Window of Opportunity

My company has a CSI programme, as do many companies these days, I suppose. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, some guys from my work were going through to deliver school bags to a primary school in Stellenbosch, and they asked me to come along to take some pictures (goodness knows why!). So off I went...

Lynedoch Primêr is a small school which forms an important part of the Lynedoch EcoVillage, near Stellenbosch. Described as South Africa’s first ecologically-designed socially mixed community, the EcoVillage promotes energy-efficient and ecologically sound use of resources (evident in the building of Adobe housing) while achieving social justice with regards to equitable access across diverse affordability levels. The primary school has about 600 pupils, ranging from Grade 1 to Grade 8. Lessons are taught in Afrikaans.

The school caters mostly to kids whose parents are seasonal workers from the surrounding farms, and economic problems are certainly a concern. Yet it was heart-warming to see the passion and optimism that the kids displayed. This is likely due in large to the educators and headmaster of Lynedoch Primêr, who constantly support and encourage their learners to explore their full potential.

Here are a couple of my favourite snaps from our little excursion... I'm quite chuffed with these pics - they paint a really positive picture.

Design Indaba Take 2

So on Wednesday last week, I toddled off to the Design Indaba 2008 - all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (or is that bushy-haired?). Anyway, I was really looking forward to this year's conference because last year I went for the first time and was absolutely blown away. I have to admit, it wasn't quite as good this year, though that's not to say it was bad. On the contrary, some of the speakers were absolutely brilliant! There were quite a few speakers from the industrial design field, and while I have the utmost respect for all those guys, it wasn't quite 'my cup of tea' and I found their talks a little dull. But the rest was great.

Some speakers stood out more than others. Some of the guys who really 'blew my hair back' included Airside (http://www.airside.co.uk/), Jakob Trollbäck (http://www.trollback.com), Mirko Ilić (http://mirkoilic.com), Paul D Miller - aka DJ Spooky (http://www.djspooky.com/) and the very impressive Shinichi Takemura (http://www.tangible-earth.com/).

Using the tag-line 'Creativity can...' this year's Indaba had a significant environmental theme. My take on it is the everyone has a responsibility to make a change. Creatives (and this includes product designers, graphic designers, copywriters, the whole toot) have the advantage of working with a medium that can reach a fairly large audience, and so it is our responsibility to promote better environmental practices. This theme was apparent in the both the presentations and the oh-so-fabulous delegate goodie bags. From programme books with recycled elephant poo covers to the lovely natural fibre bag and T-shirt. (Thanks Woolies!)

And that was that.

Racism - healthy and thriving

I cannot believe it! Last Friday, the 'Forum of Black Journalists' (FBJ) had a get-together and not only invited one of South Africa's most corrupt individuals (and most likely our next state president!!!) to be their guest speaker, but banned white journalists from attending.

What the hell's up with that?!?!?!?!? It really pisses me off that after 14 years of so-called democracy, it's acceptable for this sort of racism not only to occur but to be so openly flaunted in the eyes of the public. CRAZY!!!

First of all, imagine if there was a 'Forum of White Journalists' - there would absolutely be cries of racism. But to crown it off with a function which discriminates against individuals of a certain colour - how democratic is that? Of course, the fact that Jacob Zuma attended isn't all that surprising. What's frightening is that our 'future leader' is a horny polygamist with seriously questionable ethics, morals and intelligence - and apparently sees nothing wrong with colour discrimination.

Apparently, several top black journalists refused to attend the meeting. Kudos to them! Televised news reports showed white journalists being refused entry. Nasty stuff. Oh but wait, there's more. A few black journalists who left the conference in demonstration against the anti-white decision were openly called 'coconuts' - a derogatory term used against blacks who are perceived as 'black on the outside, white on the inside'.

You really have to wonder how this could happen after all these years. How can an organisation be so blatantly discriminatory and get away with it? What's more, these are JOURNALISTS we are talking about, people who supposedly make their livelihood by being non-biased and objective. The SABC's political editor (Abbey Makoe) is the steering committee chairperson of the FBJ!!!!!!! This places serious doubt on the credibility of the media.

