bow off...

Dennis (today's guest blogger) first shot to fame in our household in one of the lesser well-known  YouTube videos "It's my 30th Birthday" (view at:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XMqkIgTShPA&feature=player_embedded).  


I didn't know at the time of viewing that we would actually get to know him and when we finally met in Argentina, he kept us so entertained that we skipped our trip to Evita's grave and instead imbibed in copious amounts of Patagonia beer.  He's a worldly-wise, brilliant writer with a mind is as quick as his tongue.  I regret not having played his suggested game when I was in Japan...

Ask someone to impersonate a Japanese person and there will likely be a combination of pretending to take a photo with a gasp of awe, holding their hands together and saying “konnichiwa” or bowing deeply with an “arigato” at the peak. While these might be ignorant generalisations, as most stereotypes are, they are not entirely removed from the truth.

Over 125 million people inhabit the four main islands of Japan enjoying a safe and peaceful community, arguably the safest in the world. A key ingredient to this successful society is the respect that the Japanese show for each other. This society has been moulded through the simple concept of showing respect for others. One of the most impactful ways to show respect to others is via a bow. The lower the better.

In my days as a high school teacher, every class was inevitably ignited with the students standing up, a predetermined spokesperson yelling “rei”, in an unenthusiastic monotone, leading to the class to uniformly fold their body into a 90-degree bow while blurting “arigato Dennis Sensei”. Meet a friend of a friend and you will be confronted by a “yoroshiku” followed by a casual bow. Buy a bus ticket at the station and a bow will follow your change. Give way to a pedestrian crossing the road and you will be rewarded with a bow. Bows represent respect and respect shapes Japanese society. They are so important that they actually learn how to bow properly at school in large practice sessions.

This can be daunting to a foreigner who has never bowed before. Do I look up as I bow? How far down should I go? Hands at the side? Timing? But there is no need to worry. This needn’t be a point of fear but a chance to enjoy the difference in culture. Introducing the revolutionary game, Ultimate Bow Off!

This game works particularly well in restaurants because commonly as you square up your bill and exit, all staff members will stop and bow as a sign of gratitude. It is nice to receive this bow to top off a nice sushi meal or a hot bowl of ramen. But why not enjoy this even further by throwing in a game?

Now, as I mentioned, Japan is all about respect. Respect for your elders, your superiors or your customers. Therefore, it is a sign of respect to have the last bow. You leave a restaurant and receive the standard good-bye bow. It works. The staff are happy, they showed their respect for your business, you are happy to receive the respectful gesture. Enter the chrome double-ended spanner into the works. What if you bow back and say “arigato”? This plunges the whole system into chaos. They thought their work had finished. You ate, you paid, they bowed, you left. Done. But now, they are required to meet the customer respect requirements and bow back. They do. It’s solved. They had to double their bowing performance, not a big deal, back to caring for the other patrons.

Now, imagine the crazy idea of replying to their second bow with a second rebound bow. Therefore, tripling the work of the bowing staff. They once again reply. You match their third bow. You have entered into a bow battle. They can’t let you have the last bow, that would be terribly rude! We’ve now slipped into the extreme sport of ultimate bow off.

Who knows when this will end? You continue to match their bows. Remember that there is very often not just one staff member involved, but the chef, the waiters and the cashier. Each one of your reply bows multiplies the bow volume by four or five. After a bow rally of around five returns, other customers have noticed this battle and stop their slurping for a second to observe. This places even more pressure on the staff bowing away frantically.

As time goes on you may lose the chef, he will admit defeat and subtly side step out of the conflict hoping that no one notices. However, the cashier is like a front line soldier in the midst of battle. He can’t just drop his gun, smile and say “can we stop this now?”. He has to keep on bowing away. Some will do so with the same bravery of a frontline soldier invading enemy ground, not letting the abnormality of the situation affect their perfect bowing style, perfected at school.

Some will see the funny side of it and bow with a cheeky smirk gradually letting each bow slip closer to the border of casualty seen amongst friends. The more ‘rebelious’ staff members will immediately catch on and cease to participate in such a game. Extremely rude if you ask me.  Whichever viewpoint you come from, Ultimate bow off is here and destined to change the face of this rigid formality forever.

