Tania.co.za

Yesterday, today and tomorrow

Yesterday

Worked at Decorex for Pavatile till late afternoon. Launch of new cladding ranges and integrated illumination for walls and kerbstones. (Just updated the site.)

27Dinner in the evening (or should that be 27 Dinner, with the space? Whatever). Best one to date, IMO. Very good speakers, extremely good food (best steak and creme brulée in years) -- the only negative was that it was expensive and the portions weren't big -- and we were promised that it would be cheap. (I think that whoever said it was going to be cheap is accustomed to eating in 5 Star Hotels in England.) Very good news was that Dave said he could probably persuade Graham (the main sponsor) that the next one should be in Stellenbosch -- 3 days before my intended (open) birthday party at Mystic. I reckoned that as long as I didn't think of 27Dinners as geek dinners, I would experience no further cognitive dissonance about this event, and it worked last night. But ironically, when I got home many hours later, I ran into my neighbour (who had also attended the dinner) and he invited himself to my flat for coffee. In a discussion about the evening, he said that although he found it very valuable, at times it felt as though it was a "meeting held inside a computer"! So I guess to non-geeks, it seems geeky after all.

 
Roelof and Malan. (I think Malan is cool. Malan thinks I am trouble because I snipe domains!)


Henk, Glen, Miguel, Max.  

Went to Mystic after 27Dinner. Tried in vain to convince a German that I was not German (whilst amicably arguing in German!). Left after they finally played one of my favourite Muse songs (had to wait through a lot of dastardly hip-hop and techno-type-whatever-noise before they got to rock and other music which is more to my taste).

Today

Bad move to have gone to Mystic: Got to bed way too late, slept too little, woke up ratty. Went to work at Decorex, but they were running short of brochure CDs and flyers, so I came back to produce some more and to update Pavatile's site. Coffee and pancake with Ma somewhere in between it all. Now struggling with paper jam in the Xerox 4LP (can't even see the paper). But I am in a better humour than earlier in the day. Downloading podcasts on history and languages, having been convinced by Jaco and Glen that I will be able to play these on my CD player with a little help from Nero.

Tomorrow

Sleeping late (Deo volente), working again in the afternoon.

I have become collectable

As a few people know, I used to be a freelance writer and illustrator, primarily a cartoonist. In my heyday, kids who subscribed to the obscure publications for which I wrote used to copy my cartoons the way some children copy Winnie the Pooh or other popular characters.

Although I no longer have the time to do this professionally, I do still occasionally (and hurriedly) write satirical cartoons about my neighbours, and post them in my bathroom window or on my front door (one neighbour refers to it as my "door blog"). With only one exception, I don't name names; generally, the characters are stereotypes of my own invention anyway -- plump girls with low-rise jeans and fat rolling over like the top of a nicely baked soufflé, scruffy bearded students and so on. I too am charicatured in various forms. There have been some amusing reactions to these cartoons, the most bizarre of which invloved three students arriving at my door at 3.30 a.m. wearing nothing but underpants, shoes and accessories, and asking me whether I had beaten up the mysterious resident rubbish dumper about whom I had written a week before. These fellows became characters in my next cartoon: I named them as impostors attempting to pass themselves off as Superman, Spiderman and Batman. (I saw them through my peep-hole the next day taking photos of the cartoon with their cell-phones.)

A few nights ago, I wrote and illustrated two cartoons based on recent conversations with a friend, and posted them on my door and window respectively. Usually, being in a hurry, I just draw these things without construction lines, and it doesn't matter much if they don't look that great, because no-one around there knows me as a famous person, so I have no reputation to maintain. But this time, I re-drew one cartoon four times until I was happy with it. By the next morning, it had been pinched!

I suppose I should be flattered, but I would have appreciated it more if the thief had left me a photocopy. You can imagine what the subject of my next cartoon will be...

Sal jy die boere kom lei?

Dit is die uitgekristalliseerde opsomming van 'n gewaarwording wat oor die afgelope paar maande in my gedagtes gevorm het.

Dit het waarskynlik begin toe ek een aand in die gebou was waar ek vir my buurman Roelof ('n rock-musikant) verlede jaar oefenruimte gekry het. Daar werk, woon en kuier heelwat randfigure van die samelewing: die beeldhouer Dirk Winterbach, die skrywer en aktivis Al Lovejoy, en 'n paar ander kunstiges wie se lewensstyl nie konvensioneel gekategoriseer kan word nie. Ek sou seker ook heelwat stories kon vertel van allerlei kriminaliteit rondom sommige van hierdie mense, stories wat wissel van alledaagse domestic violence en dwelmgebruik tot gewapende rooftogte en hitmen (en dis nou heeltemal apart van Al se eie lewensverhaal), maar kom ek bepaal my maar by die huidige onderwerp, naamlik die paradoks dat dit die juis die randfigure van 'n gemeenskap is wat sentraal is tot die definiëring en vorming van sy kultuur.