It's so frustrating. One step forward, two steps back. Racism is racism, regardless of where it's coming from and who it's directed at. And it's pure ugly.

End of an era

It's been about a gazillion years (okay, 8 months maybe) since my last post and I've just had an epiphany as to why it's been so long. I read my fair share of blogs, my favourites of which are always witty and interesting (granted, in varying degrees). This has put a lot of unnecessary pressure on me. I feel obliged to deliver scintillating, cleverly written pieces to readers, guaranteed to have them rolling with laughter and/or reeling with admiration.

All forgetting one thing. There ARE no readers. Chances are I'm the only person who knows my little blog exists. So screw it. From now on, I'm going to write about whatever takes my fancy. In all likelihood, it will be uninteresting and not in the least bit funny, and that's okay. There may be spelling mistakes and sneaky typos. So what! Not the end of the world. Mwah ha ha! (This is all quite liberating!)

Like... a bunny?

The English language is a fickle and complicated beast. Apparently it’s one of the harder languages to learn, though personally I think Mandarin or Swahili would be much more difficult, but hey. I suppose in a language where many words - even if short and simple - not only can be pronounced in a variety of ways but also have vastly different meanings and yet be spelt exactly the same, there’s lots of room for (erm) poetic licence(?)

On top of that, I live in the Western Cape. Cape Town, to be more specific - and anyone who is familiar with Cape Town will know that we boast impressive diversity in terms of races and nationality. South Africa has a total of 11 official languages - and the list doesn’t include tsotsitaal and the oft-heard European languages, such as German, Greek, Dutch and so on.

So you take a relatively complicated language, gently mix it with a variety of cultural backgrounds, sprinkle in some colourful colloquialisms and accents and you’re left with a beautifully-corrupted version of the English language. This is the sort of thing that keeps a purist awake at night, and I’ve had my fair share of nausea waves, induced by seeing the English language misused and horribly abused. (Every time I see a misplaced apostrophe on a television or print ad, a little bit of me dies. [The plural of DVD does not need an apostrophe, as in DVD’s. It’s just wrong, wrong, wrong.]) In an attempt to control my inner nerd (because I sure as hell cannot control how people use the English language) I’ve been making a concerted effort to be less precious about how things are said and written. That’s not to say I don’t believe in keeping the English clean and unharmed, but ultimately, I guess it boils down to situation appropriateness.

There’s also a definite element of humour in the misuse of the English language - albeit unintentional. Some terms and expressions have become quite well-known and poke fun at ourselves in the larger-metropolitan-city-one-big-happy-family sense. (Think ‘I are wearing my jean pant’ or ‘eish, she’s broken’.) While these sort of expressions can be viewed as derogatory (though surely not if used within a specific context), these sayings are slowly emerging, finding their place and becoming widely accepted.

Then again, some people are just incredibly gifted at coming up with sayings that are unique, expressive and often, hilarious. Recently, one of my work colleagues was telling me how hungry he was - it was just before lunch time. ‘I’m so hungry, I could eat the ass off a low-flying duck’ were his exact words. I had to write that down somewhere. Classic.

One of my best friends often passes on funny things she’s heard. Recently, she was waiting in a queue for something (could’ve been the bank, or perhaps the Pick ‘n Pay - I can’t remember). A woman in front of her was waffling away on cell phone, and going to into detail about the cold weather and how she was ‘freezing like a chicken’. Since then, ‘freezing like a chicken’ has become somewhat of an insider joke within our friendship circle. At first glance, ‘freezing like a chicken’ makes absolutely no sense, and is a poorly-constructed metaphor, and yet we all know exactly what it means. I feel cold just thinking about it.

Another phrase that has recently ‘caught on’ is ‘soft like a bunny’. The same-said friend took one of her (four!) fluffy pussycats to the vet recently, who marvelled how Moses’ (I e. le cat) furry coat was ‘soft like a bunny’. Since then, this expression has been used on many occasions. I won’t lie - my cat is not quite ‘soft like a bunny’, yet I have (unintentionally) found myself using the term in many instances, substituting the ‘soft’ for a variety of other adjectives. Gymming like bunny... working like a bunny... eating like a bunny... drinking like a bunny? Somehow, they all make sense, (well, at least to me they do) even though they really shouldn’t.

