Ardent fans of the Diaries would remember this post, now what did kids do before facebook?
1952: Boy notices girl at annual Interschools Athletics Meeting, three weeks later after much research he learns her name and that she lives in Rondebosch. By looking through the phone book he sends a ‘from your secret admirer’ letter to every Johnson living in Rondebosch. He pines for her during the next six months and if a bizarre set of coincidences all occur the chance exists that he will actually talk to her at the 1953 annual Interschools Athletics Meet and they could indeed ‘hook up’ (although that term is not to come into existence till 1974). If this does indeed happen, Postman Pat will be a fit young man on his bike.
1962: Boy notices girl at the movies on a Saturday night. Through a mutual friend he establishes her name and calls her up blindly and invites her as his date to the Spring Ball at Kelvin Grove. The practice of calling up a girl at her parents’ house is still pretty much taboo in these days and she gives him savage bat after he plies her with two glasses of wine during the evening and tries to hold her hand.
1972: Boy notices girl at Clifton Lifesavers beach party. Through a social network spanning four prominent Cape Town High Schools and the envy of spiders the world over, he establishes that she will indeed be at the next month’s Llandudno Lifesavers beach party. Through a twisted system of broken telephone she knows that he is either totally oblivious to her, mildly interested or wants to get in under her dress(girls don’t often wear pants yet). True to form they spot each other, and end up carefully ignoring in a game of ‘hard to get’.
1982: Boy notices girl at Goodwood Ice rink, in between all the fleeting bodies under the ultra-violet light. After brief investigation he finds out that she’s from the cool crowd at Springfield and her father is a GP. He considers getting hold of her through her dad’s pager (all the rage amongst the medical fraternity at the time), but can’t think of a surefire way to bypass the doc. He manages to meet her at the Dutch Tent at the Community Chest Carnival in Maynardville (well everybody who’s anybody is there). Over the next three months they have late night chats using the CB radios in their parents’ cars. The sessions stopped abruptly not due to them getting caught by parents, but because by now the whole school knew that there was a saucy chat on public channel 8 every night.
1992: Boy notices girl during Benson and Hedges Night cricket at Newlands. He ends up scoring her under the chalets next to Castle Corner. He gives her an almost empty Telkom phonecard with the number of the tickie box at his boarding house written on with an Artliner. The next week she leaves a message with the standard six manning the booth, and he spends half of his spare time during the next 6 months attached to the phone with her. This seriously hacks off Mrs Bryant, who can never get hold of her little Timmy. He looks into getting this new thing from Game called a Beepa, it’s the ‘intouch keeper’ but the initial cost is R300, which is a lot of pocket money back then so it goes onto the Christmas wishlist.
1997: Boy notices girl at the Bishops social. He quotes some tacky pick-up line from Beverly Hills 90210, she falls for it and ends up in his study upstairs. He waits a week and then emails her at her Herschel address which he works out from her surname. A seriously sordid chain of communication ensues which includes ASCII images of couples doing stuff, but goes unnoticed by the schools’ respective computer staff. They end up going to each other’s matric dances, invited of course, by email.
2002: Boy notices girl at Ratanga Junction under 18 party. Within five minutes they’re getting hot and heavy in the alley past The Cobra. At the end of the night they exchange cellphone numbers. Portions of a Danielle Steele novel are compressed into 160 characters, twenty times a day (in the days before a 500 sms bundle this was considered seriously high traffic). Later on, he tries to get her into IRC, but she reckons the school computer room is only for nerds. He nods and considers uninstalling Quake and Warcraft II from his PC at home.