Leiers is stroom-op mense. Hulle is koersveranderaars. Hulle weersspieël nie hulle era nie, hulle vorm dit. Leiers lyk nie soos die mense vir wie hulle lei nie.

Om die waarheid te sê, hierdie gedagte het waarskynlik al vroeer by my begin posvat. Ek het een aand 'n program op die beeldradio gesien oor Xanana Gusmão, die man wat later Oos-Timor se president geword het. Hy was 'n digter en skilder. Sy vrou was 'n buitelander. Hier het jy 'n man wat homself vanuit sy ballingskap beywer het vir volk en vaderland, en hy trou met iemand van 'n ander kultuur. Herinner nogal aan Breyten Breytenbach.

Leiers lyk nie soos die mense vir wie hulle lei nie. Hulle is nie 'n blote produk van hulle omgewing nie, hulle ontleed en bepaal dit ook. Hulle reageer op so 'n wyse op hulle milieu dat hulle dit ook vorm, vervorm, verander en vernuwe.

Ek het vanjaar met 'n enkele doelwit KKNK toe gegaan: Ek wou daar wees toe Bok van Blerk De la Rey sing voor 'n skare Afrikaanssprekendes van dwarsoor die land. Dit was die pelgrimstog van 'n verengelsde Afrikaanse na haar Afrikaansheid. Ek het geweet dat die lied vir verskillende mense verskillende dinge beteken, en dat sommige mense 'n politieke angle aan die ding heg.* Dit het my dus nie verbaas dat daar ook 'n element van reaksionere Afrikanernasionalisme in die gehoor was nie. Ek was daar om die gemene deler, die essensie van moderne Afrikaanswees te ervaar, al kan ek nie ontken dat sulke mense ook my volk is nie.

* Karen Zoid het haar later in die aand op 'n vroulike dog ferm wyse uitgespreek teen diegene wat met die ou Suid-Afrikaanse vlag en reaksionere teks op hulle t-hemde daar rondgeloop het, en ek het dankbaar gevoel dat sy dit gedoen het.

Maar ek het nie gekry wat ek gesoek het nie. Want dit wat ek gesoek het, het ek later besef, bestaan nie. Daar is nie 'n essensie van Afrikaanswees nie. Daar is nie eers 'n groot Venn-diagram met groot sirkels wat iewers in die middel met mekaar oorvleuel nie. Miskien oorvleuel een sirkel wel met 'n ander, en daardie sirkel oorvleuel op 'n ander plek met 'n verdere sirkel, ensovoorts. Anders gestel: Een van my kennisse vra altyd vir mense wat kla dat iets nie normaal is nie: "So where exactly on a statistical graph of a normal distribution, is 'normal'?"

In 'n SMS-gesprek met my vennoot vanaf die oewer van Oudtshoorn se besoedelde rivier die volgende dag is ek ook weereens daaraan herinner dat een van Afrikaans se groot kultuurleiers, David Kramer, eintlik 'n Jood is wie se eerste taal Engels was.

En Oos-Timor se presidentsvrou is Australies, en Breyten Breytenbach se vrou is Viëtnamees.

Na Sub-B was ek, soos my pa, op 'n Engelse skool. Ek het getrou met 'n Oekraïniese man en my huistaal was sowat twee dekadeslank Engels. As ons uitgegaan het, het ons soms Duits gepraat ten einde meer privaat te kon gesels. Ek praat ook 'n bietjie Xhosa -- net genoeg om hulp te vra met 'n stukkende airtime-vending masjien, of om uit te vind hoe ons moet ry om vanaf die lughawe in Port Elizabeth uit te kom by my tannie se gastehuis in Summerstrand. Afrikaanse mense dink soms ek is Engels, en slaan uit beleefdheid oor na Engels wanneer ek hulle in Afrikaans aanspreek.

