I may, or may not, have mentioned this at some stage, but I am...a bedroom DJ. Yes, I confess, I am a closet music producer whose works never reach the public domain! I can feel your damning glares spearing at me over the internet burning little glare-shaped holes in my mind!
So, on Friday, someone made a comment along the lines of '...you should post the music [my own music] onto the net somewhere and let other people enjoy and critique it! Otherwise the whole process is tantamount to [self-gratification] and nothing else!' He used less child-friendly terms but you get the jist of the message.
And now I am completely torn. I do want to release my work onto the vastness of the internet for all of you to partake in, but at the same time, I'm paranoid about copyright infringement and people stealing my work! What do I do? To post or not to post, that is the question...
Showing posts with label Embarrassing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Embarrassing. Show all posts
Monday, April 4, 2011
Thursday, October 21, 2010
What kind of hospital is this?!
Friday last week: Much of my evening was spent in one of the local government hospitals. I was fine, but the guy who I was there for was not. He's just been hit by a car while crossing an intersection on his motorbike. The whole incident happened as I arrived to fetch my father from our church. He'd been informed that one of the young men from the church had just been hit by a car and we had to get to him as soon as possible.
At the scene, paramedics worked rapidly and diligently to stabilise him and determine the extent of his injuries. He was then transported via ambulance to a local government hospital. We followed and ended up waiting in the ER for news of his condition. While the scenario was not one that I would wish on anyone, there was one thing that emerged as the lighter side of the evening...
I'm not sure how things are in the rest of the world, but here in South Africa, a Friday night is the night that you really don't want to have to go to a government hospital. Our government hospitals are pretty bad as is, but are the only health care available to people who don't have or cannot afford medical aid schemes and thus the luxury of a private hospital. The setting is made so much worse on a Friday because Friday nights are nights of revelry and drinking.
As we sat in the ER, a man in his 40's arrived, walking very slowly and unsteadily into the ER from the main waiting area at reception. He was clearly sozzled, but as I looked around I realised that there were very few in the ER that were not, so thought nothing of it. However, this man was different; he was on a mission.
He moved with unsteady purpose to the guy who ran the ER. I'm not sure of the job description for someone who prioritises ER cases, but I shall refer to him as Clive (I also don't know what his name was, so I can't even use that...). As the subject approached Clive, he began to speak to him in hushed tones. He spoke in English but so quietly that there was no way to understand what he was saying. Clive, having heard the full extent of his slurred story, spoke rather loudly and instructed the man to speak to the people at reception.
The subject nodded his head slowly and did a half turn back toward reception before the penny, well, didn't so much as drop as gracefully ooze through his alcohol-laden brain. Clive had not given him the help he wanted! With the sluggish fury that only the inebriated can muster, he rotated back to Clive for a repeat performance.
But Clive, moving at the pace of a normal person, was not there! Obviously befuddled and annoyed, he gyrated again to shuffle to the ER help desk. Ironically, and unfortunately for Clive, Clive had moved behind the desk to collect and deposit paperwork. As Clive looked up and saw the drunkard approaching, he moved quickly, shuffling papers and trying to get things in order before the drunkard could get to him. Alas, he was too slow.
The drunkard arrived, apparently pleased to see Clive behind the desk. He began to recount he tale to Clive again, but Clive, obviously a conscientious man, had a job to do and would not tolerate this man's ramblings much longer. He instructed the drunkard to step aside and that he would help him in a moment.
Apparently pleased with the outcome, the drunkard obliged, standing in the centre of the chaotic ER, occasionally swaying from side to side with a look of complete incomprehension on his face. A moment later, Clive emerged and took his new chum aside. He informed the man that his wife, who he was apparently here to see, was in the Gynecology ward on the first floor and that it was well past visiting hours, but they would allow him to go up and see her. Apparently satisfied with this, the drunkard inquired as to how to get to the Gynecology ward. Clive, having given up on being civil, told him in a stiff tone to take the elevator. Apparently we had all underestimated just how much revelry our subject had engaged in because his next question must have really been the last straw for Clive.
'But how do I get the elevator to work?'
Clive, now stiffling chuckles, instructed him to press the number '1' button on the panel in the elevator and it would take him to the floor he wanted. The man appeared satisfied with this and slower than before rotated toward the elevator. Having performed a 180 turn, he then turned back to the space where Clive had been. This time, his wobbly anger was directed at the hospital as an institution. He began to mutter things like, 'What button? I don't see any button here!' and 'What kind of a hospital is this?!' all while pressing his thumb to random sections of the wall in the hopes that they would activate the elevator and transport him to the floor above.
After about 5 min of observing this, one of our party took pity on the man and guided him to the elevator, put him into it and pressed the appropriate button for him. We assume he found his wife because we never saw him again. That or he collapsed somewhere and slept it off...
At the scene, paramedics worked rapidly and diligently to stabilise him and determine the extent of his injuries. He was then transported via ambulance to a local government hospital. We followed and ended up waiting in the ER for news of his condition. While the scenario was not one that I would wish on anyone, there was one thing that emerged as the lighter side of the evening...
I'm not sure how things are in the rest of the world, but here in South Africa, a Friday night is the night that you really don't want to have to go to a government hospital. Our government hospitals are pretty bad as is, but are the only health care available to people who don't have or cannot afford medical aid schemes and thus the luxury of a private hospital. The setting is made so much worse on a Friday because Friday nights are nights of revelry and drinking.
As we sat in the ER, a man in his 40's arrived, walking very slowly and unsteadily into the ER from the main waiting area at reception. He was clearly sozzled, but as I looked around I realised that there were very few in the ER that were not, so thought nothing of it. However, this man was different; he was on a mission.
He moved with unsteady purpose to the guy who ran the ER. I'm not sure of the job description for someone who prioritises ER cases, but I shall refer to him as Clive (I also don't know what his name was, so I can't even use that...). As the subject approached Clive, he began to speak to him in hushed tones. He spoke in English but so quietly that there was no way to understand what he was saying. Clive, having heard the full extent of his slurred story, spoke rather loudly and instructed the man to speak to the people at reception.
The subject nodded his head slowly and did a half turn back toward reception before the penny, well, didn't so much as drop as gracefully ooze through his alcohol-laden brain. Clive had not given him the help he wanted! With the sluggish fury that only the inebriated can muster, he rotated back to Clive for a repeat performance.
But Clive, moving at the pace of a normal person, was not there! Obviously befuddled and annoyed, he gyrated again to shuffle to the ER help desk. Ironically, and unfortunately for Clive, Clive had moved behind the desk to collect and deposit paperwork. As Clive looked up and saw the drunkard approaching, he moved quickly, shuffling papers and trying to get things in order before the drunkard could get to him. Alas, he was too slow.
The drunkard arrived, apparently pleased to see Clive behind the desk. He began to recount he tale to Clive again, but Clive, obviously a conscientious man, had a job to do and would not tolerate this man's ramblings much longer. He instructed the drunkard to step aside and that he would help him in a moment.
Apparently pleased with the outcome, the drunkard obliged, standing in the centre of the chaotic ER, occasionally swaying from side to side with a look of complete incomprehension on his face. A moment later, Clive emerged and took his new chum aside. He informed the man that his wife, who he was apparently here to see, was in the Gynecology ward on the first floor and that it was well past visiting hours, but they would allow him to go up and see her. Apparently satisfied with this, the drunkard inquired as to how to get to the Gynecology ward. Clive, having given up on being civil, told him in a stiff tone to take the elevator. Apparently we had all underestimated just how much revelry our subject had engaged in because his next question must have really been the last straw for Clive.
'But how do I get the elevator to work?'
Clive, now stiffling chuckles, instructed him to press the number '1' button on the panel in the elevator and it would take him to the floor he wanted. The man appeared satisfied with this and slower than before rotated toward the elevator. Having performed a 180 turn, he then turned back to the space where Clive had been. This time, his wobbly anger was directed at the hospital as an institution. He began to mutter things like, 'What button? I don't see any button here!' and 'What kind of a hospital is this?!' all while pressing his thumb to random sections of the wall in the hopes that they would activate the elevator and transport him to the floor above.
After about 5 min of observing this, one of our party took pity on the man and guided him to the elevator, put him into it and pressed the appropriate button for him. We assume he found his wife because we never saw him again. That or he collapsed somewhere and slept it off...
Monday, October 4, 2010
Circus life, here I come!
So on Saturday, I went with a group of my friends to JoziX, an extreme sports park up in the north of Johannesburg. It's activities are all centred around large inflatable rigs so there's no danger of hurting yourself (unless you don't listen to the instructions, but how's that any different to any other physical activities, like ironing?). If you are ever in Joburg, it's well worth the price (financial and physical; you will be in pain the next day; you WORK those muscles...). In spite of the unpleasant end to the day (for me anyway) it was one of the best things I've ever done! I plan to return and complete my trapeze training once I'm all healed up! All the stuff comes from New Zealand. Who thought we'd have something to thank the Kiwi's for? ;P
The monkey bars! You have to swing from bar to bar and then try and sweep over the ears of the angry blue cat on the other end. I managed to land beautifully inbetween the ears and have the cat's head close on my like a pair of scissors...
Proper zorbing! SO much fun! Wanted to puke at the end, but adrenalin did away with the nausea!
Anyone remember 'Gladiators'? Same idea, only you pummel a friend instead of a steroid-laced body-builder...
Tight rope! I managed to grab the handle on the other side and then lost my balance. Good fun though!
The inflatable climbing wall! Much harder than you would think! There are four walls: Red is the easiest, yellow's the hardest. I can do red...that's all.
The highlight of my day! Trapeze! So cool and so much fun!
My cousin doing the trapeze thing. He even managed to transfer to the next handle thing! It looked amazing! I nearly did, but somehow ended up tearing large chunks of skin out of my palms, so doing the full manoeuvre was not going to happen.
Me holding swabs with disinfectant onto my then skinless palms. Painful, but TOTALLY worth it! That trapeze is my new love...