2007: Boy notices girl at Cavendish Square Ster-Kinekor on a Saturday night and even manages to talk to her and get her name. The next morning he searches for her on facebook, and decides of the 24 Tracy Smarts she’s the one in the South Africa network with a pony as a profile picture. He also makes a mental note that there are a lot of girls with a very similiar name in the States and they all look extremely slutty. During school hours they are both on Mxit(which the teachers still don’t know how to regulate) and spend their breaks at the library on GMail chat if there’s a computer free (only losers use MSN these days). Whilst they’re there they both check out what’s happening in their lives with facebook and post sweet nothings on all their friends’ walls. He is continuously uploading pictures of them together and tagging them, she has a neverending stream of requests to confirm these tags. He wolfs down his dinner every night, so he can log onto Skype and chat to her about everything that happened on facebook and Mxit earlier that day, he tells her about all the bands that he’s friends with on his MySpace account, but hasn’t seen as they hardly ever play under 18 gigs. His dad doesn’t really approve, but since its ADSL it doesn’t really cost anything, if only his bloody wife would get all her mates onto Skype then the Telkom bill could be less than a grand. Last week our boy took a video of Crawford charging through the changing room after a screaming naked standard six brandishing a seven iron. It was so hilarious he mms’d it to her immediately, and it rapidly spread through the school on a Bluetooth trail. Within a week it’s one of the top viewed videos on YouTube and has to be pulled off the site after a Sunday Times article references it. Crawford gets an expulsion warning, but everyone else thinks he’s a legend - he has like over 400 friends on facebook. Almost every night before bed he sends her a goodnight sms, there’s normally a good morning one when he wakes up too – nothing like good old fashioned communications he reckons.
The more our lives are made simpler and quicker, the more complicated they have become. You have my postal address, email (one of the three), Skype, cellphone, work phone, home phone (just kidding –who has a landline?!). Find me on MSN, Yahoo! Messenger or GMail chat. Then you can just scribble on my wall, poke me or tag me in a pic on facebook, or tell me about stuff happening on MySpace. If all else fails you could just read my Blog (ha! got you there now!).
There used to be the odd stubborn (but very clever) guy who refused to get a cellphone, they’re a rare breed nowadays, even my 95 year old grandfather has one. The resisters of facebook are facing similar segregation, as idle chat seems to quickly revert to being friends, joining groups, poking and tagging. What’s next? Me thinks we’ll see a combination of facebook and Mxit rocking up on our phones, something that runs in the background of the phone’s operation and is constantly updated. Uploading photos is such a luss, imagine if you could do it seamlessly from your phone(anyone, Beuler, Nokia?). There’ll be the initial flood as everyone joins in on this hot trend, but it’ll probably just blow over like Mxit did(I assume) and people get bored of joining pointless groups with hilarious names. The one common denominator throughout the years is that it’s all just another tool to meet people. Going out for a drink, sitting on a beach and climbing a hill will never grow technologically outdated. Holding hands in the park, the nervous first kiss and fooling around under the covers in the dark – how could cyberdating and cybersex ever be able top that?
But if it gets close, I’ll be logged on.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Ardent fans of the Diaries would remember this post, now what did kids do before facebook?
1952: Boy notices girl at annual Interschools Athletics Meeting, three weeks later after much research he learns her name and that she lives in Rondebosch. By looking through the phone book he sends a ‘from your secret admirer’ letter to every Johnson living in Rondebosch. He pines for her during the next six months and if a bizarre set of coincidences all occur the chance exists that he will actually talk to her at the 1953 annual Interschools Athletics Meet and they could indeed ‘hook up’ (although that term is not to come into existence till 1974). If this does indeed happen, Postman Pat will be a fit young man on his bike.
1962: Boy notices girl at the movies on a Saturday night. Through a mutual friend he establishes her name and calls her up blindly and invites her as his date to the Spring Ball at Kelvin Grove. The practice of calling up a girl at her parents’ house is still pretty much taboo in these days and she gives him savage bat after he plies her with two glasses of wine during the evening and tries to hold her hand.
1972: Boy notices girl at Clifton Lifesavers beach party. Through a social network spanning four prominent Cape Town High Schools and the envy of spiders the world over, he establishes that she will indeed be at the next month’s Llandudno Lifesavers beach party. Through a twisted system of broken telephone she knows that he is either totally oblivious to her, mildly interested or wants to get in under her dress(girls don’t often wear pants yet). True to form they spot each other, and end up carefully ignoring in a game of ‘hard to get’.
1982: Boy notices girl at Goodwood Ice rink, in between all the fleeting bodies under the ultra-violet light. After brief investigation he finds out that she’s from the cool crowd at Springfield and her father is a GP. He considers getting hold of her through her dad’s pager (all the rage amongst the medical fraternity at the time), but can’t think of a surefire way to bypass the doc. He manages to meet her at the Dutch Tent at the Community Chest Carnival in Maynardville (well everybody who’s anybody is there). Over the next three months they have late night chats using the CB radios in their parents’ cars. The sessions stopped abruptly not due to them getting caught by parents, but because by now the whole school knew that there was a saucy chat on public channel 8 every night.
