June 2004 Archives

Two dear friends of mine are moving back to South Africa after spending several years in the UK.

Last night I received a funny e-mail from one of them, and she seems to be going through the typical "Stages of Moving."

Don't know what I'm talking about? (As usual... ha ha)

Well, not to worry, because of course I'm going to tell you (also as usual).

The Stages of Moving are very similar to the "stages of mourning," but instead of grief, it applies to - my but you're so quick on the uptake - moving!

And oh, yes... it most definitely exists. I've experienced it every single time I've ever moved, and well, I've moved a LOT.

Why, perhaps you already do look like a "star" and you just don't know it yet!

In case you have a scanned picture of yer mug and a sudden burning desire to find out which hunk or starlet you resemble, follow Kellen's lead and go over here.

I shamefully admit: Amidst the throes of boredom which is my life and some severe caffeine withdrawal symptoms (if you pay even an iota of attention to this site, you are bound to notice that I tend to blame all the lame things I do on a lack of caffeine) I caved and I also did it. I thought for sure no one who has ever reached "star status" on this earth got there by looking anything like me, unless they made it in the world of radio broadcasting. (In which case they definitely don't have my voice either!)

But the computer begs to differ, apparently. Because according to my submitted picture (and no, you will NEVER see it so don't even ask!) I look like:

Purring Dog?

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In addition to having flat feet and several psychological issues*, I now seem to be suffering from a new affliction.

I discovered it on Sunday morning at around 4:30a.m. (I'm being very specific, because I need your help in coming up with a diagnosis. So, if you're a lay-doctor who's been waiting for a big break, pay close attention, for this might just be your lucky moment!)

Test 2.

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Wanna see if this uploads from a friend's house.

Happy Sunday, everyone!

Grunt Slam

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Man oh man I'm starting to feel like a true geek. Because not only is it Friday night and I'm home, but I've just downloaded Mozilla and I'm testing it out.

So far so good and I'm very impressed, because it's much faster than IE!

I've been experiencing a few glitches on the pc lately, so hopefully Mozilla has helped to iron some of them out.

Skylight Blue

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I was supposed to go to my volunteer job this morning (yes, believe it or not, I actually venture out into the world and pretend to do something useful for mankind once a week), but I couldn’t fall asleep last night until about six this morning (too afraid that I’ll have another treadmill dream, apparently), and since I could barely open my eyes after two hours of fitful sleep and felt I wouldn’t be very useful or productive, I decided to play hooky.

Thanks to her kindness and generosity, I too have now been let into that somewhat exclusive and seemingly elusive G-mail club.

Thank you dear! This certainly makes up for never belonging to any sort of clicque or even an upscale and oh-so-preppy country club where everyone sips martinis and munches on delicate hors d'oevres after an exhausting round of golf or polo or lacrosse whilst lightly perspiring in their designer sports gear and contemplating ways to spend their multiple trust funds.

In fact, I believe that this is much better because it's certainly far less exhausting!

So thanks again my dear kdeweb!

When I heard him talk on the news for the first time, I knew...

Mike Melvill, the 63-year old guy who successfully piloted the very first privately-financed aircraft into space in a historic mission, is a South African!

Formerly from Durban where his sister still resides, Mike, who is also the very first civilian astronaut, and his wife (also South African) now live close to the Mojave Desert in California.

But what makes the story even more remarkable is that Mike never finished high school.


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Brace yerselves, because I've just remembered... last night I dreamed that I EXERCISED! Whoa!

No kidding.

I was on the treadmill and I was FLYING. No huffing and puffing, no sweat, no fatigue, no cramps or aches or pains.

In fact, in my dream (nightmare?) I had so much energy, I remember walking to every single one of the tracks on a 90-minute long CD and then I just KEPT ON GOING!

Yeah, right. Only in my dreams.

Anyway, I do have an idea as to what's caused this very disturbing dream, but I still would like to know what it means. Are there any dream-symbolism experts among one of you, my three loyal readers?

And even more importantly than that: can the dream be counted as real exercise?

(Take note: I'll be ignoring overlooking any answers boiling down to "no.")

Hooray! In that case, I'm done for the day!

Time for reclining and coffee and Dr. Phil and Oprah.


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For this summer, I’ve kissed any possibility of ever having a social life goodbye when I was cast to be in a play and when I, in a fit of ongoing insanity, accepted the part.