Die meeste van die sowat 8 500 mense wat deur die loop van die middag in die stadion bymekaargekom het om na Bok van Blerk te luister, het nie soos ek gelyk nie. Die effek van hierdie voorkomsverskil — dit was nie net klere en hare en grimering nie, maar lyftaal en lewensstyl, alles — was vir my vervreemdend, en as dit nie was vir die teenwoordigheid van my reisgenoot ('n slim maar ongehoorsame predikantseun met langerige hare, 'n effense baard en 'n voorliefde vir die digkuns van Ingrid Jonker en Antjie Krog) nie, sou ek selfs nog treuriger gevoel het. Ek is nie gewoond aan eenvormige groepe nie, behalwe by familiebyeenkomste. Sy teenwoordigheid was vir my 'n gerusstellende teken van die feit dat daar ook ander "anderse" Afrikaanse mense is, dat ek nie alleen is in my andersheid nie.

Ons gemeenskaplike dog uiteenlopende andersheid was ook die onderwerp van daardie SMS-gesprek wat ek die volgende dag met my vennoot gevoer het.

Leiers lyk nie soos die mense vir wie hulle lei nie; celebrities wel. Met die dat ons betyds wou wees vir De la Rey, het ek en my reisgenoot die stert-end van die middagvertonings op die Huisgenoot-musiekplaas gevang, naamlik die karaoke-optredes deur Nicholis Louw en Juanita du Plessis. Ons het op die sementvlak van die pawiljoen gaan sit, by die tralies, en van daar af kon ons sien hoe die mense daaronder op die veld die musiek werklik geniet.

Ek het probeer om die metafoor van 'n willekeurige "arm movement" teenoor 'n onwillekeurige "bowel movement" in Afrikaans te vervat, maar dit wou nie mooi werk nie, en tot die groot genot van my reisgenoot het ek op die ou end die musiek van Nicholis Louw en Juanita du Plessis as die "stoelgang van die samelewing" beskryf. Ek dink dat hy wat meer geneig sou wees om sommer 'n drieletterwoord daar te gebruik dit veral amusant gevind het dat ek op so 'n omslagtige wyse tot die gevolgtrekking gekom het dat hulle musiek eintlik maar "k--" is!

Die ironie van hierdie gewildheid (of dalk is dit tog nie ironies nie, want die meeste mense is ESFJs, beskermhere van konvensionaliteit) is dat hierdie soort nie-skeppende musiek nie die vormende, vernuwende kunswerke is waardeur 'n gemeenskap werklik gelei word nie. Anders as die liedere van die Legendes van Afrikaanse Rock wat later in die aand opgetree het, is dit nie die resultaat van 'n kunstenaar se armdruk met sy omgewing nie. Dit is nie die oorwinning of nederlaag van daardie laaste deurslaggewende armbeweging nie, maar die onwillekeurige, nie-eksistensiële uitvloeisel van die gemeenskap se natuurlike "biologiese proses".

Ek sou nog meer kon vertel het van Bok van Blerk se uitvoering self, en van sy begrip vir juis daardie gehoor, die mense wat ook graag vir Nicholis Louw en Juanita du Plessis luister, wat juig vir die krieket op 'n groot skerm terwyl die musikante optree terwyl daar hier en daar ge-langarm word op die gras; en van die skare van derduisende wat opgestaan het soos vir 'n volkslied en De la Rey saamgesing het; maar my storie is al klaar te lank. Soos die cliché lui, kan ek darem sê: Been there, done that, got the t-shirt — nie die amptelike Bok van Blerk t-hemp nie, maar een wat meer na my smaak was, wat deur een van menige cash-in-on-the-latest-craze handelaars by die stalletjies verkwansel is. Dis nog steeds vir my 'n mooi, roerende lied, en gelukkig is ek nog nie moeg daarvoor nie, want dit was maar die tweede keer in my lewe wat ek daarna geluister het (tensy 'n mens nou die paar mate van die Onheilige Dansweergawe wat ek per ongeluk gehoor het, tel). Ek is nie mal oor Bok van Blerk se ander musiek nie.

Die stadion was baie leer met die daaropvolgende optredes van Abel Kraamsaal, Chris Chameleon en ander armbewegingkunstenaars. Ek het daar ook besef dat ek nie my de la Rey-hempie in Oudtshoorn sou kon dra nie, want daar word die betekenis wat ek daaraan heg te vertroebel. In Die Mystic Boer in Stellenbosch hang groot portrette van drie Boere uit die Tweede Vryheidsoorlog: die van 'n bejaarde, 'n middeljarige en 'n kindersoldaat, ingekleur in helder hedendaagse skakerings. En ten spyte van die post-Modernistiese skertsendheid van hierdie muurversiering, sal die tragiek van hulle stryd wat in hulle gesigte gelees kan word, jou nie ontwyk as jy gereeld by Mystic kuier nie. Daar sal ek my soewenier kan dra, al sou die Generaal ook in sy graf wou omdraai as hy moet weet dat sy beeld pryk op 'n meisiehemp met sulke dun streppies, en dit nogal in 'n donker suipplek waar die reuk van dagga dikwels met die van sigarette vermeng is.