1992: Boy notices girl during Benson and Hedges Night cricket at Newlands. He ends up scoring her under the chalets next to Castle Corner. He gives her an almost empty Telkom phonecard with the number of the tickie box at his boarding house written on with an Artliner. The next week she leaves a message with the standard six manning the booth, and he spends half of his spare time during the next 6 months attached to the phone with her. This seriously hacks off Mrs Bryant, who can never get hold of her little Timmy. He looks into getting this new thing from Game called a Beepa, it’s the ‘intouch keeper’ but the initial cost is R300, which is a lot of pocket money back then so it goes onto the Christmas wishlist.
1997: Boy notices girl at the Bishops social. He quotes some tacky pick-up line from Beverly Hills 90210, she falls for it and ends up in his study upstairs. He waits a week and then emails her at her Herschel address which he works out from her surname. A seriously sordid chain of communication ensues which includes ASCII images of couples doing stuff, but goes unnoticed by the schools’ respective computer staff. They end up going to each other’s matric dances, invited of course, by email.
2002: Boy notices girl at Ratanga Junction under 18 party. Within five minutes they’re getting hot and heavy in the alley past The Cobra. At the end of the night they exchange cellphone numbers. Portions of a Danielle Steele novel are compressed into 160 characters, twenty times a day (in the days before a 500 sms bundle this was considered seriously high traffic). Later on, he tries to get her into IRC, but she reckons the school computer room is only for nerds. He nods and considers uninstalling Quake and Warcraft II from his PC at home.
2007: Boy notices girl at Cavendish Square Ster-Kinekor on a Saturday night and even manages to talk to her and get her name. The next morning he searches for her on facebook, and decides of the 24 Tracy Smarts she’s the one in the South Africa network with a pony as a profile picture. He also makes a mental note that there are a lot of girls with a very similiar name in the States and they all look extremely slutty. During school hours they are both on Mxit(which the teachers still don’t know how to regulate) and spend their breaks at the library on GMail chat if there’s a computer free (only losers use MSN these days). Whilst they’re there they both check out what’s happening in their lives with facebook and post sweet nothings on all their friends’ walls. He is continuously uploading pictures of them together and tagging them, she has a neverending stream of requests to confirm these tags. He wolfs down his dinner every night, so he can log onto Skype and chat to her about everything that happened on facebook and Mxit earlier that day, he tells her about all the bands that he’s friends with on his MySpace account, but hasn’t seen as they hardly ever play under 18 gigs. His dad doesn’t really approve, but since its ADSL it doesn’t really cost anything, if only his bloody wife would get all her mates onto Skype then the Telkom bill could be less than a grand. Last week our boy took a video of Crawford charging through the changing room after a screaming naked standard six brandishing a seven iron. It was so hilarious he mms’d it to her immediately, and it rapidly spread through the school on a Bluetooth trail. Within a week it’s one of the top viewed videos on YouTube and has to be pulled off the site after a Sunday Times article references it. Crawford gets an expulsion warning, but everyone else thinks he’s a legend - he has like over 400 friends on facebook. Almost every night before bed he sends her a goodnight sms, there’s normally a good morning one when he wakes up too – nothing like good old fashioned communications he reckons.
The more our lives are made simpler and quicker, the more complicated they have become. You have my postal address, email (one of the three), Skype, cellphone, work phone, home phone (just kidding –who has a landline?!). Find me on MSN, Yahoo! Messenger or GMail chat. Then you can just scribble on my wall, poke me or tag me in a pic on facebook, or tell me about stuff happening on MySpace. If all else fails you could just read my Blog (ha! got you there now!).
There used to be the odd stubborn (but very clever) guy who refused to get a cellphone, they’re a rare breed nowadays, even my 95 year old grandfather has one. The resisters of facebook are facing similar segregation, as idle chat seems to quickly revert to being friends, joining groups, poking and tagging. What’s next? Me thinks we’ll see a combination of facebook and Mxit rocking up on our phones, something that runs in the background of the phone’s operation and is constantly updated. Uploading photos is such a luss, imagine if you could do it seamlessly from your phone(anyone, Beuler, Nokia?). There’ll be the initial flood as everyone joins in on this hot trend, but it’ll probably just blow over like Mxit did(I assume) and people get bored of joining pointless groups with hilarious names. The one common denominator throughout the years is that it’s all just another tool to meet people. Going out for a drink, sitting on a beach and climbing a hill will never grow technologically outdated. Holding hands in the park, the nervous first kiss and fooling around under the covers in the dark – how could cyberdating and cybersex ever be able top that?