*(I really have nothing against New Zealanders except for when they kick our ass at the rugby. It's just fun to play on the stereotypes. In fact, I have family there now! They're not true Kiwi's because they're actually from South Africa and moved there, but it's the closest thing I have...)
Friday, September 3, 2010
Friday is NOT a work day!
A while back I posted about how fantastic Fridays were because we got to have doughnuts and coffee. Well since then, Fridays have continued to uphold all that is important and true. However, this Friday has been a little different...
Our supervisor is away at the moment and, well, when the cats away, the mice...swordfight with broom-sticks!
...or perhaps a little song and dance number?
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Time-warp tests
Anyone who has ever had the misfortune of having to invigilate a test or exam in their lifetime can attest to this simple truth; it’s not fun. Tests seem to alter the space-time continuum, drawing time out, extending it beyond what is normally possible. It’s much like deadlines, which compress time into smaller and smaller bits, but it works in the opposite way.
Anyone who has ever invigilated a test will also tell you that as an invigilator you need something to occupy your mind while doing this job. If you don’t, the time-warping effect of the test is exacerbated tenfold. If you are smart, you take a book to read, or some marking to do from the previous time that you invigilated. But if you are like me, you only realise you are supposed to be invigilating about two minutes before the test starts and thus fail in the forward-planning department and end up stuck, pacing the rows of students with nothing to occupy your time.
On Friday, I had to invigilate such a test. Unfortunately, true to form, I completely forgot about it and thus failed to take reading material with me. I had walked briskly across campus, strolling nonchalantly past the students who were waiting outside the test venue (as their lecturer, you must maintain your coolness at all times). Once inside the large building, I realised that the test hadn’t even been set out, never mind ready for the students to write. I also discovered that the class, being in excess of 400 students, would be writing in two consecutive sessions.
Once the test was set out, the first batch of students came in to write. Time took on the consistency of syrup and my mind began to strain at the growing emptiness inside. When invigilating, I find that I tend to become pathologically eagre to do mundane tasks; things like collecting unused transcripts, counting the number of absentees, estimating the ages of students, counting how many students pick their noses thinking nobody is watching all become of the utmost importance. Occasionally a student will put up their hand for an extra sheet or to request an escort to the bathroom and your mind rejoices at the opportunity to do something.
After the first batch of students wrote and had been released, the second lot filed into their places and began to worry for my mental health. I still had another hour of waiting before my invigilating duties would come to an end. As the second lot started writing, time, having given a brief respite and returning to normal speed, resumed it’s passage at the speed of snot. I too resumed my seemingly critical tasks. It was during one such task, drifting down one of the aisles between desks, that I noticed something odd.
The test venue is a large hall, built to resemble an aircraft hanger. Whether this was intentional or merely my own perception, I cannot say. But one wall of the building is made mostly of one-way glass. Pacing inside the hall, I looked through the one-way glass to see a pair of girls outside, apparently in the throws of some sort of synchronised seizure or demonic possession. As I got closer to the window, I realised that the pair were actually practicing their synchronised dance moves, using the reflection off the glass to aid them.
While this in itself was amusing, what made it so much worse was the fact that the pair were, I assume, blissfully ignorant to the fact that there were over 200 students sitting inside the room, able to see them. At one stage one of the writing students stopped her test and watched over her shoulder for a good 5 min as the duo gyrated and stamped around outside. I too watched them as they flailed around, occasionally bursting into fits of laughter when one appeared to fail at twitching at the right time.
The responsibility of watching the students drew my mind back to the writing masses. Suddenly, a shriek was herd and I turned back to see what had happened. As I turned, it became clear that the pair outside were the noise. As I watched, the pair tore around the parking lot outside apparently being pursued by something small and white. I looked closer and realised that they were being chased around by a Maltese poodle and that the dog was determined to take them down, no matter the cost. One friend broke away, successfully evading the pooch while the second continued her rampage of shrieking. Eventually, she stopped, apparently exhausted from all the running and screaming, and the dog stopped to. The pair caught their breath and then resumed their chase.
Unfortunately, the test time was nearly up and I had to tear myself away from this very amusing episode. However, I think this has to have been one of the most exciting test invigilations I’ve ever done! It was awesome!
Anyone who has ever invigilated a test will also tell you that as an invigilator you need something to occupy your mind while doing this job. If you don’t, the time-warping effect of the test is exacerbated tenfold. If you are smart, you take a book to read, or some marking to do from the previous time that you invigilated. But if you are like me, you only realise you are supposed to be invigilating about two minutes before the test starts and thus fail in the forward-planning department and end up stuck, pacing the rows of students with nothing to occupy your time.
On Friday, I had to invigilate such a test. Unfortunately, true to form, I completely forgot about it and thus failed to take reading material with me. I had walked briskly across campus, strolling nonchalantly past the students who were waiting outside the test venue (as their lecturer, you must maintain your coolness at all times). Once inside the large building, I realised that the test hadn’t even been set out, never mind ready for the students to write. I also discovered that the class, being in excess of 400 students, would be writing in two consecutive sessions.
Once the test was set out, the first batch of students came in to write. Time took on the consistency of syrup and my mind began to strain at the growing emptiness inside. When invigilating, I find that I tend to become pathologically eagre to do mundane tasks; things like collecting unused transcripts, counting the number of absentees, estimating the ages of students, counting how many students pick their noses thinking nobody is watching all become of the utmost importance. Occasionally a student will put up their hand for an extra sheet or to request an escort to the bathroom and your mind rejoices at the opportunity to do something.
After the first batch of students wrote and had been released, the second lot filed into their places and began to worry for my mental health. I still had another hour of waiting before my invigilating duties would come to an end. As the second lot started writing, time, having given a brief respite and returning to normal speed, resumed it’s passage at the speed of snot. I too resumed my seemingly critical tasks. It was during one such task, drifting down one of the aisles between desks, that I noticed something odd.
The test venue is a large hall, built to resemble an aircraft hanger. Whether this was intentional or merely my own perception, I cannot say. But one wall of the building is made mostly of one-way glass. Pacing inside the hall, I looked through the one-way glass to see a pair of girls outside, apparently in the throws of some sort of synchronised seizure or demonic possession. As I got closer to the window, I realised that the pair were actually practicing their synchronised dance moves, using the reflection off the glass to aid them.
While this in itself was amusing, what made it so much worse was the fact that the pair were, I assume, blissfully ignorant to the fact that there were over 200 students sitting inside the room, able to see them. At one stage one of the writing students stopped her test and watched over her shoulder for a good 5 min as the duo gyrated and stamped around outside. I too watched them as they flailed around, occasionally bursting into fits of laughter when one appeared to fail at twitching at the right time.
The responsibility of watching the students drew my mind back to the writing masses. Suddenly, a shriek was herd and I turned back to see what had happened. As I turned, it became clear that the pair outside were the noise. As I watched, the pair tore around the parking lot outside apparently being pursued by something small and white. I looked closer and realised that they were being chased around by a Maltese poodle and that the dog was determined to take them down, no matter the cost. One friend broke away, successfully evading the pooch while the second continued her rampage of shrieking. Eventually, she stopped, apparently exhausted from all the running and screaming, and the dog stopped to. The pair caught their breath and then resumed their chase.
Unfortunately, the test time was nearly up and I had to tear myself away from this very amusing episode. However, I think this has to have been one of the most exciting test invigilations I’ve ever done! It was awesome!
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
...all we wanted was some milk!
As occasionally happens when one is a professional student, one becomes overwhelmed by the sheer amount of procrastination that one undertakes and is forced to take a step outside, away from all the work and non-working, to clear ones head. I was offered the opportunity to do so today when Leia, discovering that we were out of milk, decided that she was going to go and walk to the shops to buy some. She too was procrastinating and thus, it was better for both parties involved to just take that step and leave the lab...
We walked down to the shops of the Matrix (our student centre where purveyors of everything sweet and greasy ply their trade; if I ever get heart disease, I'll be blaming it on the Matrix...). We walked into the 7/11, deep in meaningless conversation about the perils of the student life, or something to that effect. As we approached the wall of glass doors that are the fridges, we discovered to our horror that there was a large empty space where the milk usually took residence.
In utter disbelief, Leia shuffled from door to door, examining the contents of each fridge, in the vein hope of finding that one carton that somehow went unnoticed by previous shoppers. Unfortunately it was not to be.
Conceding defeat, she announced that they had no milk and together we forlornly left the store.
BUT WAIT! There is also the Cafe Fino in Senate House! Perhaps they might have [ridiculously overpriced] milk!
With the hope of this revelation in our hearts, we began to trek up the hill to Senate House. We arrived through on of the side entrances and continued down the 'Disability Unit' corridor. Just as we were reaching the end of the corridor, the person who had been walking in the opposite direction to us stopped and spoke to us.
She looked Mediterranean, about 50+ years of age and wore an ochre/orange jacket. Her hair was died an impossible blond and had the fatigued look of a little too much time at the office. She started by asking us if there was an exit that took her to the traffic lights in the direction that we had come. A little confused as to what she was asking I responded with silent blinking.
Leia, a little more on the ball than I, requested clarification. It turned out that the woman worked in the block north of the university and had come in to pay something but had somehow gotten lost on campus. She had found the financial office but now needed to return to her car which she had parked near a set of traffic lights on campus.
'Oh...!' I recounted internally. I proceeded to offer her a detailed description of a route that would take her directly to the traffic lights she sought. The route was not complicated; literally just walk in one direction, in a straight line until you reach the road. Then turn right, following the road down the hill. Et viola!
Clearly uncertain, the woman thanked us and proceeded to walk the suggested route, muttering something about how despite her navigational skills she had other redeeming features. Feeling that the incident had concluded, Leia and I resumed our conversation.
A few words into the chat, we were again accosted by the lost woman. This time in a rather determined tone, she asked if there wasn't an alternative route through one of the passages to her left. A little perplexed, we assured her that the route we had suggested was the most direct and simple route. Thanking us again, she resumed her waddle toward the street.