Maar ek rook nie, en ek drink nie, en tog is ek ook op 'n manier deel van daardie mense, van daardie groep Afrikaanse mense.

Generaal de la Rey, moenie worry nie, want leiers lyk nie soos die mense vir wie hulle lei nie. Jy lyk nie soos ek nie, en ek lyk nie soos jy nie, maar dit beteken nie jy't ons nie bevry nie.

Ek is nog steeds bietjie gefrustreerd, maar...

...ek vorder darem. Ek het heelwat huishoudelike take ingeboet ten einde 'n lang opstel te skryf wat ek hier wil plaas, maar nou kort ek die tyd om hom behoorlik te proeflees en die kappies en deeltekens wat ek nie op die skootrekenaar kan regkry nie, by te voeg. Ons bediener het omgeval (vir die tweede keer) en loop nou darem weer op genade (en ek is baie, baie dankbaar vir daardie genade). Ons kry aanstaande week 'n nuwe een.

Ek het nie eers tyd om my nuusbrokkies konteksueel oor te dra nie. Hier is 'n foto van vriende en familie by die skaakpartytjie. Bye.

Naskrif: Sparrows het nie velprobleme nie, en Mikhailo is nie werklik 93 jaar oud nie. Dis 'n low-res jpeg.

Ek is gefrustreerd...

...omdat ek nie die tyd het om te skryf nie.

Chess Party

Don't forget, there's a Chess Party tomorrow afternoon at 3 in Stellenbosch. Sign up for the event at Facebook, or join the Checkmates group, or both. (Free registration.)

Bring a chess set if you have one; otherwise just bring yourself and your friends if you have any. You don't have to stay for the full duration, but please do arrive on time. Fandango has smoking and non-smoking areas, and there's seating both inside and outside. If you order something frm the bar or kitchen, it's for your own account. Their Web site is here: http://www.fandango.co.za

The time is of such a nature that for the romantically inclined, it offers the opportunity to go and have a candle-light supper somewhere in Stellenbosch afterwards (I can review some, if requested); and those who prefer noisy revelry can likewise be guided to the relevant hotspots — Stellenbosch has many, and we can offer you our opinionated recommendations.

I played some chess while I was away in Piketberg this week too, against the 13-year-old son of my client at PPC. The family has no TV, so the kids spend their time doing all those good old fashioned things one really would want them to do, like chess, reading and plenty of outdoor activity. The younger brother taught me that famous African board game (I think it's called bowa) which they learned while cycling through Malawi, but we did not finish the game.

There was also a bit of chess on my recent trip to the Karoo. Here's my relative Neal (on the left) playing the Wizard of Oz a week ago on the pocket set which I gave the Wizard for his birthday...

PS (FWIW): I beat the 13-year-old; Neal beat the Wizard, then the Wizard beat Neal.

Terug

Dit was vyf grade Celsius toe ek vanoggend vanaf die berg in Piketberg vertrek het. Daar was gisteraand 'n kat saam met my in die bed (vir die eerste keer in dekades) en ek moet sê, ek het 'n bietjie begin herverstaan hoekom mense van katte hou (ek is eintlik jarelank al 'n honde-mens). Terug op kantoor in die Kaap ontdek ek dat vandag die sperdatum is vir 'n artikel vir Die Burger wat ek nog nie begin skryf het nie. Dus, totsiens tot later...


Oggendblik vanuit my Piketbergse slaapkamervenster.

Snippets

It seems that whenever I really have a lot to say, I don't have the time to say it. I recently returned from an introspective pilgrimage to Oudtshoorn, with the Wizard of Oz as my traveling companion. I am now in Piketberg on a (really enjoyable) consulting engagement for PPC (some training, some project facilitation, some troubleshooting and a great deal of fresh mountain air). My Oudtshoorn story is going to take at least five pages to tell, but I never seem to get around to telling these in-depth stories. Maybe someday...

Child entertainer

On the back of a bakkie on the Bottelary Road on Saturday, this child gave a full unabashed performance with flamboyantly emotional arm movements. At various points he (or was it a she?) even stood up. From the style of the gestures, I guessed that these were love songs, but there also appeared to be one gospel song.