But if it gets close, I’ll be logged on.
1952: Boy notices girl at annual Interschools Athletics Meeting, three weeks later after much research he learns her name and that she lives in Rondebosch. By looking through the phone book he sends a ‘from your secret admirer’ letter to every Johnson living in Rondebosch. He pines for her during the next six months and if a bizarre set of coincidences all occur the chance exists that he will actually talk to her at the 1953 annual Interschools Athletics Meet and they could indeed ‘hook up’ (although that term is not to come into existence till 1974). If this does indeed happen, Postman Pat will be a fit young man on his bike.
1962: Boy notices girl at the movies on a Saturday night. Through a mutual friend he establishes her name and calls her up blindly and invites her as his date to the Spring Ball at Kelvin Grove. The practice of calling up a girl at her parents’ house is still pretty much taboo in these days and she gives him savage bat after he plies her with two glasses of wine during the evening and tries to hold her hand.
1972: Boy notices girl at Clifton Lifesavers beach party. Through a social network spanning four prominent Cape Town High Schools and the envy of spiders the world over, he establishes that she will indeed be at the next month’s Llandudno Lifesavers beach party. Through a twisted system of broken telephone she knows that he is either totally oblivious to her, mildly interested or wants to get in under her dress(girls don’t often wear pants yet). True to form they spot each other, and end up carefully ignoring in a game of ‘hard to get’.
1982: Boy notices girl at Goodwood Ice rink, in between all the fleeting bodies under the ultra-violet light. After brief investigation he finds out that she’s from the cool crowd at Springfield and her father is a GP. He considers getting hold of her through her dad’s pager (all the rage amongst the medical fraternity at the time), but can’t think of a surefire way to bypass the doc. He manages to meet her at the Dutch Tent at the Community Chest Carnival in Maynardville (well everybody who’s anybody is there). Over the next three months they have late night chats using the CB radios in their parents’ cars. The sessions stopped abruptly not due to them getting caught by parents, but because by now the whole school knew that there was a saucy chat on public channel 8 every night.
1992: Boy notices girl during Benson and Hedges Night cricket at Newlands. He ends up scoring her under the chalets next to Castle Corner. He gives her an almost empty Telkom phonecard with the number of the tickie box at his boarding house written on with an Artliner. The next week she leaves a message with the standard six manning the booth, and he spends half of his spare time during the next 6 months attached to the phone with her. This seriously hacks off Mrs Bryant, who can never get hold of her little Timmy. He looks into getting this new thing from Game called a Beepa, it’s the ‘intouch keeper’ but the initial cost is R300, which is a lot of pocket money back then so it goes onto the Christmas wishlist.
1997: Boy notices girl at the Bishops social. He quotes some tacky pick-up line from Beverly Hills 90210, she falls for it and ends up in his study upstairs. He waits a week and then emails her at her Herschel address which he works out from her surname. A seriously sordid chain of communication ensues which includes ASCII images of couples doing stuff, but goes unnoticed by the schools’ respective computer staff. They end up going to each other’s matric dances, invited of course, by email.
2002: Boy notices girl at Ratanga Junction under 18 party. Within five minutes they’re getting hot and heavy in the alley past The Cobra. At the end of the night they exchange cellphone numbers. Portions of a Danielle Steele novel are compressed into 160 characters, twenty times a day (in the days before a 500 sms bundle this was considered seriously high traffic). Later on, he tries to get her into IRC, but she reckons the school computer room is only for nerds. He nods and considers uninstalling Quake and Warcraft II from his PC at home.
2007: Boy notices girl at Cavendish Square Ster-Kinekor on a Saturday night and even manages to talk to her and get her name. The next morning he searches for her on facebook, and decides of the 24 Tracy Smarts she’s the one in the South Africa network with a pony as a profile picture. He also makes a mental note that there are a lot of girls with a very similiar name in the States and they all look extremely slutty. During school hours they are both on Mxit(which the teachers still don’t know how to regulate) and spend their breaks at the library on GMail chat if there’s a computer free (only losers use MSN these days). Whilst they’re there they both check out what’s happening in their lives with facebook and post sweet nothings on all their friends’ walls. He is continuously uploading pictures of them together and tagging them, she has a neverending stream of requests to confirm these tags. He wolfs down his dinner every night, so he can log onto Skype and chat to her about everything that happened on facebook and Mxit earlier that day, he tells her about all the bands that he’s friends with on his MySpace account, but hasn’t seen as they hardly ever play under 18 gigs. His dad doesn’t really approve, but since its ADSL it doesn’t really cost anything, if only his bloody wife would get all her mates onto Skype then the Telkom bill could be less than a grand. Last week our boy took a video of Crawford charging through the changing room after a screaming naked standard six brandishing a seven iron. It was so hilarious he mms’d it to her immediately, and it rapidly spread through the school on a Bluetooth trail. Within a week it’s one of the top viewed videos on YouTube and has to be pulled off the site after a Sunday Times article references it. Crawford gets an expulsion warning, but everyone else thinks he’s a legend - he has like over 400 friends on facebook. Almost every night before bed he sends her a goodnight sms, there’s normally a good morning one when he wakes up too – nothing like good old fashioned communications he reckons.
The more our lives are made simpler and quicker, the more complicated they have become. You have my postal address, email (one of the three), Skype, cellphone, work phone, home phone (just kidding –who has a landline?!). Find me on MSN, Yahoo! Messenger or GMail chat. Then you can just scribble on my wall, poke me or tag me in a pic on facebook, or tell me about stuff happening on MySpace. If all else fails you could just read my Blog (ha! got you there now!).
There used to be the odd stubborn (but very clever) guy who refused to get a cellphone, they’re a rare breed nowadays, even my 95 year old grandfather has one. The resisters of facebook are facing similar segregation, as idle chat seems to quickly revert to being friends, joining groups, poking and tagging. What’s next? Me thinks we’ll see a combination of facebook and Mxit rocking up on our phones, something that runs in the background of the phone’s operation and is constantly updated. Uploading photos is such a luss, imagine if you could do it seamlessly from your phone(anyone, Beuler, Nokia?). There’ll be the initial flood as everyone joins in on this hot trend, but it’ll probably just blow over like Mxit did(I assume) and people get bored of joining pointless groups with hilarious names. The one common denominator throughout the years is that it’s all just another tool to meet people. Going out for a drink, sitting on a beach and climbing a hill will never grow technologically outdated. Holding hands in the park, the nervous first kiss and fooling around under the covers in the dark – how could cyberdating and cybersex ever be able top that?
But if it gets close, I’ll be logged on.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Egalite
Oui, ma cherries! It's that time of the year when everyone pretends to
parles vous francais. Even if it is just counting from 15 to 40 in two
easy steps. For once it looks like we have a tournament on our hands.
There are two men playing tennis in the world today, the rest are just
ball boys or serving machines. Roger Federer wins almost every
tournament he enters and is on about a million ranking points, whilst
Rafael Nadal wins almost every time he plays anyone but Roger and is
on about half a million points. The next guy's name slips my mind, but
he's on about two thousand points. It's been such a procession
recently that there was value in holding a game on a mixed surface
court, half grass, half clay. It was purely an exhibition match, and
Rafa did win it, but Roger rightfully moaned about the sun being in
his eyes the whole time.
parles vous francais. Even if it is just counting from 15 to 40 in two
easy steps. For once it looks like we have a tournament on our hands.
There are two men playing tennis in the world today, the rest are just
ball boys or serving machines. Roger Federer wins almost every
tournament he enters and is on about a million ranking points, whilst
Rafael Nadal wins almost every time he plays anyone but Roger and is
on about half a million points. The next guy's name slips my mind, but
he's on about two thousand points. It's been such a procession
recently that there was value in holding a game on a mixed surface
court, half grass, half clay. It was purely an exhibition match, and
Rafa did win it, but Roger rightfully moaned about the sun being in
his eyes the whole time.
The whole first 13 days of this years French Open is just a way to
build up to the crescendo of the `more certain than the Pope being
Catholic' Federer/Nadal final.
Roger is the current holder of the last
three grand slams, and would complete his status as one of the best
ever if he could win the one title that has so far eluded him. He's
taken a slight blip in form recently and he even lost three
tournaments in a row just to prove he is human. He went and replaced
his coach (like he really needs one), and then went on to win his next
tournament against his clay court nemesis.