We entered the store, found the milk and payed for it, all the while chuckling and muttering about the crazy woman who seemed convinced that she knew where to go, in spite of demanding directions from complete strangers. As we left the store, we walked toward the building exit and stopped dead in our tracks...
There, waddling between buildings was the crazy woman! She apparently had walked the route we had suggested just enough to seem like she hadn't completely disregarded our advice outright and then had gone with her gut...the wrong way. Neither of us wanting a repeat encounter, we decided that it was best for all involved that we run in the opposite direction, giggling with milk in hand...
We walked down to the shops of the Matrix (our student centre where purveyors of everything sweet and greasy ply their trade; if I ever get heart disease, I'll be blaming it on the Matrix...). We walked into the 7/11, deep in meaningless conversation about the perils of the student life, or something to that effect. As we approached the wall of glass doors that are the fridges, we discovered to our horror that there was a large empty space where the milk usually took residence.
In utter disbelief, Leia shuffled from door to door, examining the contents of each fridge, in the vein hope of finding that one carton that somehow went unnoticed by previous shoppers. Unfortunately it was not to be.
Conceding defeat, she announced that they had no milk and together we forlornly left the store.
BUT WAIT! There is also the Cafe Fino in Senate House! Perhaps they might have [ridiculously overpriced] milk!
With the hope of this revelation in our hearts, we began to trek up the hill to Senate House. We arrived through on of the side entrances and continued down the 'Disability Unit' corridor. Just as we were reaching the end of the corridor, the person who had been walking in the opposite direction to us stopped and spoke to us.
She looked Mediterranean, about 50+ years of age and wore an ochre/orange jacket. Her hair was died an impossible blond and had the fatigued look of a little too much time at the office. She started by asking us if there was an exit that took her to the traffic lights in the direction that we had come. A little confused as to what she was asking I responded with silent blinking.
Leia, a little more on the ball than I, requested clarification. It turned out that the woman worked in the block north of the university and had come in to pay something but had somehow gotten lost on campus. She had found the financial office but now needed to return to her car which she had parked near a set of traffic lights on campus.
'Oh...!' I recounted internally. I proceeded to offer her a detailed description of a route that would take her directly to the traffic lights she sought. The route was not complicated; literally just walk in one direction, in a straight line until you reach the road. Then turn right, following the road down the hill. Et viola!
Clearly uncertain, the woman thanked us and proceeded to walk the suggested route, muttering something about how despite her navigational skills she had other redeeming features. Feeling that the incident had concluded, Leia and I resumed our conversation.
A few words into the chat, we were again accosted by the lost woman. This time in a rather determined tone, she asked if there wasn't an alternative route through one of the passages to her left. A little perplexed, we assured her that the route we had suggested was the most direct and simple route. Thanking us again, she resumed her waddle toward the street.
We entered the store, found the milk and payed for it, all the while chuckling and muttering about the crazy woman who seemed convinced that she knew where to go, in spite of demanding directions from complete strangers. As we left the store, we walked toward the building exit and stopped dead in our tracks...
There, waddling between buildings was the crazy woman! She apparently had walked the route we had suggested just enough to seem like she hadn't completely disregarded our advice outright and then had gone with her gut...the wrong way. Neither of us wanting a repeat encounter, we decided that it was best for all involved that we run in the opposite direction, giggling with milk in hand...
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Pessimism and the W.C.
No, not that W.C. ! The World Cup of course!
The W.C. What can I say...Firstly, I sincerely hope that they never get to host it in this country again for as long as I live! I know, I know...I'm unpatriotic and un-South African...blah blah blah. But there are some really big reasons why I'm anti-W.C. at the moment.
Numero uno: It's been really irritating because absolutely everything now is about the world cup! Just the other day, my uncle went to the licensing department to try and get his car re-licensed and the place was closed, only to open an hour later. The reason? The staff were being taught the official world cup dance (it's called the diski dance for those who need to know; what diski has to do with soccer, I have no freaking clue...)! We have a world cup dance?! I mean really! Can't the money that was spent on hiring a Fifa-approved choreographer have been put to better use?! But thank God that now, should some misguided tourist waft into the licensing department and ask for the staff to break into dance, they will be able to deliver without hesitation! Now if only they could process their forms with that kind of efficiency...
Secondly, our country has been inundated with billions of flags. There are flags on everything! People have flags on their cars, houses, children...you name it, it's done! Actually, the children part, I have yet to come across, but I am fairly certain there are a few branded kiddies out there, unaware that they are punting their parent's favourite team. None the less, the flags are a bit much! They have even invented side-mirror socks which allow you to display the flag of your choice on your side mirrors! To give you an idea of how bad it is, several of the houses in our area now display little plastic flags all along their walls; not just of one country,mind you! They display the flags of every team that will be playing! So it's not even about supporting a team!
Once again, the futility of displaying all the flags like this doesn't seem to have dawned on most of the populous. In my opinion, foreigners are not likely to adorn their exorbitantly priced rental vehicles with the flags of their homes so the competition for best soccer supported is a little unfairly weighted toward the SA guys. They are also unlikely to have difficulty in identifying South African drivers on the roads, certainly not up here in Joburg. Just look out for the ones who are aiming at the other cars...that's us! So the need for South Africans to plaster flags over everything is completely unfounded...
Just the other day, I was on my way in to Wits on the highway when I saw, lying dirty and damaged in the freshly cut grass of the middle island, one of those horrid car flags which had obviously snapped off it's host car as they zoomed down the freeway. I felt so good to see it, which gives you some idea of just how sick I am of the stupid flags...
Thirdly, and most importantly, Fifa has demanded that for the duration of the world cup, all street vendors, hawkers and street salesmen are to be rounded up and arrested if they are caught selling their wares on the streets of the host cities! So effectively for two months, these people who make a meagre living on a good day, are to be deprived of their income! Not to mention that Fifa should be paying them compensation for this, but also, the hawkers are such a typically South African thing and by removing them they are also detracting from the full South African experience of visitors!
Other than that, we're all very excited!
Apparently some soccer fundi says that Bafana will be at an advantage because of the fact that they are used to playing with the vuvuzelas and rowdy crowds of South African Soccer. So perhaps we do stand a chance after all!
The W.C. What can I say...Firstly, I sincerely hope that they never get to host it in this country again for as long as I live! I know, I know...I'm unpatriotic and un-South African...blah blah blah. But there are some really big reasons why I'm anti-W.C. at the moment.
Numero uno: It's been really irritating because absolutely everything now is about the world cup! Just the other day, my uncle went to the licensing department to try and get his car re-licensed and the place was closed, only to open an hour later. The reason? The staff were being taught the official world cup dance (it's called the diski dance for those who need to know; what diski has to do with soccer, I have no freaking clue...)! We have a world cup dance?! I mean really! Can't the money that was spent on hiring a Fifa-approved choreographer have been put to better use?! But thank God that now, should some misguided tourist waft into the licensing department and ask for the staff to break into dance, they will be able to deliver without hesitation! Now if only they could process their forms with that kind of efficiency...
Secondly, our country has been inundated with billions of flags. There are flags on everything! People have flags on their cars, houses, children...you name it, it's done! Actually, the children part, I have yet to come across, but I am fairly certain there are a few branded kiddies out there, unaware that they are punting their parent's favourite team. None the less, the flags are a bit much! They have even invented side-mirror socks which allow you to display the flag of your choice on your side mirrors! To give you an idea of how bad it is, several of the houses in our area now display little plastic flags all along their walls; not just of one country,mind you! They display the flags of every team that will be playing! So it's not even about supporting a team!
Once again, the futility of displaying all the flags like this doesn't seem to have dawned on most of the populous. In my opinion, foreigners are not likely to adorn their exorbitantly priced rental vehicles with the flags of their homes so the competition for best soccer supported is a little unfairly weighted toward the SA guys. They are also unlikely to have difficulty in identifying South African drivers on the roads, certainly not up here in Joburg. Just look out for the ones who are aiming at the other cars...that's us! So the need for South Africans to plaster flags over everything is completely unfounded...
Just the other day, I was on my way in to Wits on the highway when I saw, lying dirty and damaged in the freshly cut grass of the middle island, one of those horrid car flags which had obviously snapped off it's host car as they zoomed down the freeway. I felt so good to see it, which gives you some idea of just how sick I am of the stupid flags...
Thirdly, and most importantly, Fifa has demanded that for the duration of the world cup, all street vendors, hawkers and street salesmen are to be rounded up and arrested if they are caught selling their wares on the streets of the host cities! So effectively for two months, these people who make a meagre living on a good day, are to be deprived of their income! Not to mention that Fifa should be paying them compensation for this, but also, the hawkers are such a typically South African thing and by removing them they are also detracting from the full South African experience of visitors!
Other than that, we're all very excited!
Apparently some soccer fundi says that Bafana will be at an advantage because of the fact that they are used to playing with the vuvuzelas and rowdy crowds of South African Soccer. So perhaps we do stand a chance after all!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Horrors! I've not posted in over two months! What has become of me!
Life just kinda caught up with me I guess. Things have been pretty hectic and as things stand at the moment, I'm in a rut...which is why I thought I should post some pictures of the...interesting...things I have spotted while out shopping lately. Enjoy!
They knew there was a double letter in there somewhere! Which one it was...merely a technicality!
Anyone looking for a 1/4 of a rabbit? I know where to go!
Oddly enough, not bought in a sex shop! Thailand actually!
You'd think that someone must have picked up on the double-entendre here before they printed the packaging...
Becasue Kate Moss and the History of Science have SO much in common...
Spelling isn't their strong point, is it? But at least we know their food is the 'nuggest' of them all!
Life just kinda caught up with me I guess. Things have been pretty hectic and as things stand at the moment, I'm in a rut...which is why I thought I should post some pictures of the...interesting...things I have spotted while out shopping lately. Enjoy!
What's wrong with this picture...?
They knew there was a double letter in there somewhere! Which one it was...merely a technicality!
Anyone looking for a 1/4 of a rabbit? I know where to go!
Oddly enough, not bought in a sex shop! Thailand actually!
You'd think that someone must have picked up on the double-entendre here before they printed the packaging...
Becasue Kate Moss and the History of Science have SO much in common...
Spelling isn't their strong point, is it? But at least we know their food is the 'nuggest' of them all!Sunday, October 18, 2009
The hell-hound strikes again...
I am once again house-sitting for my aunt and uncle. It's a fantastic job except for one thing; their dog. I've written to you all about the hell-hound before, and this story follows another of the little *&^%$#'s adventures...
Once, during the house-sitting stint in the post linked to above, I made the mistake of leaving one of the house windows open when I left for university. It is a very low-down window, practically on the floor, but it is part of a wall-like window setup at the main bedroom. The window has bars across it, so I figured, it's safe, nobody will get in through there. So, blissfully ignorant to the peril that awaited me, I left for varsity, confident that all would be well in the world.
Many hours passed, and the day progressed uneventfully...
I returned to the house that evening. I opened the door to find the dog in the main entrance hall. My first thoughts were something along the lines of, 'That's odd...he was locked out earlier...' and immediately graduated to 'Oh no...someone has robbed the house!!'. So, as I frantically ran from room to room searching for evidence of thievery, the true horror of the situation began to dawn on me. Nothing was missing. All the doors were closed. The only possible entrance could have been the window I'd left open!
I sprinted through to the master bedroom and there, glaring at me like a defiant child who has just been refused their demand for sweets in a supermarket, was the open window. A little confused I looked around and again, confirmed that nothing was missing. It was only when I returned to the living room that the true horror of it all sank in. And given how many horror movies I watch, that's pretty bad!
The dog had come in through the window and devoured the entire lounge! Okay, so not the chairs and sofa and stuff, but almost everything else was gone! He had chewed up their grass-weaved basket, a wooden puzzle that they had bought on a previous holiday (it remains unreplaced...) and several garden game tools, including an entire volleyball set...
So, since then I have ALWAYS ensured that the window remains sealed shut. That is, until this time...
So this morning I left the house to head out to my grandmother's for lunch. Once there I suddenly realised that I'd forgotten to close the window!!!
I had too much to do to head back to close it at the house, so I ended up spending all day with the sickening fear in the back of my mind. At the same time, at the end of the day, I was determined not to let the terror get to me and so tried to appreciate the skyscape as I drove along the highway:
When I arrived at the house, I couldn't help but scanning the house from outside for movement. My eyes, darting around furiously, revealed nothing and I breathed a sigh of relief. I soon gave myself a mental slap. The hell-hound could have been somewhere not visible from the outside!
As I opened the door...
...he was there, with the facial expression typical of dogs that says, 'HI! I'M HERE! AREN'T YOU PROUD OF ME?'
My heart sloshed around my ankles...
But, as I moved through the house, surveying the damage, I began to realise that there was...none! The house was intact! Behold, the proof!
Before:
Once, during the house-sitting stint in the post linked to above, I made the mistake of leaving one of the house windows open when I left for university. It is a very low-down window, practically on the floor, but it is part of a wall-like window setup at the main bedroom. The window has bars across it, so I figured, it's safe, nobody will get in through there. So, blissfully ignorant to the peril that awaited me, I left for varsity, confident that all would be well in the world.
Many hours passed, and the day progressed uneventfully...
I returned to the house that evening. I opened the door to find the dog in the main entrance hall. My first thoughts were something along the lines of, 'That's odd...he was locked out earlier...' and immediately graduated to 'Oh no...someone has robbed the house!!'. So, as I frantically ran from room to room searching for evidence of thievery, the true horror of the situation began to dawn on me. Nothing was missing. All the doors were closed. The only possible entrance could have been the window I'd left open!
I sprinted through to the master bedroom and there, glaring at me like a defiant child who has just been refused their demand for sweets in a supermarket, was the open window. A little confused I looked around and again, confirmed that nothing was missing. It was only when I returned to the living room that the true horror of it all sank in. And given how many horror movies I watch, that's pretty bad!
The dog had come in through the window and devoured the entire lounge! Okay, so not the chairs and sofa and stuff, but almost everything else was gone! He had chewed up their grass-weaved basket, a wooden puzzle that they had bought on a previous holiday (it remains unreplaced...) and several garden game tools, including an entire volleyball set...
So, since then I have ALWAYS ensured that the window remains sealed shut. That is, until this time...
So this morning I left the house to head out to my grandmother's for lunch. Once there I suddenly realised that I'd forgotten to close the window!!!
I had too much to do to head back to close it at the house, so I ended up spending all day with the sickening fear in the back of my mind. At the same time, at the end of the day, I was determined not to let the terror get to me and so tried to appreciate the skyscape as I drove along the highway:
When I arrived at the house, I couldn't help but scanning the house from outside for movement. My eyes, darting around furiously, revealed nothing and I breathed a sigh of relief. I soon gave myself a mental slap. The hell-hound could have been somewhere not visible from the outside!
As I opened the door...
...he was there, with the facial expression typical of dogs that says, 'HI! I'M HERE! AREN'T YOU PROUD OF ME?'
My heart sloshed around my ankles...
But, as I moved through the house, surveying the damage, I began to realise that there was...none! The house was intact! Behold, the proof!
Before:
After:
I was SO happy that I gave the dog a MASSIVE sinew-bone-hide-thingy. You can *just* see him in the picture below with the bone in his mouth looking very pleased with himself... 
I was SO happy that I gave the dog a MASSIVE sinew-bone-hide-thingy. You can *just* see him in the picture below with the bone in his mouth looking very pleased with himself...Tuesday, October 13, 2009
All in the name of science...
Every two years, our department runs an undergraduate course on Reproductive Biology (coincidentally, the name of the course!). Students in general hate the course as the majority of it focuses on the reproduction of plants and fungi, but a small section of it relates to reproduction in animals. For this particular section, the amount of giggling and crude jokes that are made during the lectures of the students is, unsurprisingly, high.
The process at work...Thank goodness we have sinks in the lab. The bathrooms would have been awkward to have to keep explaining to people what I was doing...
Before and After! Great insulation and comforting fluffiness converts to silky smooth and a map of past traumas!
For this section of the course, the practical that the students have to do is rather fun. No...it's not what you are thinking...but is instead an examination of the role of perfume in mate selection. It requires that the blindfolded students smell a selection of perfumes on male and female 'models' and state what they think of the perfumes. This year, Luke and Leia were the smell models.
For those that don't know me, I am closer to an ape than most people. In short, I have rather hairy forearms and this complicates matters when the students are not supposed to be able to distinguish the male and female models (shoving your nose into a hairy arm does kinda give away the sex of the model...). So, the solution?
SHAVING!!!
So, both Leia and I had to shave our arms for science! It was actually a fascinating experience! My arms are surprisingly smooth and I've discovered a whole bunch of scars that I had no idea I had, not to mention the shaving techniques that I learned which I can apply when and if I decide to do cycling competitively!
Here are the pics:
The shaving process at work: By shaving in one direction and then pushing the razor backward, it cleans the razor! Nifty hey?! :D
The process at work...Thank goodness we have sinks in the lab. The bathrooms would have been awkward to have to keep explaining to people what I was doing...Before and After! Great insulation and comforting fluffiness converts to silky smooth and a map of past traumas!Sunday, September 27, 2009
Europe: Amsterdam and Holland
So, given that it is a beautiful, sunny, typical South African Sunday afternoon and I am recovering from eating WAY too much of my grandmothers awesome cooking, I've decided to take the time to write about my amazing trip to Europe! I apologise about how few photos I'll post with this, but the blogger photo thingy just drives me INSANE...so my patience only can cope with about 5 at the most...
The trip started on Thursday the 13th (not nearly as ominous as if it had been a Friday...) of August. I was on my way to Europe to attend the International Ethology Conference, in Rennes, France. We call what we do Ethology because that just sounds way more cool than just saying, 'We watch animals and try figure out what they are doing...'
For financial reasons (being a student does suck sometimes) I had booked myself onto an Egypt Air flight to Amsterdam, my first port of call. Saving the money on my flight with Egypt Air did however mean that I had to spend 5 hours in Cairo, wafting around the airport. It wasn't all that bad and, honestly, the only thing that really struck me about Cairo, was just how flat and desolate it was! I know what you're thinking...'Luke, don't be such a dumbass! It's in the middle of the desert! What were you expecting?! A tropical paradise?!'
Honestly, I don't know what it was that I'd expected to see when I got there. But somehow, it still came as a surprise when I looked out onto the runways and the airport grounds and saw nothing.
I then flew through to Amsterdam from Cairo. Cairo was like the alps in comparison to Amsterdam! I've never been somewhere so flat in all my life! It's just bizarre! Johannesburg is quite a hilly city. We are built on a range of hills which run east-west through the city, so a little gradient isn't anything strange for us. However, a lack of gradient is...
I arrived in Amsterdam feeling that terrified excitement that can only be understood when one is arriving in a country you've never been to. I'd been very smart about my travelling and had printed out a map of where my hotel was and had gotten a bus number off the hotel web-page so that I would have no trouble getting from the airport to my hotel. Once out of the airport, I found my bus-stop almost immediately, and waited all of a minute for my bus to pull up. I got onto the bus and after having a brief but pleasant chat with the driver, in English, moved to the back of the bus to take a seat.
A word of caution to would-be travelers: if you are attending a conference, don't take your poster with you unless you have one of those nifty architect-drawing-carrier-tube-over-the-shoulder thingys. Otherwise it just gets VERY irritating and cumbersome! But, sitting in the back of the bus, trying not to let my poster tube wallop people as they walked past, I could feel myself beginning to relax. It was a pleasant feeling to think, 'For the next few weeks, you don't have any responsibilities, other than staying awake in talks during the conference'.
After about 45min of riding the bus, we were well into Amsterdam and I began to wonder where my stop was. I got a little more worried when I noticed that the next two stops were the last on the line and neither were my street. So I scuttled to the front of the bus and asked the driver, who in very friendly tones and grinning from ear to ear assured me that I was very much on the right bus and that the next was my stop. I figured, who would know better than the guy who drives the bus every day? As it turned out, I'd probably have been better off getting directions from a pot-plant...
I dismounted the bus and thanked the driver, gleefully ignorant to the true nature of my predicament. He had suggested that I walk a few streets down in order to find my hotel, which I dutifully did. As I walked through the very busy area in which I was again, trying not to injure the local populous with my poster tube, I began to suspect that I wasn't where I needed to be.
Eventually, in a display of behaviour most un-befitting my sex, I asked for directions. In truth, I was a little terrified to ask the locals for directions and so sought out the first hotel with a Union Jack hanging outside it. I managed to find one with ease and, trying not to sound too nervous, asked the woman behind the front desk how I got to my hotel. She was very accommodating and kindly pointed out that my hotel was in fact, on the opposite side of the city.
After she suggested a bus to take, I returned to the bus stop to wait and pray that I was heading in the right direction. Another note to would-be travellers: If you are taking a backpack, ensure that it doesn't protrude too far off your back. Standing on a narrow island in the middle of a busy road waiting for a bus, you'd be amazed how many cars have near-misses with the pack on your back. Obviously the poster-tube hellbent on drawing blood by nightfall didn't help much either...
As it turned out, I was catching the correct bus (Thank you SO much reception-girl from Amsterdam!!) and eventually walked into the reception area of my hotel, grinning the triumphant grin of the moron who took the wrong bus, but everything is okay now. After checking in and learning the room number of the friends I was meeting up with there, I headed off to my room to ditch my stuff. The room, which was not bad at all, was a welcome sight and after unloading my baggage, I went in search of my associates.
I got to their room and knocked on the door. There was no response. So I knocked again. Nothing. Just as I was about to give up I heard the clacking of the door being unlatched from inside. As the door was cracked open, I gazed into an entirely unfamiliar face. After exchanging greetings, I apologised for disturbing her, obviously at the wrong room, and left. A little confused, I returned to reception to check on the room number. The receptionist assured me that I had been at the correct door and suggested that I try again.
I returned to the door and knocked again. This time, the response was almost immediate and again, an unfamiliar face appeared on the other side of the portal. This time I thought to ask if my friends were there. As it turned out, they were and the 'unfamiliar face' was in fact one of the people we were going to be travelling around with for the next two weeks.
A little rosy faced and sheepish, I entered the room to see how the others had fared on their arrivals. As it turned out, not one of us had managed to get to the hotel without getting terribly lost! That might have had something to do with the fact that the map and instructions I had used, I had passed on to all the others to aid their navigation, but I prefer to think that it was just rotten luck...
Amsterdam was amazing though! I don't think I've enjoyed a city quite as much as I did Amsterdam! No...wait...I'm lying. London was awesome, but Amsterdam came very close! We did so much! We went to the Anne Frank house (an amazing, but humbling experience), the 'Our Lord in the Attic' church, the red-light district, several amazing parks, the Van Gogh museum and a Holland-in-a-Day tour with the craziest woman I've ever met as our tour guide (Seriously, she was either severely unstable, or very high and given that it was Amsterdam, it could have gone either way...).
More on the rest of my adventures later! For now, gaze in wonder at the amazing photos...
A house opposite one of the very large parks of Amsterdam. Who wouldn't like to live there...?
A water feature near the Van Gogh museum. The panels in the middle are concertinaed metal sheets with pieces of different images on the side of each fold, meaning that the image changes, depending on which direction you look at it from! Clever! And, in the background, you can see the word 'Amsterdam'; it was another artwork.
I think this is a fantastic store! Whoever came up with the idea to market lies to children is a genius!
What would Holland be without clogs? Eh? I mean, look at the variety! They even had 'Hello Kitty' clogs!
Rotterdam (I think...)! The architecture was amazing! It's a little odd to think that you can go about the city by car...or boat...
Thursday, September 10, 2009
I'm so screwed...
Over the last few months I have had to do a great deal of teaching. Specifically, I've been teaching the medic students on the topic of metabolism and digestion. The lecturing went as well as could be expected given the circumstances (having all your work on your laptop stolen a week prior to you starting your lecturing does tend to hamper your teaching somewhat...), and luckily for me, the section has been completed, freeing me from the responsibility of shaping young (albeit empty) minds.
The first of my problems I noticed on Tuesday, when the medics class wrote a test. I started marking the test and was horrified! They have absolutely NO CLUE what is going on in my section! My first instinct was to think, 'Oh no! I'm such a bad teacher!' but I then thought to myself, 'Wait, this is university! They are all adults! If they have a problem they can track me down for help or look it up in a text book! It's not like I'm completely unapproachable (as far as I know...maybe I smell faintly of eggs...?) and I'm on campus ALL THE TIME!!'
I also received confirmation, via Facebook, from one of my students that I had indeed taught them well and that, in his opinion, it is entirely their own fault if they are doing badly in the test. AMEN!!!
As an aside, it's a little weird being contacted, and friended, by one of your students on Facebook. Luckily for me, I'm not closer to 50 yrs old, which would have made the whole thing very awkward...
The other thing that is worrying me is that I have to now supervise the practical that is associated with my section of work. Normally this wouldn't phase me in the least, but the problem is that this practical requires of me that I explain how to do a chemistry procedure that I have not done in at least the last 7 years!! So, understandably, I'm a little freaked out...
I'm going to scan through the memo and hopefully find something that I can use to fool people into believing that I know what I'm talking about...when I don't. Otherwise, there's always google...
The first of my problems I noticed on Tuesday, when the medics class wrote a test. I started marking the test and was horrified! They have absolutely NO CLUE what is going on in my section! My first instinct was to think, 'Oh no! I'm such a bad teacher!' but I then thought to myself, 'Wait, this is university! They are all adults! If they have a problem they can track me down for help or look it up in a text book! It's not like I'm completely unapproachable (as far as I know...maybe I smell faintly of eggs...?) and I'm on campus ALL THE TIME!!'
I also received confirmation, via Facebook, from one of my students that I had indeed taught them well and that, in his opinion, it is entirely their own fault if they are doing badly in the test. AMEN!!!
As an aside, it's a little weird being contacted, and friended, by one of your students on Facebook. Luckily for me, I'm not closer to 50 yrs old, which would have made the whole thing very awkward...
The other thing that is worrying me is that I have to now supervise the practical that is associated with my section of work. Normally this wouldn't phase me in the least, but the problem is that this practical requires of me that I explain how to do a chemistry procedure that I have not done in at least the last 7 years!! So, understandably, I'm a little freaked out...
I'm going to scan through the memo and hopefully find something that I can use to fool people into believing that I know what I'm talking about...when I don't. Otherwise, there's always google...
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Am I deep enough for Emo, or shallow enough for Scene...?
http://littleblackcherry.bttradespace.com/ViewPost.aspx?ID=28
The above, much like Eebee's post, make me wonder about the fate of human kind.
Emo is just about the only social movement which makes me REALLY annoyed. While I cannot claim to be a fan of rap music and gang culture, Emo trumps it, hands down. There's just so much about it that is really irritating! Where do I begin?!
I'll start at the top and work my way down.
I've always wished that I had straighter hair. It would make it manageable. But I would never go through all the effort that emos (is that even a real word...?) go through to make my hair look straw-like and lifeless. Something else that many people fail to realise is that straight hair works for some people and just doesn't for others! I was at a party recently where a friend of a friend announced that he had spent the 2 hours prior to the party straightening his hair (not that we could really tell...it was still all curly). Now, I am fairly certain that most normal males live by the principal of 'if you have clothes on and the mop is vaguely under control, you are now socially acceptable'. So the fact that the emo movement has resulted in a borderline-hysterical buy-up if hair straighteners by men, worries me...
The other element of the emo hair that I find...amusing, to tell the truth, is the obsession with the long fringes (bangs) which must be drawn down over the face. I love walking through campus and seeing an emo kid walking down a corridor, face entirely obscured by their hair. Occasionally, the hair will rise briefly as they blow furiously at if from underneath in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the outside world. While this (somehow) appears not to be done out of annoyance, it appears more to function by preventing collisions with other people and stationary objects.
Helen described the typical emo hairstyle very well: an upside-down mullet.
Next is the make-up. This is about one of the only things that I think works from the emo movement. Eyeliner makes everyone look so much more dramatic and in many cases can really accentuate beautiful eyes! Again, it really works on some people, and not so much on others. In my opinion, the best are those who try to keep is as simple as possible. The alternative is nothing short of ridiculous...
I personally know of people who are in that exact scenario (albeit, not in America...), provided with everything that they could ask for and resorting to self-injury because it is the done thing as an emo. In truth, this element of the movement has left me with a great deal of pity for emos. Their existance is so fragile and sad that one cannot help but pity them. Another part of me wants to slap across the face really hard and shout 'Snap out of it you stupid *&%#$! Your life doesn't suck!'
Now for the twist in the tale: In order to show that I harbour no ill-feelings toward emoism, and to avoid being one of those people who everone says "...don't knock it 'til you try it" to I, tomorrow, shall become emo. Helen has agreed to help me out and we shall take photos and I shall post them.
The above, much like Eebee's post, make me wonder about the fate of human kind.
Emo is just about the only social movement which makes me REALLY annoyed. While I cannot claim to be a fan of rap music and gang culture, Emo trumps it, hands down. There's just so much about it that is really irritating! Where do I begin?!
I'll start at the top and work my way down.