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call of the wild... or ... the little trumper boy

The chap I'm about to introduce to you was probably writing in the womb.  I would happily trade my writing skills for his, but fear that along with it would come his devilishly dark, wicked way of seeing the world.  But when he's not devilishly dark he's witty and hilarious and also a member of the "WTF? Club of Parenthood".  Sean didn't have a photo to give me which makes me think he might also be a spy. A spy with a sense of humour - now there's a first. He's a parent of two and master of none - at least that's what he says...

I am reading my daughter a bed time story about forest faeries when this naked arse backs into her room and let’s rip before zooming off again. And it is not a pip squeak either. It’s a back-arching, leg-lifting rotter of a fart, all poise, elegance, and dare I say it, grace.

My son, I am not ashamed to admit, is no ordinary farter. He’s been trained. He knows all about things like angles, stance and delivery (and of course, that holy grail of showmen, timing). In short, he is a professional, and while it is true he possess an innate ability (inherited, paternal grandfathers side), I won’t sell him short with flippancy. What you experience when you hear Luc fart is hours of spontaneous practice. Just the other day we bought him a guitar and already it is gathering dust. Should have looked at the wind instruments. But even then, I doubt he would have played a bugle for long. He favours acoustic over electric and know he would have shunned any form of musical technology that strays from the raw power of his own bum cheeks.

Agreed, the appreciation of his talents is limited to a man’s world (like the drunken, back-slapping brotherhood of males around a late night camp fire), but this is not a bad thing. Is there not a certain mystique that bonds the farter with his listeners? A secret handshake, a sheepish look, a “God, my eyes are watering!” cry for help that separates the common house-farter from the true professional?

This is not a clarion call for farting to become mainstream, for farting is subversive by nature and always will be. Far better it remains an underground movement, a leftfield force ready to be unleashed in classrooms, trains, and for the truly daring, weddings.

Poems have been written about love, love lost and mornings which have broken. Alas, there is no ode to the true pleasure of working man: that first fart of the day.

Those in the know will understand . . . that morning stretch as you sleepily make your way to the bathroom . . . the first shift in your abdomen, (usually while making a pee) that alerts you to the fact that something special is about to happen . . . a change in stance and some fancy footwork, maybe? Perhaps a knee is slightly raised. We all have our special techniques. You can feel that trapped air shouldering its way, bit by bit, through your pipes, determined to exit. Nothing will stop it. It is a blast forged in the pits of hell.

Kisses may come from heaven, but a fart is the devils work.

And already, before its even over, you can hear her screams of disgust, “You f@#king   pig!”

Ah yes, morning has broken!

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Mug shot.... A story from the Argentinian Edge

Because it's the season to be jolly, and jolly funny, I've hustled together some of my favorite funny people to appear as guest bloggers.  Just my little way of spreading the Christmas Cheer. 

Chanelle is a would-be-country bumkin who, straight out of school, moved to the big city. As Cape Town became too small, she moved to another big city and currently lives in Buenos Aires.  When she's not making jokes, she's making people laugh and when she's not doing, that she's sleeping.

Introducing the fiercely funny Chanelle Le Roux with her tips on how to survive Big City Living...

Some might say it is luck that has resulted in me ´free from mug´ after 5 years of taking public transport and walking to work.  I myself put it down to some well thought out tips in order to scare off potential 9 to 5 muggers. So here it is:  10 top-to-toe tips on how to avoid the mug.

The ponytail – unless you are a gymnast who just can’t live without one - don’t do it! The ponytail is the handle to harassment. It is a lot easier to grab and pull a bopping ponytail than it is lose hair. On that note don’t be scared to wash your hair infrequently to get that grunge look. People tend not to approach dirty looking folk.

Make down – ease off on the make up when you are walking to and from work. This will make you look tired and if you are anything like me when you are tired, muggers will avoid coming even 5 metres close to you. Bags under your eyes are a great way to make people think you just might be on drugs and if you are, people will generally steer clear of you.