Rafa is still a kid at 19, but has risen to the top extremely quickly.
Fans of the Ninja Turtles are correct in pointing out that he's
missing a `ph' in his name, but who needs to spell when you've got the
baseline patrolled like a Panzer tank? He's no slouch on the
hardcourts, but is the undisputed king of clay, recently putting
together a record string of 81 consecutive clay wins in just under two
years. That all came to a slow slide in Hamburg when Roger woke up on
the right side of bed (in the second set). Rafa coasted through the
first with ease and it was looking very much like the stock match
we're used to. One break point taken and Roger reeled in ten of the
last eleven games, winning the final set six zip.
It's now setup for Roland Garros starting this week-end, with the
latest result causing a stir at the bookies. Of course my money's on
Federer, not because of his legacy, ability to adapt to clay,
sportsmanship or the fact that he's the consummate professional. He's
actually a Saffer, as his mom is from Joburg, so we might as treat him
as one our own. You have to look a long way further for the next best
boytjie on the tour. Wesley Moodie is 118 on the list and doesn't
really show signs of improving either.
I never thought I could say it, but we are actually missing Wayne
Ferreira! Forget his unfortunate complexion of an orange, he was just
so good at self-destructing in the major games. He'd be in the lead
with the hooter about to go and he'd just Francois Steyn it to Habana
and usher him under the poles. Never fulfilled his promise that
kid...pity. The other one we really do miss is of course little Amanda
Coetzer, she was a real Vrystaat hottie from Hoopstad, would run the
ends of the court stukkend and never ever had that ugly scowl of the
more followed (but less hot) Anna K. Are there any pretenders for us
to follow?I doubt it, SA Tennis looks like a real mess. New balls
please!
Thursday, May 17, 2007
The match that wasn’t meant to be.
Local derbies in the Super 14 (and 12) have always seen the form book thrown out the window; players rising to the occasion with semi final contenders losing to leaderboard cellar dwellers. It’s a sad fact but passion suddenly returns to the game when there’s no overseas opponent. So a local final should be a cracker, an absolute trench brawl with handbags flying upfront. The grace and poise of the sharks backline measured against Derick’s boot, the Sharks pack defending the hurly burly bouncers who are the Bulls forwards with a combined IQ of 412 (if you include the four guys on the bench and Wikus is injured). Instead of the expected trash talk totally dominating sporting pages, we have the whole ‘Pick Luke’ campaign flaring up again with even a law in Parliament to get him into the team and our Premier Rasool admitting that the Stormers Captain is in fact a black man. Why the suits couldn’t do it last year when Schalk’s neck finally broke and Jake subsequently refused to use a fetcher just shows how little the MPs know about rugby(I ask you 49 times - zero answers).
It’s a pity that it’s come to this, as I fear we would have seen the real battle unfold this week…The rugger battle of the net, yes it’s Sharks vs Bulls Blogoff time.
In the black corner we have farmboy turned surfer; the one, the only AJ Venter. He’s the hard man of the engine room with l’Oreal endorsements, engaged to SA's Pam Anderson, been through six knees and should undoubtedly be banned from using MS Word (or the English language for that matter). He's obviously given up as the joke factory that is AJ VENTER dot COM seems to have shutdown this season. The archives are still worth a read till he remembers how to turn a PC on again. He had a little tiff with Seth from 2Oceansvibe who kept on slating him for being such a doos. He felt Seth was harsh for saying so many bad things as he was new to blogging (and computers and English and thinking and anything not involving bliksemming everyone wearing a different jersey to you). He was very good at spellchecking but not grammar good no. So all his sentences wear spilt write butt they maid know cents.
Here's his last offering, where he forgot to even use the dreaded F7 (take a deep breath at every fullstop, it might be the last one you see in a while).
Hi every one i will say just this, being a bussiness man takes much more time than being a rugby player. Because of my operation a few weeks ago and the fact that the Sharks are on leave gave me an opertunity to get stuck into work and i love it, we are really busy though i dont even get time to write my colums anymore, i will start writing more when the season starts again so i apologies for the limited colums these days i will trfy a bit harder.
In the Blue Corner we have the man that half the population north of the Jukskei calls dad. Yes, its our very own Neil Diamond – the one, the only Steve Hofmeyer. Technically he's not in the starting line up, but he's probably the most crucial link in the Loftus team. It's no wonder Carter and McCaw fell over last week, who could regain composure after 55 000 Klippies and Cola lubricated voices sang along with Steve for the now legendary 'Blou Bul'?
Now Steve's BLOG has a fair amount of traffic, ever since 7de Laan had a feature on it the tannies have been logging on in volumes not seen since Paris's video came on the net for the first time. It's definitely worth a peek, and a real pity that he won't be performing on Saturday.
Oh yes, go Bulls...think a sharks win might cost us the World Cup, the boks will never handle as well as them.
It’s a pity that it’s come to this, as I fear we would have seen the real battle unfold this week…The rugger battle of the net, yes it’s Sharks vs Bulls Blogoff time.
In the black corner we have farmboy turned surfer; the one, the only AJ Venter. He’s the hard man of the engine room with l’Oreal endorsements, engaged to SA's Pam Anderson, been through six knees and should undoubtedly be banned from using MS Word (or the English language for that matter). He's obviously given up as the joke factory that is AJ VENTER dot COM seems to have shutdown this season. The archives are still worth a read till he remembers how to turn a PC on again. He had a little tiff with Seth from 2Oceansvibe who kept on slating him for being such a doos. He felt Seth was harsh for saying so many bad things as he was new to blogging (and computers and English and thinking and anything not involving bliksemming everyone wearing a different jersey to you). He was very good at spellchecking but not grammar good no. So all his sentences wear spilt write butt they maid know cents.
Here's his last offering, where he forgot to even use the dreaded F7 (take a deep breath at every fullstop, it might be the last one you see in a while).
Hi every one i will say just this, being a bussiness man takes much more time than being a rugby player. Because of my operation a few weeks ago and the fact that the Sharks are on leave gave me an opertunity to get stuck into work and i love it, we are really busy though i dont even get time to write my colums anymore, i will start writing more when the season starts again so i apologies for the limited colums these days i will trfy a bit harder.
In the Blue Corner we have the man that half the population north of the Jukskei calls dad. Yes, its our very own Neil Diamond – the one, the only Steve Hofmeyer. Technically he's not in the starting line up, but he's probably the most crucial link in the Loftus team. It's no wonder Carter and McCaw fell over last week, who could regain composure after 55 000 Klippies and Cola lubricated voices sang along with Steve for the now legendary 'Blou Bul'?
Now Steve's BLOG has a fair amount of traffic, ever since 7de Laan had a feature on it the tannies have been logging on in volumes not seen since Paris's video came on the net for the first time. It's definitely worth a peek, and a real pity that he won't be performing on Saturday.
Oh yes, go Bulls...think a sharks win might cost us the World Cup, the boks will never handle as well as them.
Monday, May 14, 2007
What's in a name?
One of the greatest things about our wonderful country is that life is never, ever boring (and I'm not just talking about people getting shot on the news or the Christmas Holiday Road Death Toll). Go to Perth, Copenhagen or Zurich if you want to see civil service at work efficiently. Hang around here, and just when you thought you heard it all, something unbelievable crops up to rasie the bar higher again. I just can't wait to go into the traffic department to renew my driver's next month, especially since reports that they are battling to process re-issues at the moment with the possibility of losing it and a subsequent retest(#4 it would be).
Now what have we here? Once you have recovered from the shock of seeing your first witch, you might be able to pluck up the courage to read the charming mej Du Plessis's full name. It's also further proof to my theory that there is an infitisimal number of names for afrikaans girls, as you can (and many, many parents do) just make them up. Afrikaans boys are however restricted to the biblical ones translated from english(John -> Jan/Johan, Peter -> Pieter/Piet, David -> Dawid), but of course any popular surname will do as a first name too (De Wet, Van Wyk, Marais, Erasmus etc.) The real shocker is that it took a whole 5 years for this to get on the interweb.
If it's not instantly clear what's going on here (for those souties around who only did afrikaans for 10 years during school), here's what she was trying to convey.
Forenames: Aviance Anmerí (let op na strepie op i)
translation (take note of accent figure on 'i').