Rehearsals began just this past weekend, so I have been lustily procrastinating (ignoring?) the idea of being in the spotlight - albeit a very tiny, very dim and at times even a flickering, spotlight – because well, for a girl who hardly leaves the house by day, it’s difficult to fathom such a concept without wanting to hurl and break into hives.

So imagine my unpleasant surprise when I was told at last night’s rehearsal that we were going to be photographed this evening!

Unflappable Goose

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Despite not being the crowd favourite, he still won today!

And even though I'm not the biggest golf fan that's ever lived, as a fellow South African I'm really proud of Retief Goosen tonight, or, as the American announcers referred to him throughout the tournament, the "unflappable goose."

I find that nickname quite charming but also very humourous, since his Afrikaans surname is really not pronounced like that at all. It is rather difficult for English-speakers to say "Goosen" correctly, though, so I like that he has become known as The Goose around these parts.

But anyway, he has proven that he can still play golf, no matter what anyone decides to call him.


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First rehearsal down... but plenty more to go and therefore ample opportunities for things to go awry.

Yes, indeed. My glass is not only always half-empty, but it's chipped as well. And Murphy (the one from Murphy's Law fame) is forever breathing down my neck, so I have every right to my (justified) paranoia.

But I've survived the first one! Yay! And more than that, I even had some good old-fashioned fun.

Now for the gossip.

While you will all (hopefully) be kicking up your heels and relaxing this weekend, I will be kicking off intensive rehearsals for an annual summer theatrical event: The Baltimore/D.C. Playwright's Festival.

Aye, the girl is a drama queen wannabe thespian.

Has anyone in the States been watching Jeopardy lately? (Yeah, yeah... go ahead. Mock the shameless geek in me. Actually, I doubt that watching a certain quiz show is enough to turn me into a geek, but then... what do I know?)

In case you haven't been watching ...

Emily has been blogging for a year today. And she's updated EVERY SINGLE DAY (often times more than once a day) since starting idontthink.

Happy blogging birthday, Emily! And thank you, because your blogging has really been our gain. I think I speak for everyone who reads your site (and subsequently mine too, because I'm only here and being read in the first place thanks to you!) when I say that reading what you have to say is always a daily highlight. You deserve all the good that's come out of this for you, and I have a feeling that this is merely the beginning.

Here's to many more and regular (if not daily) posts! And tiara happy hours!

P.S. You say you still feel like the "new kid," but it certainly doesn't reflect in your writing ability. In fact, I was quite surprised when you said a few days ago that this is only your first blogging anniversary, because you're such a pro.

Anyone who still doubts the fact that men and women are wired very differently has clearly never seen an episode of Classmates, that “reality” show which allows people to reunite with former and currently unsuspecting school/college/military friends (or bullies, or enemies, or old flames) after several years.

Now, you may be wondering why on earth I’m watching such tripe to begin with. Or you may very well not be wondering at all. Either way, you know that I’m going to tell you why!

Fingers fumbling through flats and sharps, stumbling over staccatos.

Mercifully deaf to the cacophonic dissonance, I confuse fortissimo with pianissimo and push my ambidexterity's limits through unskilled arpeggios.

A daydream about Rachmaninov concertos renews my inspiration. Prematurely, I attempt a jazz riff.

The well-eared Piano for Dummies crashes onto the keys. Disheartened, I break for a cappuccino - seemingly the only Italian word I understand.

But tomorrow I will try again, hoping that a distinctly unmusical old dog of nearly thirty can be taught a new trick, or at least a new tune.

Yay! Finally everyone who placed in Emily's contest now has a blog of her own, including third-place winner Kalisah who can now be found here thanks to the gentle nudgings of Mice.

Go say "Bienvenue!" (Oui, it has to be En Français because she is off to Monaco soon and she should practice, non?)

Many wise bloggers (redundant that, for thou art all wise, my clever, witty, web-savvy friends!) seem to be on their way to weight loss success, and of course, I too want to hop onto the rapidly departing bandwagon.

And that’s my problem right there, see. Because I know I’m supposed to be running alongside the bandwagon, or even push it for some much needed resistance training. But no, I want to hitch a ride while still reaping the same rewards as everyone else.

Ah, if only we could all do that… Wouldn’t that simplify life so much for everyone?