I've always wished that I had straighter hair. It would make it manageable. But I would never go through all the effort that emos (is that even a real word...?) go through to make my hair look straw-like and lifeless. Something else that many people fail to realise is that straight hair works for some people and just doesn't for others! I was at a party recently where a friend of a friend announced that he had spent the 2 hours prior to the party straightening his hair (not that we could really tell...it was still all curly). Now, I am fairly certain that most normal males live by the principal of 'if you have clothes on and the mop is vaguely under control, you are now socially acceptable'. So the fact that the emo movement has resulted in a borderline-hysterical buy-up if hair straighteners by men, worries me...
The other element of the emo hair that I find...amusing, to tell the truth, is the obsession with the long fringes (bangs) which must be drawn down over the face. I love walking through campus and seeing an emo kid walking down a corridor, face entirely obscured by their hair. Occasionally, the hair will rise briefly as they blow furiously at if from underneath in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the outside world. While this (somehow) appears not to be done out of annoyance, it appears more to function by preventing collisions with other people and stationary objects.
Helen described the typical emo hairstyle very well: an upside-down mullet.
Next is the make-up. This is about one of the only things that I think works from the emo movement. Eyeliner makes everyone look so much more dramatic and in many cases can really accentuate beautiful eyes! Again, it really works on some people, and not so much on others. In my opinion, the best are those who try to keep is as simple as possible. The alternative is nothing short of ridiculous...
Then the clothing. There is a reason why girls jeans are made for girls. I saw a Fall Out Boy music video last night in which Pete Wentz was wearing a pair of bright red skinny jeans. The boy looked like the depressed elf that escaped Santa's workshop! It was ridiculous! Having said that, other elements of the emo gettup I like. I'm a fan of black, so that's one plus to their image.
I think the element of emo-ism that annoys me the most is the pseudo-psychology of it. It is a movement that arose from the ashes of the American dream in white suburbia where teens were growing up, wanting for nothing, and this really pissed them off. They had nothing to be angry about and thus they became angry at their lack of anything to direct their rage at. From there it was a hop, skip and jump to being broody, withdrawn and in many cases resorting to self-mutilation and suicide. In short the social aspects of emoism border on pathological.
I personally know of people who are in that exact scenario (albeit, not in America...), provided with everything that they could ask for and resorting to self-injury because it is the done thing as an emo. In truth, this element of the movement has left me with a great deal of pity for emos. Their existance is so fragile and sad that one cannot help but pity them. Another part of me wants to slap across the face really hard and shout 'Snap out of it you stupid *&%#$! Your life doesn't suck!'
Now for the twist in the tale: In order to show that I harbour no ill-feelings toward emoism, and to avoid being one of those people who everone says "...don't knock it 'til you try it" to I, tomorrow, shall become emo. Helen has agreed to help me out and we shall take photos and I shall post them.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Nothing more can go wrong! I've used up all my 'bads'!
I've been told that bad things happen in threes. Well Universe, I've used up all three of mine! First there was the accident on the weekend, then yesterday left me in a bad mood and finally today's little incident...
Last night, while working out, my good pal David told me that I 'looked tired' and that I should take more time off for myself to just chill. I agreed with him as I have had very little me time lately, but had to admit that I had too much to do to really give myself the time I might need. But, I decided to just have a relaxing evening, free of work, in spite of the fact that I knew I'd feel terribly guilty for not having done the work.
So this morning, after sleeping in an extra hour (shame on me!), I headed off to university as I always do. I had to stop off at the shops on my way as I'm having a bake-off with one of my lab-mates and I needed supplies for the amazing cake I shall concoct for tomorrow (Prepare to be blown away with my AWESOME baking skills!). So, I stopped off at the local Pick-n-Pay to collect supplies, and my air-ticket to France (unrelated to the cakes...) and went to the car to head off to varsity.
And then it happened...my car refused to start. It had been giving trouble lately, but nothing serious. Then, this morning, it decided that it had had enough. There I was, stuck under a shopping centre in a car that looks like it could have been part of a medieval invasion force and a huge wad of guilt from not having worked last night.
So I called the AA and was helped by a very polite woman who obviously thought that your phone bill was based on how loudly you spoke because I could barely hear her at all. I heard more from the fax machine in her office than from her, which made our communications...interesting.
After taking all of my details, and her disbelief that my surname could be a first name, like Duncan, she asked me to tell her where I was. I told her that I was at Bedford Centre, in the underground parking lot. She asked me where it was. I told her it was under the shopping centre's roof parking area. No, she meant where Bedford Centre was. I said it was in Bedfordview. But where's that?
Luckily, the conversation didn't escalate to me mentioning which planet we were on, but it came close...
Eventually, after asking me three times what colour car I drove, she announced that the 'roadside-assistance' would be there in 60-90min. I thanked her for her help and swore under my breath once the call had ended. What would I do for the next 90 min?!
Luckily for me, I had my laptop with me! So I whipped it out and did what any self-respecting individual would...I played cards! Hearts specifically. Not for long though as some misguided hope raised its stupid head in my heart and made me think that if the guy had to show up, I should probably be visible and not in my car playing cards...
So I climbed out the car, trying to use up as much time as possible in doing so without looking like a complete freak. It used up about 15 seconds at the most...
Realising the prematurity of my move out of the car, I decided to check my email on my phone. I was so glad I did! It used up so much of my time! Helen's post about the licensing department kept me thoroughly entertained while I watched all the local old folks wander around the parking lot (I think they get discounted groceries on Thursdays...) and occasionally find one another, exchanging greetings with as much enthusiasm as they could muster.
It was at this point that I had a thought...When did I last check the oil? AGES ago! I hope that the engine hasn't seized because I forgot to check the oil and it's run dry! Luckily for me, there is a service station right at the centre I was at so I just nipped over and bought a can of oil to put in the car. Lucky I did too! The car was almost completely empty!
Just then I recieved a call from the AA to say that the assitance would be there within the next 20 min. Grateful, I thanked them and ended the call. I glanced down at my watch and realised that it had only taken them a good hour and 15 minutes so far! So I continued to read through my email to pass the time.
I then recieved another call to say that the assistance was only 10 min away. Foolishly I looked to my watch and realised that the last '10 min' had actually been about 30. Luckily, the guy showed up almost immediately, managed to start the car, very sternly suggested I find an auto-electrician and sent me on my way. Very thankful to be in a running car again, I scooted home to find out the number for our mechanic. Once home, I realised I'd forgotten to get some of my ingredients for the cake...
Last night, while working out, my good pal David told me that I 'looked tired' and that I should take more time off for myself to just chill. I agreed with him as I have had very little me time lately, but had to admit that I had too much to do to really give myself the time I might need. But, I decided to just have a relaxing evening, free of work, in spite of the fact that I knew I'd feel terribly guilty for not having done the work.
So this morning, after sleeping in an extra hour (shame on me!), I headed off to university as I always do. I had to stop off at the shops on my way as I'm having a bake-off with one of my lab-mates and I needed supplies for the amazing cake I shall concoct for tomorrow (Prepare to be blown away with my AWESOME baking skills!). So, I stopped off at the local Pick-n-Pay to collect supplies, and my air-ticket to France (unrelated to the cakes...) and went to the car to head off to varsity.
And then it happened...my car refused to start. It had been giving trouble lately, but nothing serious. Then, this morning, it decided that it had had enough. There I was, stuck under a shopping centre in a car that looks like it could have been part of a medieval invasion force and a huge wad of guilt from not having worked last night.
So I called the AA and was helped by a very polite woman who obviously thought that your phone bill was based on how loudly you spoke because I could barely hear her at all. I heard more from the fax machine in her office than from her, which made our communications...interesting.
After taking all of my details, and her disbelief that my surname could be a first name, like Duncan, she asked me to tell her where I was. I told her that I was at Bedford Centre, in the underground parking lot. She asked me where it was. I told her it was under the shopping centre's roof parking area. No, she meant where Bedford Centre was. I said it was in Bedfordview. But where's that?
Luckily, the conversation didn't escalate to me mentioning which planet we were on, but it came close...
Eventually, after asking me three times what colour car I drove, she announced that the 'roadside-assistance' would be there in 60-90min. I thanked her for her help and swore under my breath once the call had ended. What would I do for the next 90 min?!
Luckily for me, I had my laptop with me! So I whipped it out and did what any self-respecting individual would...I played cards! Hearts specifically. Not for long though as some misguided hope raised its stupid head in my heart and made me think that if the guy had to show up, I should probably be visible and not in my car playing cards...
So I climbed out the car, trying to use up as much time as possible in doing so without looking like a complete freak. It used up about 15 seconds at the most...
Realising the prematurity of my move out of the car, I decided to check my email on my phone. I was so glad I did! It used up so much of my time! Helen's post about the licensing department kept me thoroughly entertained while I watched all the local old folks wander around the parking lot (I think they get discounted groceries on Thursdays...) and occasionally find one another, exchanging greetings with as much enthusiasm as they could muster.
It was at this point that I had a thought...When did I last check the oil? AGES ago! I hope that the engine hasn't seized because I forgot to check the oil and it's run dry! Luckily for me, there is a service station right at the centre I was at so I just nipped over and bought a can of oil to put in the car. Lucky I did too! The car was almost completely empty!
Just then I recieved a call from the AA to say that the assitance would be there within the next 20 min. Grateful, I thanked them and ended the call. I glanced down at my watch and realised that it had only taken them a good hour and 15 minutes so far! So I continued to read through my email to pass the time.
I then recieved another call to say that the assistance was only 10 min away. Foolishly I looked to my watch and realised that the last '10 min' had actually been about 30. Luckily, the guy showed up almost immediately, managed to start the car, very sternly suggested I find an auto-electrician and sent me on my way. Very thankful to be in a running car again, I scooted home to find out the number for our mechanic. Once home, I realised I'd forgotten to get some of my ingredients for the cake...
Monday, June 15, 2009
It could be anywhere...
So this hasn't been my best weekend ever. Admittedly, it's been a pretty good one except for the little bumper-bashing that I was involved in last night. It wasn't a fun experience. And I had a pretty good track record as far as traffic accidents go...