I drove slowly, eventually pulling aside, allowing other vehicles to pass us. When we drove through the roadworks barriers, we had to slow down significantly, and I was able to wind down the window to hear a bit of the sound too. I clapped on my roof, in appreciation, and the child made a kind of curtsey.

Sadly, a truck separated us when we got to the La Belle Road T-junction. I cried, because we will probably never meet again.

And here's another example of how not to do it

This is a continuation of my Big Moan about the inappropriate use of the word technology.

This piece of screenshot is from Facebook.

Internet & Technology is a hybrid classification. It combines two different levels of granularity and is semantically befuddled anyway. Technology should be a higher-level category; Information Technology should come below that, and Internet, or  Internet and Cyberculture below that. (See Information Architecture For the World Wide Web for further clarification of what I mean by hybridization and granularity).

More about the Geek Dinner

I didn't really have the time to write a comprehensive report of the last (or was it actually the first?) Geek Dinner, and I don't really have the time now, so I will just do this in snippets.

Talks
The talk I enjoyed most was actually the one of which I didn't have any high expectations. Jonathan Endersby wants to start a collaborative project to develop a restaurant review site, for the love of it and then if money happens, well, cool. He gave a good explanation of how he anticipated it should work from the user side, and also why; and then the conversation really got interesting when someone at Andy's table said, but why not develop the application in such a way that it could work for other types of reviews too, e.g. cars, books, hotels or whatever? (I am quite a fan of multi-purpose applications, so my ears stood up at that point.) Jonathan explained that such work was already being done by the developers of microformats (I think I first heard about microformats from Rafiq at BarCamp), but that it had become evident that subject experts would be required to identify the fields relevant to the specific industry or item applications of such a system. When it became obvious that one size would not fit all, and the system would have to be huge to accommodate every possible permutation of an item or event or service or whatever might be reviewed, there was a bit of a disappointment in the air -- until someone came up with the suggestion that instead of dumbing down the entire application/platform to an amorphous agglomeration of non-specific fields which were supposed to meet every need in order to suit the potential integration requirements of standardised formats, the dumbing down could instead be done by XML where required. I thought that was pretty cool way of thinking.

Some meta-comments
I read a number of other report-backs on the Geek Dinner, and I agreed with most of the finer points made in the blogs -- inter alia, that it would have been nice to have had more of an opportunity to chat with people besides those at one's own table. Some of the talks, I agree, exceeded their allocated time by far; and although the content was fine enough, we would rather have spent the time getting to know one another better.

Other ideas for geek events
I think that other types of geek events -- not just dinners with talks -- would also be nice, and I realise that not all people have the same taste in entertainment, but a big games day would be one thing which I think could work. I have a vision of this taking place in some huge house during winter, with a big pot of soup, pizza which gets delivered (or maybe Arno can cook?), and all sorts of games, including LAN games, board games, card games, insane debates, chess, trivia, invent-your-own games and possibly even some more physically strenuous outdoor activities, like a Viking-style battle using home-made polystyrene weapons.

My book review... so far

A famous writer on Project Management recently asked me to review two of his latest books with a view to prescribing them for a course. I said I hoped he had appointed a better proof-reader since the last publication which I have from him, and he replied that if these ones were not up to standard, he would have to fire his wife.

Having received the books, I glossed over them and was initially thrilled because they appeared to cover everything I would want, and included many explanatory graphics. But then I started reading properly...

This is what a typical page from the book looks like so far with my corrections to the punctuation, inconsistencies, odd content and other errors.

Considering what he said, his marriage is going to be in big trouble if I send him my comments...

Kneusplekke

Saterdagaand: 'n Massiewe kneusplek (sowat 5 x 10 cm) op my linkerbobeen, en drie of meer kneusplekke op albei kuite.

Vanoggend: Gekneusde, geswelde kneukels aan my linkerhand, so erg dat ek met ysblokkies moes sit, en 'n paar ure lank die hand byna glad nie kon gebruik nie.

Laat my selfs nog meer wonder hoekom mense kies om te boks.

For sale: Sam Haskins' Cowboy Kate and November Girl

Sam Haskins

Cowboy Kate and Other Stories (published in the year of my birth) and November Girl lay on the coffee table in our home for most of my childhood. These books by Sam Haskins are landmark publications in the history of black-and-white photography as an art form. My father is now offering them for sale together for a price which reflects their international collectors' value (escrow payment preferred if the buyer is outside South Africa). The condition of the books is as follows: