Here are ten reasons why I think zombies that work for NBC follow and study my life, read my mind and then add a few dirty jokes and then tell Liz Lemon how to be like me. I base my study and suspicions on watching the show, 30 Rock, and by studying GIF’s on-line. I’ve known this for years, but I am finally about to speak out!
1. We both celebrate Anna Howard Shaw Day on the 14th of February annually.
2. I have a friend, like Jack Donaghy, who analyses me, and every year I take up knitting for a week!
3. I have a friend that I have food conversations with.
4. I think my own ideas rock!
5. I have an angry badger face too!
6. I probably play too much Sims…
7. I often feel like what I say gets quoted out of context in the media and by my friends to make me look mean.
8. I don’t have my wedding all planned out 20 years in advance.
9. I say really cool things.
10. I ruin things with my THINKING.
Knitting Image Sourced from: http://16sparrows.typepad.com/16sparrows/2011/11/page/2/
There is this Portuguese restaurant that I keep dreaming of. I think by now it can easily be the third or fourth time. I somehow recall having eaten pizza there one day. It was one of those odd little backstreet places where the owner is legit but not very passionate. So the pizzas were kind of “catered to local tastes” meaning, everything on it came out of a tin and they serve iceberg lettuce and frozen veggies. I remember eating these little side plate sized pizzas with a friend and how surprised we were at how good they actually were.
Last night I dreamt my car broke down in the wrong part of my hometown. It was night… think Blade Runner kind of street-vibes. I think I was giving someone a lift and on my way home. I got out of my car and it was raining. Raining like that time in Seoul when my Australian friend and I got caught in a monsoon and walked home in this torrent of rain. Our clothes got so soaked that it started almost hanging off our bodies. We were laughing hysterically and I was drinking take out coffee in-between involuntary gulps of acid rain.
Anyway, back to my dream. I arrived at a tiny little plaza (I assure you, my hometown, ESPECIALLY in the back streets has NO Plazas, just bins that smell like wee and trouble) with actually the most gorgeous little eateries and the back of this same Portuguese restaurant. It was so romantic all these people sitting in these warm restaurants, their laughter spilling out into the rain in warm yellow glows. I had barely arrived inside the restaurant and the owner refused me entry for no apparent reason, so I went in the back (don’t know why) and found a basket of freshly baked rolls and chorizos and started talking to his wife who let me have a roll and a sausage. It was warm and delicious… and I kept thinking, “Why won’t they let me eat here? This is the second time I dream about how they won’t let me eat here.” That standing meal cost me quite a sum of money. I emptied out this brown paper bag in which I kept my money on the table in the kitchen and along with the money these weird grey ants toppled out on to the table and devoured the money in a frenzy that took like 4 seconds to obliterate the contents of the bag. I stood and stared in amazement while the wife stood staring at me expectantly. Panic took over as I started thinking who I should call to help me. I don’t remember the last part of the dream so well, but I think my ballerina friend came to my rescue for the car, and I think I prayed and notes of money came back and I paid for my meal.
This re-occuring restaurant only exists in my dreams. I have no idea why I keep dreaming about it and why I keep getting refused. All I know is the more that large hairy Portugese man grumbles saying , “No more customers!” the more I want to go and eat his blue-collar faux Portuguese food. I want it! Even now.
***Incidentally there is a toxic bluebottle jellyfish called “Portugese Man o’ War” which makes finding pictures of Portuguese men on google very hard, so I settled for an old South African favourite, Vasco da Gama, who, I’m sure, never ate ice-berg lettuce.
Image sourced from: http://www.biography.com/people/vasco-da-gama-9305736
One of the special gifts that come with age is the gift of frankness. That unadulterated ability to shoot from the mouth via the newly enforced hip.” Hurrah!” says I as another less sure-footed youth skulks away after having received a double shot of truth from my lips as they (my lips) perch over a full cream frothy latte. My favourite newly aquired abilities include,
pulling up my hipster jeans in public.
openly agreeing with people when they tell me my hair looks great.
not answering my phone if I don’t feel like it, even if I’m busy doing nothing, and actually a bit bored at the time, and not feeling guilty about it afterwards.
telling off marauding youths in shopping centres, and feeling like a cool girl slomo walking away from an explosion afterwards, never looking back. Not even once.
establishing boundaries with my over-achieving strategist Afrikaans student.
having mutual respecting between the creative attempts of my boundary challenging student’s strategies to ruin my social Sunday afternoons and mine to undermine them.
easily telling guys that I’m not interested in, that I’m not interested in them. Openly.
being friends with everyone.
not being friends with some people.
openly admitting that some movies suck.
openly adoring awesome movies even when no one else likes them.
laughing loudly in public.
telling people how beautiful they look without flirting.
deciding that Bill Murray is the fundamental epitome of cool and that he looks like your dad.
sharing that movie your dad co-starred with Robert Pattinson in with your friends while announcing that your dad is way cooler than him.
you deciding how cool you are without taking any votes.
Happy weekend awesome peoples. Enjoy the awesomeness and play unhip music loudly in your car with the windows rolled down. Go out without make-up and wear shorts to the beach without shaving your legs. Embrace your inner Nan Frankie!
My song for today, which doesn’t relate to anything… but who cares?
So… I already posted today, but then I came across a little gem shared by a friend on Facebook. I looked, scrolled down and back up again and thought, “*shrug* why the heck not?” The blog is hosted on Tumblr and the caption author does not divulge much of himself other than a love and fascination for what he calls, “Zefkinners“.
Zefkinners roughly translates as common /tasteless/low class children and refers to low income white Afrikaans speaking South Africans. The blog is made up of “100% real, unedited” photographs of Zekinners with 100% fake- names and captions beneath. I presume that groups such as Die Antwoord have fired-up an interest in what has been a growing class of people after the fall of Apartheid in 1994 when many state subsidised companies, who favoured white candidates for employment, either closed down or started implementing affirmative action.
I’m torn on my stance with regard to this. I have always felt that groups like Die Antwoord abuse a low-income struggling people as a marketing gimmick. Likened to the circus freaks of the mad science Victorian era. Is it exploitation, awareness or appreciation? None-the-less, an interesting anthropological study. To meet the Zefkinners, click on the link here.
Last night, we scoured this blog from top to bottom, but it’s hard to keep up, as pictures are posted at lightning speed. At just two weeks old, Zefkinners is already standing over 16 pages tall. After a quick mail to Michael, the founder, I was encouraged to use a few of the images from the blog, and it was tough to choose from one of the stars. So now…as a special treat, here is our darling, Hetta, to which my housemate and I owe many tears and …err…joy. The caption reads, ” Hetta Achieving Miracles. Just for the record, Bertie, King of the Coast, came in as a very close second. Make sure to check out the rest of Hetta’s pics on page 14. Just a quick warning, the language, though innocent for the most part, is not always very clean, so tread with caution.
Image used with the permission of 2013 Zeffkinners.
*** Zefkinners has closed down and has been revived under the title “The Gazebo of Zef”. Click here for the new link: HERE
One of my favourite albums is the one with Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong singing Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess. It is definitely worthy of masses of candles, unwise amounts of bathwater and bubbles, both in tub and in glass! Here she is performing Mac The knife. Happy 96th Birthday Miss Ella! We still love you, like always! I will still leave the bathroom door wide open with the music booming. I will still cook pasta to your tunes and I will still reminisce to your music when it rains.
The image is not my property, but was sourced from: http://awesomepeoplereading.tumblr.com/post/35845958086/ella-fitzgerald-reads-and-sings on 25 April 2013.