Anyway, that's not the point of this post. At the moment I am house-sitting for a couple who have taken a long weekend off, seeing as Tuesday is a public holiday here in South Africa. I can't remember which public holiday it is. We have so many here (in fact, we have 12 days off a year!). I suppose that's what happens when your country has a political revolution and is liberalised after an extended period of imposed unilateral control.
Anyway, that's not the point of this post. At the moment I am house-sitting for a couple who have taken a long weekend off, seeing as Tuesday is a public holiday here in South Africa. I can't remember which public holiday it is. We have so many here (in fact, we have 12 days off a year!). I suppose that's what happens when your country has a political revolution and is liberalised after an extended period of imposed unilateral control.
I've just googled it and apparently Tuesday is Youth Day.
So, having spent the day out and about, I returned this evening to discover feathers all over the house. They appear to be from a hoopoe which, at some stage, must have somehow gotten into the house. I just hope that it was able to escape. I don't want to open a cupboard and have a bird fly out at my face...
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
I laugh in the face of Death! And get a mouthful of feathers...
Today, after going to withdraw R50 from an ATM and hitting the wrong button, resulting in the machine producing R500 instead, I went to the dentist for a filling...If I could have that word dripping with blood, I would. I hate the dentist. It's nothing personal! He's a really nice old man, albeit with bad teeth. It's the profession that I take offense to...
The point of the story was my rather scary experience in the chair. I have malignant hyperthermia which always makes anaesthesia exciting. Now days, most of the anaesthetics used are safe and will not cause me to die, but I still get nervous whenever I have to have any. So, after the dentist gave me my local shot and left my face to numb up for 5 min, I was a little on edge.
Just as the dentist started drilling, what appeared to be a tall black-hooded figure walked past his cubicle. I only saw them out of the corner of my eye and he was mostly obscured by the wall of the cubicle that I was in, so I couldn't be certain but they bore a striking resemblance to the skeletal, black-robed, pointy-hooded fellow commonly known as Death.
Writing this, I realise that I have a seriously overactive imagination but I'm being perfectly honest when I say that my first thoughts were something along the lines of, 'Oh crap! It's Death! But wait...aren't you supposed to see a white light or something, not some dude in a black hoodie? Maybe he'll come past again...' So, while thinking that maybe it actually was my time to go and how inconvenient the timing was if I was to die today, I kept an eye out for the dark figure.
About 5 min later he reappeared! And it was at this point that I mentally kicked myself in the head for having the mind I have. It turned out that what I thought was the pointed tip of the hood of Death, was actually a feather-duster, skirting along the tops of the cubicles. I decided to focus on counting the roof pannels above the room from that point on...
The point of the story was my rather scary experience in the chair. I have malignant hyperthermia which always makes anaesthesia exciting. Now days, most of the anaesthetics used are safe and will not cause me to die, but I still get nervous whenever I have to have any. So, after the dentist gave me my local shot and left my face to numb up for 5 min, I was a little on edge.
Just as the dentist started drilling, what appeared to be a tall black-hooded figure walked past his cubicle. I only saw them out of the corner of my eye and he was mostly obscured by the wall of the cubicle that I was in, so I couldn't be certain but they bore a striking resemblance to the skeletal, black-robed, pointy-hooded fellow commonly known as Death.
Writing this, I realise that I have a seriously overactive imagination but I'm being perfectly honest when I say that my first thoughts were something along the lines of, 'Oh crap! It's Death! But wait...aren't you supposed to see a white light or something, not some dude in a black hoodie? Maybe he'll come past again...' So, while thinking that maybe it actually was my time to go and how inconvenient the timing was if I was to die today, I kept an eye out for the dark figure.
About 5 min later he reappeared! And it was at this point that I mentally kicked myself in the head for having the mind I have. It turned out that what I thought was the pointed tip of the hood of Death, was actually a feather-duster, skirting along the tops of the cubicles. I decided to focus on counting the roof pannels above the room from that point on...
Monday, June 8, 2009
Joined at the hip...? Thank goodness, no!
Everyone has one at least. They are those people who are part of the staff where we work who drive everyone else insane! Ours comes in the form of a diminutive Russian man with no concept of personal hygiene, or personal space. I shall refer to him as Mr. S.
Now, for some unknown reason, Mr. S seems to think that I am his best buddy. It's really quite a useful position to be in as he tends to control the flow of important hardware around our department, such as field equipment, laptops and the like. Being his chum (in the loosest sense of the word...) means that I normally have access to all these things with minimal effort.
On the down side, he seems to think that I go about my day, yearning to have conversations with him at close quarters...
A really good example of this occurred last week when he came to discuss some recording equipment with Megan. Megan is trying to record ultra-sonic communication in rodents as part of her MSc project. As a result, Mr. S has had dig up equipment that has not seen the light of day in eons. Last week, he brought the equipment down to our lab for her to try and figure out. Once he had dropped it all off and left, we spent the rest of our Monday afternoon fiddling with the various cables and microphones to try and get all of it to work.
By the end of that fiddling session, we had come to the conclusion that there were various pieces missing and that Megan would have to contact Mr. S and get him to find all the missing bits. Megan then contacted Mr. S and asked him to find the parts she needed which he did. This was then the beginning of the problem.
He arrived in our lab with a box of various cables. Because he and I are best buddies, he, now well enveloped in my personal space, began to ask me a barrage of questions about why I needed these cables and what it was that I was trying to do. I pointed out that I wasn't trying to do anything and that it was in fact Megan's project. However, with my pitifully minuscule knowledge of sound recording equipment, I managed to answer most of his questions.
He decided that the information that I had given him while Megan sat, somewhat anxiously yet a little deflated after being completely sidelined from her own research, in the background, was sufficient and that we had to go and see if one of the other staff members knew anything about the missing cables and how to work the contraption in the first place. Mr. S beckoned me to follow him, which I then echoed onto Megan and the three of us went a-wandering.
Mr. S also has an annoying habit of letting himself into peoples offices and labs without request, as he has a key for every room in our building. So, it was with a surprised and somewhat terrified face that we were greeted by the last staff member to have ever had anything to do with the equipment. After a good grilling from Mr. S, we left the bewildered staff member to return to our lab.
Upon our return to the lab, Mr. S continued to interrogate me as to what it was that I wanted to do. Again, I reinforced the point that it wasn't my project. As if oblivious to anything I had just said, he suggested that I look up the contraption on the Internet, which I dutifully did, seeing the opportunity as a chance to remove myself from his fetid aura (if you know what I mean...). So, at the comfort of my desk I began searching the net. To my horror, a dark, smelly presence took up residence on my left arm. Mr. S had realised that a small area of my desk was not being occupied by paper and felt that this was an open invitation to take up the space and direct my surfing over my shoulder. I found myself performing swimming breaths in order to remain consious at my laptop. Eventually, after about three web-pages had been thoroughly reviewed, he decided (thankfully!!!) that I was not achieving the results he desired and that he would find it all himself.
He departed, leaving a sniggering Megan and a shell-shocked me to breathe (literally). About 10 min later he reappeared with a large wad of paper which he claimed was the manual, printed off the internet.
Now, for some unknown reason, Mr. S seems to think that I am his best buddy. It's really quite a useful position to be in as he tends to control the flow of important hardware around our department, such as field equipment, laptops and the like. Being his chum (in the loosest sense of the word...) means that I normally have access to all these things with minimal effort.
On the down side, he seems to think that I go about my day, yearning to have conversations with him at close quarters...
A really good example of this occurred last week when he came to discuss some recording equipment with Megan. Megan is trying to record ultra-sonic communication in rodents as part of her MSc project. As a result, Mr. S has had dig up equipment that has not seen the light of day in eons. Last week, he brought the equipment down to our lab for her to try and figure out. Once he had dropped it all off and left, we spent the rest of our Monday afternoon fiddling with the various cables and microphones to try and get all of it to work.
By the end of that fiddling session, we had come to the conclusion that there were various pieces missing and that Megan would have to contact Mr. S and get him to find all the missing bits. Megan then contacted Mr. S and asked him to find the parts she needed which he did. This was then the beginning of the problem.
He arrived in our lab with a box of various cables. Because he and I are best buddies, he, now well enveloped in my personal space, began to ask me a barrage of questions about why I needed these cables and what it was that I was trying to do. I pointed out that I wasn't trying to do anything and that it was in fact Megan's project. However, with my pitifully minuscule knowledge of sound recording equipment, I managed to answer most of his questions.
He decided that the information that I had given him while Megan sat, somewhat anxiously yet a little deflated after being completely sidelined from her own research, in the background, was sufficient and that we had to go and see if one of the other staff members knew anything about the missing cables and how to work the contraption in the first place. Mr. S beckoned me to follow him, which I then echoed onto Megan and the three of us went a-wandering.
Mr. S also has an annoying habit of letting himself into peoples offices and labs without request, as he has a key for every room in our building. So, it was with a surprised and somewhat terrified face that we were greeted by the last staff member to have ever had anything to do with the equipment. After a good grilling from Mr. S, we left the bewildered staff member to return to our lab.
Upon our return to the lab, Mr. S continued to interrogate me as to what it was that I wanted to do. Again, I reinforced the point that it wasn't my project. As if oblivious to anything I had just said, he suggested that I look up the contraption on the Internet, which I dutifully did, seeing the opportunity as a chance to remove myself from his fetid aura (if you know what I mean...). So, at the comfort of my desk I began searching the net. To my horror, a dark, smelly presence took up residence on my left arm. Mr. S had realised that a small area of my desk was not being occupied by paper and felt that this was an open invitation to take up the space and direct my surfing over my shoulder. I found myself performing swimming breaths in order to remain consious at my laptop. Eventually, after about three web-pages had been thoroughly reviewed, he decided (thankfully!!!) that I was not achieving the results he desired and that he would find it all himself.