Under the hood – hoodys are a great way to scare off potential muggers. Not only do you feel as hard core as a gangster but you could look like one and if you look like one you might act like one and if you act like one the mugger might think you have some kind of gangster weapon you could bust out if he comes close.

The shoes – if you’re working at a fancy corporation where heels are required then you can probably afford a car anyway, but if you don’t, it’s all about the All Stars kicks. Semi-gangster shoes make you look the part of someone not to be fucked with AND they are easy to run in. If a mugger is surveying his potential mugees he will more than likely go for the Helen in heels who can’t run fast in her Jimmy Choos rather than the All Star Alison who can run away if need be.

Other goes-without-saying ‘get-up´; avoid girly handbags that are easy to rip off your shoulder. Rather wear a backpack and while you’re at it, throw some ‘gun range member’ patches on it.

The Limp – I was going to say the walk but the limp is more fitting. Seeing as you are not on a catwalk but rather more than likely on dirty city streets, it isn’t necessary to maintain a sexy strut on your way to work. Limp! Even if you feel ridiculous, do it!  I have perfected the limp over the years but in order to get you started remember: the limp is not 'I’ve just stubbed my toe'  limp but rather the ‘I’ve got something heavier in my left pocket than in my right pocket¨  limp. It is a difficult thing to master but when muggers see it they know that they may not be dealing with the defenceless beauty pageant contestant. Limp with confidence, don’t saunter and don’t look at the ground either. A tough looking hunch works well with the limp.

Drop some 50-cent – not the money because that is what you are trying to keep away from the mugger, but rather - the rapper. Listen to rap or rock for that matter.  It a good way to make you feel like you are angry with the world and if you can channel that into the vibe you put out then that’s just what the muggers will steer clear of. Don’t be scared to adopt a bitchy look on your face.

Props – a mugger is more than likely to stay away from someone

like Mary Poppins' who has an umbrella in her hand ready to use in the event that someone attacks her (don’t let her fool you, it’s not just used for flying). If you have something in your hand that you could potentially use as a weapon, muggers tend to stay away from you. If you don’t have anything and feel that someone is approaching you, fiddle in your pockets. They might think you are about to whip out some mad mace.

Get chatty  - no need to befriend your potential mugger but if you feel that you are being followed or about to be mugged make a hard 180, look right at your mugger and say something. Anything. Comment on the weather will usually do just fine. If you acknowledge the mugger he knows he has been seen and that makes it easier for you to identify him in a line up if he ever got caught.

Unleashing the loco – this is my favourite (mainly because my natural nature is ‘not all there’). It really does work. Whenever I have felt a mugger is not far behind and ready to attack I unleash the weirdest sounds combined with any kind of abnormal movement my body can make. I can guarantee you that if the mugee looks an ounce of crazy the mugger will stay away. It wouldn’t hurt to make the odd twitch while you walk too.

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chocola-tear

Look, I don’t know who invented advent calendars but truly, it’s just a horrible idea. 

My mom gave Mr. Professorpants his first ever advent calendar.  He was 3 at the time.  Now, I’m not sure what your adult willpower is like, but I’ll wager that a you can roughly halve that and then halve it again to estimate the willpower of a 3 year old.

My mom patiently explained to a 3 year old Mr. PP how it works. Feeling proud that she’d done a good job at clarifying Advent Calendars 101, she left the room.  Mistake number one, or should I say mistake number two.  Mistake number one was buying the bloody calendar in the first place. Things got real quiet in the room and 10 minutes later, Mr. PP came out with a chocolate moustache (and beard for that matter). Upon investigation, we saw that we were already on the 20^th of December. 

Luckily, there weren’t actually 20 chocolates missing, but rather that only 5 had been consumed – just not in the correct date order you understand.  (Dates? Really? Dates for pre-schoolers?) For a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of parent like me, I considered it a triumph that there were any chocolates left at all.

My mom, on the other hand, was horrified.  Don’t your kids understand the virtue of delayed satisfaction, she asked? Um, that would be a definite no. I hung my head feigning shame, whilst wondering if I could nick a few choccies myself and blame it on the kid. Come to think of it, surely the whole phrase ‘delayed satisfaction’ is a bit of an oxymoron?

Perhaps I should point out at this stage that the date wasn’t even the first of December.  Its was mid November. I just knew that there was not a hope in hell of trying to stretch out this bloody calendar till the 25 December and wondered how many calendars we'd make our way through before Christmas day. 

Apparently, its a nutritional no-no to start the day with a sugar rush. My mom said that Mr.PP should have breakfast before attacking the calendar. Of course, I sagely agreed, wondering how on earth I’d prevent the Dawn-Chocolate-Attack (considering that Mr. PP is up and eating before I’ve had a chance to formally exit Lala-land.)

Eventually (grasping a straws now) I said to my mom, (in what I could only hope was an accusing tone) “Well what did you say to him? I mean how did you explain it?”

Then she said, “I told him that he must have one every day until they’re finished and then when they’re finished, it’ll be Christmas day”. You see, that’s where she went wrong.  He just thought that if he ate them quicker, then Christmas would come sooner. Mother of mother, I mean honestly, you'd think she’d know better.

P.S.  Consider this a warning, if you’re pre-menstrual, that advent calendar is toast.

P.S.S.  If you think the advent calendar thing went badly for Mr. PP, times that by 10 for TooFastTooFurious.

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I'll get a round toit

It’s a rainy day.  A perfect day to conquer a pile of paperwork. Mmm. I think that perhaps I should first start writing down ideas for my planned book: “Procrastination Techniques From Around The World” (ehem, while the ideas are still fresh).

Hold on. When last did I check the hair growth on my face?  I know it’s nearly Movember but even so. I’d better tweeze my chin.  I can’t be seen at home like this, really. Better to do it now incase more whiskers grow.

I really think that I’ll make some progress with that paperwork today. I’ve already prepared my brain to think laterally by spending a couple of hours looking at pictures of Heath Ledger, Javier Bardem and Gerard Pique online. This will stand me in good stead when it comes to using the net as a reference tool. I’ve also done my best to find interviews on YouTube where the interviewer doesn’t say more than the interviewee. There are none.

Has that pile of paperwork inflated in the last couple of minutes?  I could swear it looked smaller a moment a go. It’s definitely on the top of my to-do list but what kind of person would I be if I didn’t first update my social networking status and check for messages?  As it is, due to my twitter inertia I discovered too late that Ryk Neethling was on TV this morning. He was up early, I was up early, would could have shared a moment.

But I missed it, so to cheer me up I thought that I might start a bit of a conversation on Facebook with the status update of: Foolish Friday? Think of a song title then add "in my big pants" to the end and see how long you can keep a straight face. I'll go first. Smooth Criminal in my big pants.  Turns out only 4 people found it as hilarious as me.

I understand that before you start any paperwork, it’s important to exercise your brain with a bit of reading. So I’ve just dedicated some time to perusing a few dictionaries and thesauruses and have had quite a few revelations.  Napalm is not a moisturizer. Imagine my shock. Who would name something so nasty so nicely?  And apparently, angry and hungry are the only two words that end in ‘gry’.  But one will often lead to the other so I think that they need to include ‘hangry’ which is hungry and angry at the same time. I also wonder why the word reckless is reckless when it really should be reckmore?

Did I mention that there’s number work involved in this paperwork? Which brings me to the YouTube clip of ‘Miss USA 2011’ entrants who were asked if Math should be taught in Schools. Its not fair to ask a trick question like that.  I mean we all know that number-crunchers and Mathematicians are just rotten showoffs.

Before I get stuck into those figures, just remind me again what happens when the left and right column don’t balance?  Hang on.  Is that fluff I see on my keyboard?  I’d better go get the ear-buds.

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horsing around...

Everybody knows at least one travel-wanker.  You know the type. They say Barthelona instead of Barcelona. Or yaaawts instead of yachts. Or kwa-soar instead of croissant. Or Paree instead of Paris. All of which are equally annoying. Even worse, they’re the kind of people who act blasé about travel but make sure that you overhear them say stuff like “I’m so over New York.  Really, I can’t be bothered to stop there unless it’s on my way to ski”. *  These are all reasons why I’m a bit reluctant to tell all about my recent travels. However, I feel it’s my duty to forewarn you about the perils of becoming a horseman.

Our visit to the Gaucho ranch had absolutely nothing to do with my cowboy-fetish or my weakness for farmhands with Spanish accents. We were excited to leave the city and see a bit of the country side  - though having flown over it only a few days before, pretty much knew that it was mostly just pampas, pampas and more pampas as far as the eye could see. I’m sure outdoorsy types would be able to tell me about the wealth of fauna and flora to be found there, but a simple girl like me? I just saw pampas grass.

Upon arrival, ranch-hands promptly plied us with red-wine and a “typical of Argentina” pie called an empanada.  Just as well, because booze before noon goes straight to my legs and I need something (like an empanada) to keep me vertical. Warning No.1: beware of the establishment that serves booze before noon. 

Little did I know, the wine was intended to give us courage for the horse-riding.  It’s no secret that I am no equestrian aficionado. Horses can sense my fear - though why a horse would be nervous of something that’s afraid of them I’ll never know. I mean really, what’s the point? Do they try and out-nervous you?

Due to my lingering in the background (hoping there wouldn’t be enough beasts to go round) I saw (mild panic setting in) that the best horses were already taken.  I was left with a choice between a mini-pony (pampas height) and a very wild looking horse (much, much taller than pampas height.)  Naturally, I chose the wild one. I never found out his real name, but lets call him “Bad Attitude”, or BA for short.

BA was grumpy that he had to stand next to the platform thingy so that I could get on.  He made a lot of sharp head movements and farting noises to express his disgust.  Clearly, he was the gaucho’s favorite and was used to a high level of equestrian excellence and was pissed off at being lumped with a novice rider like me. As BA and I left the corral, the turkeys made a lot of noise and I knew that they knew something about BA that I didn’t. How does that song go? Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry…

He kept pulling at the reigns in a very irritable fashion, strayed (deliberately, I think) from the herd and eventually ended up kicking another horse, who dared follow too closely. He also kept staring at me with mad eyes, which is probably exactly how mine looked to him.

By the end, my nerves were shot.  Big kisser and I almost had an argy-bargy because he rode up next to me and made that kck-kck noise with his mouth, which only encouraged BA’s bad behaviour.

I was never so relieved to touch terra firma.  With my dreams of becoming honorary gaucho-girl in ruins, all I could do was drink a lot of Argentinian beer chased by caffeine infused Yerba Mata (I don’t care what they say, that stuff is lethal.)

In future I shall stick to the tango.  At least I won’t have as far to fall.

* (True comment said by original travel-wanker).

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auditions being held today for kings of leon ...

While at the Coldplay concert this week (I know, I know…concert-wanker alert), I had a revelation. I think it’s common knowledge that the opening act has to audition in order to secure their spot in the limelight. Actually, I may have either made that up or heard it from an unreliable source.  Anyhow, it occurred to me that people who wish to attend a live concert, should not merely have the cash to do so, but should also go through a fairly stringent audition process aswell.

The thinking behind this, of course, is to group like-minded people together.  But isn’t that what ‘golden circle’, ‘standing’ and ‘seated’ already do, I hear you say?  No.  When golden circle and standing have sold out, then the only thing left is seated, even if you’re not really the sitting type.  I daresay, even golden circle and standing should be divided up.  Here are a few more realistic ways of grouping an audience:

Inclined-to-whinge

There are always, always, ALWAYS people who whinge before, during or after a concert.  Sometimes, they do all three (if they’re really good at it). “Oh my god, the queue”, “stop pushing”, “the acoustics suck”, “you’ve just messed your beer on me”, “could you get off your boyfriend’s shoulder’s - I can’t see”, ”it took us 3 hours to get out of there”.  These are all typical (but not limited to) whinge-points aimed at friends or strangers.  

If they’re not brave enough to whinge to strangers, then they will find a way to ear-fuck you if they’re in your circle of friends: “Actually, I thought we were all going to stick together”, ”I can’t believe you just abandoned me”,  “I can’t believe some people come to a concert and get drunk”, “I can’t believe you are so drunk’, “‘I wish I was more drunk”. These are typical (but not limited to) whinge-points aimed at you by someone you know and (quite horrifically) chose to accompany to the concert.  These people will not even make the short-list in the audition. They will be sent straight home. Also, unfriend immediately and not only on Facebook.

Too-short-to-enjoy

I don’t like to be shortist, but this group often accidentally overlaps with the inclined-to-whinge group.  It’s long been an intention of mine to patent “blow up shoes” (sold at the “official merchandise” kiosk at the concert).  They would be slip on (like hotel slippers) and inflatable (like a lilo) and can be inflated to suit your needs (i.e. a lot of hot air if you are very short, not so much hot air if you are just a little bit short.)  I think that there will be a huge market for these.  But, if this doesn’t pan out, then surely (like in school photos – which I think work very well) short people should be sent to the front rows and should just have to make friends with other short people for the night.  Sorry, but you can’t hang with your tall friends and whinge. You have to choose.  Measure up and commit to the process in the audition and you’ll thank yourself later on.

Too-cool-to-enjoy

These are the would-be-muso’s who are just too cool to clap or sing along.  At a glance it might even appear that they are so, so musical, that they are not enjoying the performance at all. 

I-can-afford-it-so-I-went-and-then-bragged-about-it

It’s nasty Sods-Law that it’ll be one of these true concert-wankers who catch the drummer’s sticks, or the lead guitarists headband, or the vocalist’s underpants.  They don’t even like the band and know none of the lyrics but because it’s the cool thing to do, they will score golden circle tickets and be the original fake fan.  Sorry, but the audition process will make mincemeat out of you.  In order to attend a concert you have to be able to sing either one whole song from start to finish of said band or, you have to know at least 10 chorus’s (must be different chorus’s) of said band.

Strictly-seated

This is the most dangerous group of all.  They can audition and in theory could even attend the concert but must be limited to the very high seating where no-one wants to go.  The Mordor of seating, if you will.  There is often a very strong possibility that these people overlap with the “inclined to whinge” category.  If you’re anywhere near them, if you so much as think of standing up you will be met with a vicious glare and be told to ‘sit down, I can’t see’. The audition process for these people is more of a CT scan, to see if they are incapable of standing (understandable really, though the ‘unable-to-stand’ group is different to the ‘strictly-seated’ group and are often very happy to join the seated-but-want-to-stand group.)  The audition process will also clarify just how deep your grumpy affliction runs.  These people will generally NOT stand up to counteract your standing up.  It’s just the principle.  They’ve paid for seated not standing. Arsehole. Under no circumstances will you see these folk getting swept up in the moment. 

Seated-but-want-to-stand

For all the poor folk who either couldn’t afford golden circle or standing, or booked too late to get the tickets they really wanted. These are the people rock-stars really want at their concert because they serve as the best performance barometer.  If the bands doing a good job at rocking the crowd, the seated-but-want-to-stand group will most certainly be jumping up (in excitement) and then back down again (trying to appease the ‘strictly-seated’s” around them).  The audition process is a series of jack-in-the-box squats coupled with a head-whip and a very insincere “sorry”.

Seated-but-want-to-dance

These are in even more trouble than the seated-but-want-to-stand group. By the time they are up and dancing they really don’t give a tinker’s fart who can see and who can’t. And quite rightly so.  It’s shameful to go to a music event and not dance.  Embarrassing even.  Imagine the poor musician who has to perform to a stationary audience? How very awful.  The audition process for this group is all about personality.  They don’t care if you can’t dance, they don’t care if you’ve got no rhythm, you just have to put your back into it and show that you know how to have a good time.

Sorry Coldplay.  I did what I could.  You’ll know for next time to audition your audience.

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