I’m not entirely sure what this says about the English language. Are we ripping it to shreds. or merely expanding its borders and making it more widely accessible? I’m not ignorant to the fact that the purity of the language is melting into a sludgy mucky-bown hybrid. Yet perhaps the more colloquial version can happily live alongside its more formal (‘make-our-English-professors-proud') counterpart, Ideally, I’d like my (future) children to be able to explore their mother tongue, and embrace its little idiosyncrasies - more a product of the community in which we live. Yet at the end of day, I strongly believe it’s important to dot the ‘i’s and cross the ‘t’s - and for heaven’s sake, there’s NO apostrophe* in CDs, DVDs, VCRs, photos, 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s...

* unless you’re implying possession, in which case - give it horns.

Beware of gushing chick-lit groupies (and other scary phenomena)

Today, I met Marian Keyes.

It wasn’t a chance encounter - I had been planning this day for quite a few weeks - in fact, ever since my favourite mag announced that they would be hosting a breakfast in her honour. I immediately contacted all the girls* and excitedly shared the news. Sadly, when they realised sharing breakkie with Ms Keyes would set them back a small fortune, I received a flurry of replies that went along the lines of ‘would love to but have to pass. Sorry.’ It was then that I decided that I was going to fly solo and attend on my own (well, as alone as you can be with 600 other MK fans). So at the crack of dawn this morning, I switched off the alarm before it drove me to destroying it, switched on the kettle and started getting ready for my fabulous morning plans. (For the record, it is middle of winter and so very much dark at seven in the morning. It felt distinctly unnatural getting up in the dark on a Saturday morning. Or for that matter, any other morning. Bleuch. Anyway.) I smeared on some much-needed-crack-of-dawn make-up and put on a girly skirt and top ensemble. No need for practicality today! I then jumped in the car and made my way to the Table Bay Hotel, situated next to the V & A Waterfront. (Such a gorgeous drive there... the sun was breaking through the early morning mist and gave the mountain a distinctly ethereal make-over. Very pretty.) Registration opened at 8h30, which is exactly when I arrived - expecting to be one of the first. But on walking in to the ballroom after grabbing a glass of the early morning champers on offer, I was surprised to see the place fairly packed. Wot a bunch of keen little bunnies. I scanned the room for the podium (and then saw a table right in front of it - with (some) empty seats. I certainly wasn’t going to sit in the back - not a chance, so I went up to the table in the front and asked the ladies seated there if they minded if I joined them. They were super-friendly and invited me to sit down. So I did. :)

*‘Girls’ - as in the motley crew of fabulous friends that I have.

The breakfast was scheduled to start at 9h00, by which time I had nibbled on some fruit, munched on a beautiful muesli, yoghurt fruit and honey concoction, downed a cup of coffee and made good headway on my glass of champagne. Though sadly, yet no sign of the guest of honour. Probably a good thing as this gave us (my table) a chance to get to know each other and snap happy groupie pictures of each other. One of the Fair Lady representatives made an announcement that Marian would be there at 9h30 and so they served the main meal (yes, I was a real little piggy this morning - HUGE breakfast). Thereafter, Suzy Brokensha (editor of Fair Lady Magazine) gave a nice little introductory speech after which Marian Keyes took to the podium. I was in my element!!!!!! Here was an author who I have loved and admired ever since I read Sushi for Beginners way back when. Not only was it fabulous to see her in person and listen to her read from her book, but I was blown away by her modesty and general niceness! After being so widely published and hugely successful, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had been, well a little smug, self-satisfied or distanced. But here was a woman who seemed genuinely surprised at the warm reception. She was sweet and funny, and certainly lived up to my (dangerously overly-) high expectations of her. As she read from ‘fill in the blank’ I listened captivated by reminders of a riveting story I had already read. The extract was sharp and witty, without being too over the top. Her writing is fairly relaxed and conversational and had the room in stitches.