I'm feeling a little under the weather today, and it's been drizzling and kind of cold outside, so the fact that I'm feeling under that should give you a good idea as to my condition and you should all be very sympathetic and immediately send soup.

Don't worry. I think I'll survive. If only to continue annoying a few (read: thousands of) people.

So, what else can I tell you in my very South African accent?

Oh, speaking of which, in case any of you have ever wondered what a South African accent sounds like (and of course you have, because that's exactly the type of thing Americans wonder about constantly, right?
"Mmmm. Say, Ethel, how do you think South Africans talk?"
"Why, Harold. Everyone knows they speak with their mouths, just like us!"), you could've found out today if you had managed to catch a bit of President Reagan's funeral service in California where the very South African Reverend Michael Wenning officiated.

Yes, that is indeed what I sound like. (Only without the deep, male voice.) And that is what Charlize Theron also could've sounded like to this very day had she not watched too many Love Boat reruns on television. (Of course, the fact that she now has a multi-award winning movie career worth a few gazillion dollars thanks to that very same Love Boat accent (okay, AND her long legs, blue eyes, rockin' body, acting ability... grrr) is entirely besides the point.)

Now that I'm into this whole namedropping thing about notable South Africans: Anyone ever heard of a singing/song-writing/guitar playing guy named Dave Matthews? Yeah, I thought not. He's kind of obscure, but the whole South African community is holding out hope that he'll make it big one day, like when the "ants [come] marching" or when "satellites" spin around the earth...

(Please don't stop me. I'm amusing myself.)

Oh, and if you've ever watched Sixty Minutes II on CBS, you may have caught another whiff of the old accent as brought to the American public on an almost weekly basis by the lovely South African expatriate television reporter Ms Lara Logan.

There are even more (excluding me, ha ha), but luckily for you, I've run out of steam for the time being.

So, why don't you regale me with your very own encounters of the South African kind?

And if you have encountered any South Africans, then you obviously know what the accent sounds like, which makes this entry entirely useless.

Found at Lomara's. (I feel completely illiterate. So if you don't see me for a few weeks, I'll be reading.)

Ok, it’s a long list… look through it carefully, then follow these directions:

bold those you’ve read
italicise started-but-never-finished
add three of your own
post to your blog

I've been laughing so hard all afternoon that the neighbours have started banging on the walls in frustration.

Actually, they're doing some sort of extreme home makeover, but I rather like the idea that they could also be slightly annoyed by my ongoing, manic and hyena-like cackle.

The reason for my ab-strengthening outburst (does laughing-so-much-that-it-makes-your-stomach-ache-and-leaves-you-breathless count as exercise? Shall I hold my breath for six-pack abs?) is the always witty and creative Diana Goodman and her ongoing commentary on parents picking extremely bad baby names.

The awful names are actually just plain sad. But her comments are a scream! EVERY PERSON SHOULD READ IT BEFORE REGISTERING A BABY NAME.

So, pass on her URL to anyone you know who are about to have a kid. It may be too late for poor little Ms. Apple Paltrow-Martin and countless other innocents, but let's see how many little souls we can save from at least that one burden!

Warning though: don't read whilst consuming food or beverage. Could be fatal, or at the very least, incredibly messy.

P.S. If I'm not mistaken, parents somewhere in Asia were (thankfully!)prevented by a court from actually naming their kid after the devil a few years ago. I've tried looking it up online, but now I can't find it. Does anyone else remember it? Oh, and while looking - and just when I thought that it couldn't get worse - I stumbled onto this.

Anyway, if only all the crazy-name enthusiasts out there who procreate could be curbed by the courts...

Oh, please tell me dear Americans: Do all the car dealers in this otherwise fabulous nation of yours insist on starring in their own and very amateurish television commercials?

Or is it just us Marylanders who are subjected to these 30-second bursts of audio and visual torture courtesy of this one local KIA dealership owner who insists on not only starring in, but also singing (loudly! And badly!) the jingles for his dealership’s television spots?

I hope it’s only here, because I really, really don’t wish it on anybody else…


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Dear R.C.A.

After receiving several previous warnings, it pains me to inform you that your employment here at B&RS Inc. has been terminated.

As you know, your position carries a lot of weight around here, and in recent months, it has come to our attention that you have been unable to execute your duties in a timely fashion.

Despite our efforts to lighten your workload by bringing in an assistant to support you and to even, on occasion, completely relieve you of some of your burdens, we were still unable to see any increase in your performance.