He departed, leaving a sniggering Megan and a shell-shocked me to breathe (literally). About 10 min later he reappeared with a large wad of paper which he claimed was the manual, printed off the internet.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Ode to the coffee machine
This year, with the arrival of Helen to our lab, we acquired, for the first time ever, a coffee machine. It’s nothing amazing. It has the simple functions (i.e. on…off…on again…etc.) including the timer to set for the machine to automatically start producing coffee at a set time. It just produces filter coffee, no espresso, no cappuccino or macchiato, just plain old coffee. Behold!
On the plus side, it looks like the ones you see in police stations that detectives get their coffee from in movies. (It kinda makes you want to adopt a New Yorker accent and try solving crimes and whatnot…) It was this very trait that lead to the start of my favourite lab tradition: Doughnut Friday!
But I digress...
The machine has brought great joy into our collective lives, great knowledge and also great stress. Take Helen’s departing for field work this year as an example…
Megan and I were left to our own devices in the lab once Helen left for her field work this year. Normally Helen would be in charge of the coffee production in the lab, seeing as I refuse to drink the stuff (unless the most optimistic alternative is suicide…) and Megan is one of those I’ll-drink-it-if-it-falls-into-my-outstreched-mug-but-if-not-my-life-will-go-on kinds of people. It also helps that Helen appears to be the only one out of all of us that can successfully make coffee at the concentration that our supervisor likes (I think it has scored her great brownie points with him too). Of course, the fact that she is an avid coffee addict has nothing to do with this.
So there we were. Two ignoramuses and a coffee machine.
Sounds like a book title…or a rock band from the ‘80s!
We were surviving quite well until Doughnut Friday! rolled around. It was then that the pair of us realised that we had probably better learn how to use the thing before the rest of the Doughnut Friday! crowd showed up and attacked us for not having a steaming pot of Java waiting for them. So the two of us set to work trying to decipher the workings of the innocuous black contraption with the jug underneath.
We’d both seen Helen do it in the past. We figured, it can’t be all that tough to figure out! How complicated could it get? All you do it make sure the plastic filter is clean, place a paper filter into that, fill up the filter with grinds and ensure there was sufficient water in the tank at the back…right?
We carried out this procedure, hit the little red button marked ‘ON’ and returned to our work. While we worked the machine began to make the odd and slightly off-putting digesting sounds that could probably make the most repugnant thirteen year old boy blush, as it does. While we listened to the machine suffer through its own case of IBS, we assumed all was well. Little did we know...
At some stage, I thought to check up on our humble beverage-in-preparation. To my horror and amazement, I was greeted by the coffee machine, spewing coffee everywhere but into the pot. In all honesty, the machine looked like one of the fountains that you would expect to see in the lobby of a Las Vegas hotel with a circular jet of hot coffee radiated out from the nozzle, not going into the coffee pot.
I performed the standard reaction in a situation such as this in our lab. I panicked. Not in the life threatening, hyperventilating way, but more in the this-is-a-great-opportunity-to-throw-my-hands-into-the-air-and-run-around-shrieking-because-it’s-fun way. Megan came hurtling over to see what was happening and too was awestruck at the terrible beauty of the sight before her. Together we switched off the machine and with painstaking precision, dissected the machine to start cleaning up what had just happened. It was at this point that we decided that we definitely needed new sponges in our lab as the only one we had was about as effective as using a piece of steel.
So two important bits of knowledge were gleaned from this experience: the paper filter goes on the outside of the plastic one. Secondly, sponges, unlike diamonds, are not forever…
In the interim following our little coffee machine adventure, I have learned how to make coffee. My supervisor likes his coffee really strong and so, I’ve had to learn how to up his doses to levels that would kill the average elephant. However, I think I’ve managed to find his cut-off after the last pot I made with about 10 scoops of coffee kept him up all night. Another important bit of information that I’ve learned from our coffee machine is that coffee and I, do not go well together. Once the uncontrollable shaking and heart palpitations subside, the perspiration starts, none of which I am particularly fond of. So I think I shall have to stick to my no-coffee-or-else rule from now on…
On the plus side, it looks like the ones you see in police stations that detectives get their coffee from in movies. (It kinda makes you want to adopt a New Yorker accent and try solving crimes and whatnot…) It was this very trait that lead to the start of my favourite lab tradition: Doughnut Friday!
But I digress...
The machine has brought great joy into our collective lives, great knowledge and also great stress. Take Helen’s departing for field work this year as an example…
Megan and I were left to our own devices in the lab once Helen left for her field work this year. Normally Helen would be in charge of the coffee production in the lab, seeing as I refuse to drink the stuff (unless the most optimistic alternative is suicide…) and Megan is one of those I’ll-drink-it-if-it-falls-into-my-outstreched-mug-but-if-not-my-life-will-go-on kinds of people. It also helps that Helen appears to be the only one out of all of us that can successfully make coffee at the concentration that our supervisor likes (I think it has scored her great brownie points with him too). Of course, the fact that she is an avid coffee addict has nothing to do with this.
So there we were. Two ignoramuses and a coffee machine.
Sounds like a book title…or a rock band from the ‘80s!
We were surviving quite well until Doughnut Friday! rolled around. It was then that the pair of us realised that we had probably better learn how to use the thing before the rest of the Doughnut Friday! crowd showed up and attacked us for not having a steaming pot of Java waiting for them. So the two of us set to work trying to decipher the workings of the innocuous black contraption with the jug underneath.
We’d both seen Helen do it in the past. We figured, it can’t be all that tough to figure out! How complicated could it get? All you do it make sure the plastic filter is clean, place a paper filter into that, fill up the filter with grinds and ensure there was sufficient water in the tank at the back…right?
We carried out this procedure, hit the little red button marked ‘ON’ and returned to our work. While we worked the machine began to make the odd and slightly off-putting digesting sounds that could probably make the most repugnant thirteen year old boy blush, as it does. While we listened to the machine suffer through its own case of IBS, we assumed all was well. Little did we know...
At some stage, I thought to check up on our humble beverage-in-preparation. To my horror and amazement, I was greeted by the coffee machine, spewing coffee everywhere but into the pot. In all honesty, the machine looked like one of the fountains that you would expect to see in the lobby of a Las Vegas hotel with a circular jet of hot coffee radiated out from the nozzle, not going into the coffee pot.
I performed the standard reaction in a situation such as this in our lab. I panicked. Not in the life threatening, hyperventilating way, but more in the this-is-a-great-opportunity-to-throw-my-hands-into-the-air-and-run-around-shrieking-because-it’s-fun way. Megan came hurtling over to see what was happening and too was awestruck at the terrible beauty of the sight before her. Together we switched off the machine and with painstaking precision, dissected the machine to start cleaning up what had just happened. It was at this point that we decided that we definitely needed new sponges in our lab as the only one we had was about as effective as using a piece of steel.
So two important bits of knowledge were gleaned from this experience: the paper filter goes on the outside of the plastic one. Secondly, sponges, unlike diamonds, are not forever…
In the interim following our little coffee machine adventure, I have learned how to make coffee. My supervisor likes his coffee really strong and so, I’ve had to learn how to up his doses to levels that would kill the average elephant. However, I think I’ve managed to find his cut-off after the last pot I made with about 10 scoops of coffee kept him up all night. Another important bit of information that I’ve learned from our coffee machine is that coffee and I, do not go well together. Once the uncontrollable shaking and heart palpitations subside, the perspiration starts, none of which I am particularly fond of. So I think I shall have to stick to my no-coffee-or-else rule from now on…
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Be careful what you wish for...
So, in yesterday's post I wished that I could somehow speed up time and that my day could come to an end sooner so that I could go home. Well, it happened. But not in a good way...
I was supposed to go to gym with a few friends after university yesterday. And because I got my wish, I was late for it.
The end.
I was supposed to go to gym with a few friends after university yesterday. And because I got my wish, I was late for it.
The end.
Friday, May 15, 2009
I'm awesome...It's that simple, really... ;P
Hi!
So, Sarah has given me an award! YAY! The idea is that I now write 7 things about myself which make me the fantastic individual I am and then pass on the award to 7 others. To elaborate on the title of this post, I shall provide some examples below...
I rock because:
- I'm witty. Or at least, so I am told by others. Sometimes I doubt the sanity of some of those who accuse me of being witty, but overall, I humbly (because that's the kind of person I am, humble... :D ) accept the complement and move on with my life...
- I can get passionately excited about almost anything. Seriously. It's a pain some of the time because I tend to get all excited and nobody else seems to feel that way, so I feel a bit of a nutter...
- I am brimming with useless facts! Really! I was actually famous during my undergraduate years for this. I would sprout forth with all manner of redundant trivia to my bemused colleagues whenever I felt the need. It's actually all because of watching Discovery Channel and National Geographic documentaries. And they say TV is bad for you! Hah! Ideal example: did you know that a pumpkin, by the strictest definition of the term, is actually a berry?
- I have good taste! Or at least, I like to think so. My friends are all fantastic people, I like the colour green (You can't go wrong with green! It's timeless! Like black!) AND I am impermeable to distasteful trends in fashion and music (Down with pop-music!).
- At this point I would like to say that I am seriously struggling to write this. I hate tooting my own horn...Also, blogger is being stupid and can't stop numbering stuff, so this doesn't count as one of my points, I just can't stop the stupid website from doing that! Aargh!
- I'm in love with post-its! They are just about the most amazing invention ever! Step aside wheel!
- I'm multi-talented! Not only am I a brilliant scientist in the making, but I write and compose my own music too!
- I love art-house movies! There is something particularly nice about watching something that actually makes you think every once in a while. I do enjoy vegetating in front of the tele every now and again too, but the deep stuff is more my style.
Wow...I think I was kinda scraping the bottom of the barrel for some of those, but at least I got something in there...So I would like to award this SUPA-AMAZING PERSON award to the following: Jenny, Megan, Eebee, Athena, Helen, Laura and last, but certainly not least, Tomkins.
Nice picture for the day:
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)