After doing the reading in her broad (fresh-off-the-plane) accent, the tiny Irish author took questions from the rest of us. The questions varied in seriousness and complexity, though the answers were always sincere and interesting. Through the questions section, we got to meet Himself and the reasoning behind referring to him as such (in Ireland, the men often refer to their spouses as ‘herself’. While it’s not a particularly nice thing to call your spouse, it was a kind of ‘women give it back’ type move, purely light-hearted. She also mentioned she didn’t want to mention Tony by name and yet felt it too stiff to always refer to him as her husband.) Another girl asked her what her secret to writing was. Marian’s answer was that there was none. It’s hard work and takes sacrifices, but that perserverance would eventually pay off. And also, never try to emulate someone else. Just be yourself.

One of the final comments came from the lady sitting next to me. She told us all how she was diagnosed with breast cancer two years ago, and while under-going treatment, had started reading Marian Keyes novels, and that she had been a fan ever-since. Marian was really touched by that, as was everyone else, it seemed. All very feel good.

After that, there were a few lucky draw prizes (can you believe I won a little somethin’ something’) after which I joined the queue to have one of my MK books signed. When I got to the front, I handed my camera to himself and started gushing to Marian about how one day, when I’m big, I’d like to be her. Then, just before having a picture taken with her, I asked her how old she was when she had her first column published. I’m hitting 30 and beginning to feel a little long in the tooth. She assured me that there was oodles of time and that she was 33 when her break came. She was so sweet and wished me luck. Like she really meant it!

So I left the Table Bay Hotel armed with a rather fabulous goodie bag, autographed book and photos of the occasion. What an awesome morning. Some people might think it’s silly getting so worked up about a chick lit author and anyone who knows me will tell you I’m not easily impressed by celebrity status. But I love what Marian Keyes stands for. Her life has been no picnic, and she’s struggled with some serious issues. Her books remind us that life is nowhere near a walk in the park. The protagonist doesn’t always ‘get the guy’. In a nutshell, they describe what modern women experience in a world that isn’t a bed of roses. They’re realistic. That’s why I love them.

‘Avoid the head of the table’ and other fun games for single losers.

Being single isn’t as bad as you may think. I get to wear what I want when I’m chilling at home, I can buy dessert and eat the whole damn thing and I get to hog the entire bed because it’s mine - all mine mwah ha ha! That’s not to say there aren’t moments when I think about how it would be nice to have someone ‘there’ but for the most part, I manage not to cry myself to sleep each night (unless I’ve spent too much time in the company of my good buddy vino - have you two met?), but really, that hardly ever happens. Not often at least. Ahem.

So yeah, I’m quite good being on my own - I like my own company and I’m slowly developing the confidence to do my own thing. I can even arrive at a restaurant before my friends and order a drink, on my own. Ooohhhh... aaaaaahhhh... But what I cannot - CANNOT - tolerate is going for dinner with a large group of friends and being seated at the head of the table simply because I have no ‘plus one’. If you’ve ever watched Bridget Jones’ Diary (what am I thinking? Of course you have!) picture the scene where she goes for dinner at a friend's house and is seated at the head and singled out for being, well - single. That was me.

So sorry to upset the balance of the table, but seriously - did the punishment really fit the crime? No, I didn’t think so. Nonetheless, there I found myself heading the table and feeling all-too-single while my friends took pity on me and went out of their way to include me in their conversations. Multiple. Oh poor little me... my extended pity party (more on that another time) caught its second wind and so there I was - ordering the waiter to keep the wine coming - anticipating its ‘everything’s going to be alright’ effect yet painfully aware that I looked like a lonely alcoholic. Even the waiter made a light-hearted comment about (and I kid you not) my alcoholism. (Goodbye Mr. Tip!) I knew he was joking but it still cut deep.

A couple of hours later, I abandoned my post at the head of the table and limped home, tail between my legs. It’s funny how a person can feel fine with being single when they’re in their own company but as soon as they’re treated as a single person, it starts to hit home. Not nice. I’ve tried to enjoy being single - after all, I won’t be single for ever, and I want to make the most of it. But what’s not cool is being made to feel a little pathetic, even though it was completely unintentional on the part of the dinner organiser. A word of advice for the future - unless the table is round, always book for an even number. There’s the odd chance the chair may not be filled but at least it won’t single out the person who was brave enough to go out on their own.

Moan session over.