pay, why do I see so many women with heels like these? Do they just not care? Are they not uncomfortable, walking around in shoes like that? And no, I’m not just referring to emotionally, though I would be traumatized if I had to wear shoes like that. I’m talking about physically uncomfortable. Surely the shoes scrape against the pavement when they walk?
What’s more, it doesn’t look pretty. That is my biggest problem. Sure, you can’t zoom in on the photo in the way I am able to, so it doesn’t really look that bad. But, trust me, it is.
Sure, Cape Town is known as “Slaapstad” or “Aapstad” or whatever silly names you can think of. But. Surely there must be women who still take some pride in their appearance? Women for whom spending R20 to fix heels might not sound blasphemous?
Some weeks ago, I met one of Susan’s friends. We had a great day, starting off with coffee at one of my favourite haunts. I took one sneer-filled look at this girl, and immediately dismissed her as a ditz. Come on! She was wearing labels, labels, and yet more labels. Sunglasses, jeans, top, everything. Well, almost. The only thing that wasn’t a label was the bag from Woolworths. But even that looked very supermodelly. No matter that she bought it for R100 at the sale.
So immediately I thought of her as an inferior label whore, whereas I am a label snob. (It probably means I can’t afford labels, so I look down on those who can). Whatever. And when she opened her mouth, it was only about her boyfriend and about money. I later understood that she supports her family on her tiny salary, so I felt bad for thinking so little of her.
But what made me think hard was when she asked me where Scandinavia is. I did my best to appear “educated” and “snobby”, and gave her a run-down of Scandinavian countries. I thought to myself: “OMG, how can anyone be so stupid?” I knew where Scandinavia is when I was in primary school, why doesn’t she know this at 26/27?
Fast-forward a couple of weeks, and everywhere I go, everyone who talks to me, I am bombarded with phrases such as South-Eastern Asia, Eurasia, Eastern Asia and Western Asia. I felt flummoxed. What’s happening here? Am I supposed to know the difference? I thought Asia was just that: Asia? Was I wrong? OMG, I’m stupid.
I can’t blame my school education. Really, I can’t. I can’t even blame it on the fact that I only studied Geography until Standard 7. That’ll be Grade 9 for those of you who do not know the old Standard system.
I blame it on my ignorance.
Although I do believe that my old History teacher should be replaced with a younger, more liberal teacher. Something I remember happened in our final year. Or it might have happen during the previous year, I can’t remember which.
We were discussing the year’s curriculum. She had this cute habit of sitting on one of the school desks and talking to us, with her short little legs swinging around. She was adorable, probably still is. She had a tiny little voice and was pushing 60. So, she sat there with the book on her lap, staring at the class and told us what we’ll cover. “South African history, tick. The UN, tick. African history, tick. No, hold that thought, people. African history is mostly about war and genocide and you won’t even be able to pronounce the people’s names, never mind even spelling it. So I think we won’t be covering African history.”
So, please do not test me on African history? At one stage, I would have been able to identify every single country on the African map. But I’m only recently starting to appreciate that every country’s history is about war, and to a lesser extent, genocide. It’s not just particular to the African situation. Read Levi’s If on a Winter’s Night a Traveller and The Unbearable Lightness of Being and you’ll see what I mean. Or don’t. I’m such a typical lover of fiction, that I tend to refer to fiction and not non-fiction.
So yeah. I shall buy some biographies next week. I shall use Wikipedia right now to learn some more about Mr Idi Amin Dada who expelled Uganda’s Indians. OMG.
I neglected to mention, your entourage is welcome,
Why does this bother me so very much? The fact that I do not have a close-knit circle of friends, as popularised by most television programmes, including SATC, Friends and most other random television shows.
I’d love to have a smallish circle of nerdy yet glamorous friends. A smallish circle of friends whom to meet for breakfast on a Saturday and not everyday as in SATC. Friends I can rely on not to cancel Friday drinks, and friends who would like to travel with me to Mozambique next month (Yeah, I might be going).
I’ve always been a loner. Is it not time to learn that I will always be a loner? People just don’t “get” me. And I don’t get them. But this means that I am always doing things alone. It’s nice, up to a point.
Sure, it could be advantageous, I shall not argue with that. I don’t have to wait for anyone’s approval to do something. If I want to go to the Aquarium, I can. If I desperately need that cup of Java, I can walk down the road and get plastered on caffeine. Had Balkanology stayed at the original venue, I would’ve gone. Alone. That’s the best way to meet people. Problem is, who will take photos of you that can grace your MyFace page the next day?
At one stage, in late 2006, I had that circle of friends. We would all hang out together, but this didn’t last long. They weren’t my ideal circle of friends, though they fulfilled that need as best they could. But it was fun to feel trendy and, here’s the thing, wanted and recognised.
I’ve been spending a lot of time reading American blogs, and one thing I noticed, is that online shopping is just so very normal over there. So many of these bloggers casually mention they bought something online, and it’ll arrive on Tuesday.
Yes, fine, I also do online shopping. But my online shopping is restricted to groceries, cute buttons, online dating site payments and buying tickets to events. I have not yet progressed to the level of the average American online shopper who feels comfortable buying some clothing article she has not seen in real life. Granted, it saves time, and possibly even money, but I would much rather prefer to go instore than buying online.
This is why I’m so glad I’m a city girl. And, compared to places such as Putsonderwater, I have so much choice when it comes to clothing and accessories. Perhaps I’m lucky. Or perhaps these ladies know something I don’t.