In fact, we’ve received word that, when addressed about these issues of concern by your supervisors, you were quick to respond with a slew of rather heated and severe temper tantrums. Some of the exact words and phrases used to describe your behaviour at that time included “seemingly spiteful,” “childish,” “obtuse,” and "unable to multitask," "inability to follow instructions," "downright disobedient," and lastly, “*&^%$#F!”

In parting I do want to acknowledge and thank you for the years of loyal service you did grace us with during the early years. During that time, you were always quick to greet us and customers with a friendly “hello” and you always seemed eager to fulfill your duties, often times working overtime without any complaints.

Over these past few problematic months we were really hoping that you would return to your former self, and that’s why we gave you more than the usual warnings and chances. But alas, now the time has come for us to invest in someone new.

Homesick list

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The Netflix DVD-envelope stuffer who packs our movies has probably figured out - if (s)he has been paying attention, that is - that I am either obsessed with all things African, or that I'm just a homesick immigrant from somewhere on the Mother Continent.

The boy, who has to watch all of the Afrocentric films that are "mysteriously" showing up in the mailbox, has definitely noticed.

Here is just some of what the poor guy has had to sit through recently:

National Geographic: Africa (Discs one - FOUR. Yes, no less than four! But they're all astoundingly good. Naturally, with it being by National Geographic and all.) It's not your run of the mill African wildlife documentary either. (Not that those aren't lovely!) These documentaries offer unique glimpses into the lives of different Africans and how they coexist with the land and the animals.

Thus we see a young North African nomad as he takes part in his very first caravan across the fierce but breathtaking Sahara with the older men in his family who are still using the ways of their ancestors to navigate their way through the ever-changing sea of dunes.

On the last disc we are transported to the modern South African city of Johannesburg, where we encounter a beautiful 20-something African girl who has chosen to chisel out a future for herself far beneath the surface of the earth in the dangerous and still dominantly male world of the gold mines.

Next up the movie, I Dreamed of Africa, selected simply because I do dream about it, constantly. Not necessarily Kim Bassinger at her best (understatement, that!), but worth it if only for the scenery... (However, please don't trust my sentimental heart.)

The Gods Must Be Crazy (I and II) - If I'm not mistaken, one of the first - if not the first - South African film to "make it" internationally. Filled with slapstick humour, it's even funnier after you've had a few snifters of a little somethin' somethin'.

Ladysmith Black Mambazo: In Harmony. Remember Paul Simon's "Diamonds on the soles of her Shoes?" Yes, they were the guys so beautifully filling the song with their perfect harmonies. They've since made it on their own too and to this day, they tour extensively and worldwide. Watch founder Joseph Shabalala tell of their humble beginnings and then be treated to a recording of their 1999 concert at London's stately Royal Albert Hall.

Then of course there is that faithful romantic staple: Out of Africa. Say no more.

And yes, the boy has been a trooper, sitting patiently and dutifully through most of these flicks.

But I think he'll be very relieved when I finally get over this phase, even though he is far too sweet to ever admit it.

Do you guys and gals also go through such "film phases?" Or am I, once again, the only freak around here?

(On second thoughts, don't bother answering the last part of that question.)

Survivors ready?

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So our good friend Mr. “Piehorns” has launched the second installment of his tailor-made-for-the-blogosphere version of Survivor, and the hand-selected contestants already had their first immunity challenge.

And what do you know? The challenge involves them giving detailed (and juicy? Or gross?) descriptions of how they’re planning on feeding themselves whilst marooned there on Blogger Island.

I like their first challenge (but then, it's not my challenge to be challenged by, right?), because it's tying right into what seems to be fast becoming the runaway theme on this blog!

Good news is we get to help vote for the winner! So, let’s all go help make someone else as happy as all of you have made me! Well, okay then… but we can at least try!

However, we can't vote just yet. I think we still have to wait for Piehorns, who is embroiled in an apparent um... shall we say... scuffle with airport security ('cause I don't think what he meant involved the dentist, despite all that talk about cavities) somewhere between the Midwest and Texas.

Survivors ready?

Red, Out! (Oops, I seem to have my "reality" shows mixed up!)

(Update: Wander over to the tribal council, hear their pleas and cast your vote.)

Only this one is to be filled out by the readers. Yes, that would be you. If you're so inclined, please copy and paste into the comments and proceed.

By the way, I nabbed it from Emily who in turn apparently borrowed it from Joelle.

So, here goes.

1. Who are you?
2. Have we ever met?
3. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
4. Describe me in one word.
5. What reminds you of me?
6. If you could give me anything, what would it be?
7. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn’t?
8. Are you going to put this on your weblog and see what I say about you?
9. What do you love like a fat kid loves cake?
10. What makes you come back here?

Knock yerselves out.

I can’t cook, therefore I don’t.

But with that endless and foolish optimism only experienced during one’s youth, I've always thought that, just because I'm a girl and it's supposed to be in our genetic makeup, I'd somehow grow into the ability (and into some boobs, while I was at it), just like my mom and all three of my older sisters did. That one day I would wake up and voila, I'd also be a gourmet chef, because that is supposed to be the natural order of things, right?

I've certainly done my bit by enlisting some assistance along the way in the form of buying Cooking for Dummies, proudly displaying it in the coffee maker's private quarters (that room which, in normal homes, is better known as the "kitchen."). I’ve even stared at the book intently for days whilst sipping my coffee, patiently waiting for all that printed knowledge to jump into my head through sheer osmosis.

In America

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"In America, you don't ask for help, you demand it."

Spoken with a beautiful lilting accent by the older of the two little Irish girls in the movie "In America."

I have a new favourite quote!

So, in the spirit of the statement, can anyone swing Red a Green Card... NOW?

So today is the First Day of a New Month (you can’t accuse me of never being informative on here, ‘eh?), and in my pitiful existence, this means that it is again time for my all-engrossing ritual of making and breaking New Month’s Resolutions.

Every month this ritual begins in more or less the same manner, with me being filled to the brim with those road-to-hell-pavers: good intentions.

Let me explain how this process works.

is a South African girl living in South Africa. That doesn't sound very original, we know, but you might find it remotely interesting when you learn that she has only recently returned to South Africa for the first time after a nine year, one month and two week (non-stop!) stint in the United States where she accidentally became an outlawed alien (also known, especially in immigration circles, as an 'illegal immigrant.' We prefer the term 'outlawed alien' ourselves). During her reversed exile from her homeland, she kept herself occupied by winning this website (but only after shamelessly bribing the judges) and thus being unleashed on the web where she slowly, leisurely became the World's Laziest Blogger; by being a nanny and by attending sci-fi conventions in search of other aliens. In the US, she also made her sailing debut, her international acting debut, tried and failed to learn the piano, and never learned to cook. She is hopelessly addicted to coffee, dogs (especially Labrador Retrievers), how-to books (with a particular fondness for her copy of the Time/Life A - Z Medical Encyclopedia), and she tends to grossly overuse parentheses (we're not kidding) during her attempts at writing, which you may - if you really have masochistic tendencies - subject yourself to by reading the words to the right of this column. If you REALLY and truly STILL want to know more, you can read her C.V. here.
Or you can stalk her send her some love via e-mail at: redsaid[AT]gmail[DOT]com

The Wish List (Because yes, she really does need more how-to books. Honestly!)


  • Redsaid Author Profile Page: Terra: YES! Wait... you didn't think that I would be this possessed to post for NO REASON, did ya???... [go]
  • Terra.Shield : OH! ... [go]
  • Marco Author Profile Page: Be a bit like serving drinks at AA?... [go]
  • Marco Author Profile Page: I personally think it is a mindset that has been cultivated over the years, and one, if not stemmed,... [go]
  • Redsaid Author Profile Page: Ms. Crazy Cat Lady Pants!!! Squeeeee! Sooo good to see you! (I thought NO ONE was bothering to read ... [go]
  • Ms. Pants : Kitties don't get enough credit sometimes. (All times, if you ask me, but I'm a Crazy Cat Lady.)... [go]
  • Redsaid Author Profile Page: Hey Tamara! I know, right?? That is a tough act to follow indeed. I adored that dentist. He used to ... [go]
  • Tamara Tipton : Well, I am not sure how any dentist could live up to that standard! LOL! I hope your appointment was... [go]
  • Redsaid Author Profile Page: I'm really really glad that I'm not the only one, Po! Sometimes I drive myself mad with all the what... [go]
  • Po : Those questions run through my heads for various times in my life too, that is for sure!... [go]
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