Whilst on the subject, lets look at AB de Villiers-is AB his name, or is it an abreviation for two names; and if so, what are they? the first correct comment wins five Deep South Dollars
Now what have we here? Once you have recovered from the shock of seeing your first witch, you might be able to pluck up the courage to read the charming mej Du Plessis's full name. It's also further proof to my theory that there is an infitisimal number of names for afrikaans girls, as you can (and many, many parents do) just make them up. Afrikaans boys are however restricted to the biblical ones translated from english(John -> Jan/Johan, Peter -> Pieter/Piet, David -> Dawid), but of course any popular surname will do as a first name too (De Wet, Van Wyk, Marais, Erasmus etc.) The real shocker is that it took a whole 5 years for this to get on the interweb.
If it's not instantly clear what's going on here (for those souties around who only did afrikaans for 10 years during school), here's what she was trying to convey.
Forenames: Aviance Anmerí (let op na strepie op i)
translation (take note of accent figure on 'i').
Whilst on the subject, lets look at AB de Villiers-is AB his name, or is it an abreviation for two names; and if so, what are they? the first correct comment wins five Deep South Dollars
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Undercover brutha
Team Deep South finds itself on the wrong side of the equator this
week (yes the bath does drain the other way). If I follow the site
mantra that south is cool, then being this far North of the wors
curtain is indeed way too damn HOT! It's actually amazing how these
people survived before air-con, last Thursday I got to walk around
outside in 46'C..not cool at all.
week (yes the bath does drain the other way). If I follow the site
mantra that south is cool, then being this far North of the wors
curtain is indeed way too damn HOT! It's actually amazing how these
people survived before air-con, last Thursday I got to walk around
outside in 46'C..not cool at all.
I have to admit to selling my soul and working for a lame-ass company
where we follow the $$$'s, but because it's military and kinda hush
hush, that's all the details I'm prepared to divulge. If it helps,
then the final clue is that I did indeed have a McArabia happy meal
the other night, the kind of chow that makes Kagiso Khulani haute
cuisine.
Quite different being considered a businessman(as opposed to
peasant/scum), and the hotel is quite larney, there's even have an 8
lane bowling alley in the gym. Ahh, gym, my one last rock of normalcy
in this sea of odd odd culture. Now I've never had a gym contract
because I live in Cape Town, where the gym is fresh air, beautiful and
best of all, free. Gym only makes sense if you live in Joburg(too
dangerous outdoors), London(sh1t weather/no grass) or Stockholm(fit
Swedish iceprincesses). Luckily it's airconditioned, so the ambient is
only about 34'C. Five minutes on the spinner bike and it's all
sweatier than the Protea's changeroom before a WC semifinal. Quick
little hop and a skip to the treadmills with individual TV screens
20cm from your face and within an hour it's time for a swim.
Now I'm no Mark Spitz (but there is a resemblance as the razor hasn't
been touched in a while), but here I am the Greek god of swimming
(call me Pisces). "In the land of the blind, the one eyed man is
king", and so it goes with my ability to do 25 metres in less than a
minute. 6 laps of crawl without stopping for a break had a group of
onlookers already. I think I had them with the tumbleturns, but when
we started 'three stroke breathing cycles' the boys emptied the saunas
to watch from upstairs. I finished off with a length underwater, and
even if that's the highest point of aquatic career, then I'll die a
satisfied man.
The other activity that is quite foreign to me, but I'm almost forced
to do out of sheer boredom, is watch TV in my hotel room. The Boss was
right when he moaned about 57 channels, there's nothing ever on. I sat
through a season 2 episode of Prison Break, if he's such a legend, how
come this guy is still on the inside? I have however caught up on some
Discovery channel staples, and particularly enjoyed following some
imbeciles with more amex credit than braincells try climb Everest.
It's obvious why there's often multiple deaths up there these days,
stooopid stubborn tourists with limited mountaineering skills and it's
actually a dangerous place to start with. Makes sharkbaiting in False
Bay look like a game of Scrabble. There was one dude who summited as
the first dual. He's got nothing below each knee but some titanium
hardware connected to the self same crampons as the rest of the party.
I'm not too sure what the fuss is about, surely if it weighs less and
can't get frostbite it's gonna be an advantage?
Classic conversation of the trip:
Paki taxi driver: You from USA?
Me: no South Africa
Ptd: Jonty Rhodes!!!
Me: yes, Jonty Rhodes!
Ptd: I think you from USA...you look Walker Texas Ranger!
(much laughing followedby me rubbing my stubble and practising my
karate chop on his dashboard)
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