I wonder if they get as much of a thrill as I get when I pay for an item at my local mall. And imagine receiving your purchase all wrapped up in the mail. No snotty sales assistants to deal with. If it doesn’t fit, you are allowed to return it. You get to try it out in real lighting, not in the fake fitting room lighting that so many stores have.
Hmmm. If only South African companies could also offer online shopping. I remember what a nightmare it is to shop for clothing with Inthebag.
I had a quick look at Jump.co.za and their online offering is paltry. Who are Gurgle, Rebel Rock and Yoga Shop? I’ve never heard of these companies, and they’re featured on Jump? Oy vey. Next, I searched for the term “buy online” in Google. Onlineshopping was one of the first listings. Great stuff. But I won’t buy from them. Nope. They misspelled DVDs and Videos. I refuse to do business with a company that doesn’t care about their image.
Habits has a quirky line on their site – WHO’S AFRAID OF SHOPPING ONLINE?. I could only LOL at that. But they could also do with a proofreader. Now see, I know Habits. I’ve even met the owner once. But if I didn’t know the brand, the image of Habits, I would’ve scoffed and sneered at the layout (it isn’t bad, but it could’ve been done much better) and the couple of spelling mistakes I noticed.
And that’s about all, folks. So much for SA online shopping. It doesn’t exist. Do any of you clever peeps know of other shopping sites? Do we have anything resembling Bag Borrow or Steal? I guess not, or I might have heard of it. Perhaps I should start it. Ai tog.
(No offense meant to actual retards reading this)
Spending a quiet Sunday with the newspapers is just not the same when one is distracted by mediocre copy.
Where’s the apostrophe? Surely they missed an apostrophe?
I might be wrong, but I’m pretty sure breathtaking is one word.
Not nearly as bad, but I would prefer them writing three, and not 3. But space is tight, so…
But at least they’re not as bad as their baby publication, The Times. And I’m very sorry to say this, but it’s mostly black journos who commit these foul mistakes. Then they blame their incompetence on English being their third language. Yes, I am referring to the former O Magazine editor. Sorry, that’s no fucking excuse. If you want to make it in the big, bad world of English journalism (even if it is Women24 – LOL), you need to feel comfortable writing in it.
It makes me wonder where the fucking sub-editors are? Lalita is a journo, and she doesn’t know the difference between comedienne and comedian. Didn’t even know comedienne is a word. Fuck me.
It’s really not difficult. Read. Read. Read. Read more. Read even more. Read The New York Times. Read. Read more. And then write. Write more. Write until you’re fucking blue. In the face. Edit. Edit some more and give to sub-editor who will check for any misplaced apostrophes or umlauts. Or whatever.
See, this is what happens when journos are the ones who spend four years reading Jane Austen instead of getting practical skills, or reading Eats Shoots and Leaves.
My first LV
Well, it isn’t the LV I was coveting, but it’s a pretty good replacement. I used it for the first time to take out small change for the taxi – R4.50, and felt trés rich. And then I had coffee at the deli down the road.
Valerie Solanas got it all wrong. Men aren’t S.C.U.M. LOL
I think this is my new baby, and she’s going to sleep next to me tonight. He he he he
To my fine German friend:
Fine… I’m only happy because of all the material goodness in my life. The rest is a hollow shell. I feel hollow cause I am hollow.
I have hardly any good friends left. The few remaining ones I get to see perhaps only once a month if I’m lucky. More often I don’t get to see them for months on end.
Toby and I …. eish. still not happy. it’s not working. i’ve tried to break it off so many times but it just didn’t work.
he cheated on me.. many times. i forgive him constantly. why?? cause i’m afraid of being single. cause we have build a semi-decent life together (with my money).
i want to run away from myself. can one do that?
i constantly dream of being killed, or of dying. the last dream i had like that was where i hear a noise from the front door. i open it and it’s a thief who then stabs me in the neck.
it hurt briefly but then it was bliss; i’m dead with no more responsibilities or tasks waiting on me. no more sadness. that sounds divine.
sorry.i just had to write to you. i know you’ll understand. or, i hope you’ll understand.
As I’m writing this, I have someone standing outside my door, banging to get in, trying to “evict” me. LOL. They’ve been at it for half an hour or so. I called the police, and they’re sending someone out.
Actually, I haven’t heard anything much from them now for a full minute. I saw a shadow a minute ago, but that’s been it. That, and the normal noises of people opening their doors to get outside. The funniest thing is that they got here just as I was about to leave the flat! I heard some noises, and closed the door just in time. I am dying for a cuppa, and to return the videos I rented. Argh.
Let’s see what’s gonna happen. Victor offered his help, should anything happen. Leigh-Anne tried to help, too. Thanks, honey. You’re a darling.
Well, that was a rather interesting two hours. I learned that there are some very cute Afrikaans constables out there. Some of them do have a rather wicked sense of humour, and I didn’t receive the second season of Sopranos. I’ve got seasons 1, 3-6, but not season 2. I wonder…
This was just what I needed. Some excitement. Wow. I feel alive again. Argh. Anyway. That was completely random. I’m no longer under house-arrest. The landlady threatened to evict me, even though the cops told her she’s not allowed to. The cops were excellent, especially my Afrikaans boy.
Let me know when you want to move the couch.
That’s from Cute Afrikaans boytjie. LOL. I think he really liked me!
Anyway. I’m in desperate need of a coffee. Especially now that the landlady’s daughter threatens to move in here. We’ll see about that. I doubt she will, though. Well, it’s nice to know the law is on my side. And thank Jebus for stupid landladies.