Tania.co.za

Boodskap wat ek via die kontakvorm op my Webwerf ontvang het

Is daar dalk enige gereelde leser van my blog wat dink dat ek hoegenaamd sou belangstel om met hierdie persoon te kommunikeer? Die leser het duidelik nie veel gelees op my Webwerf nie. (Gebruik gerus die soekfunksie van hierdie blog met die soekterm flirt of koffiebetalers as jy enigsins nog onder die wanindruk verkeer dat ek op soek mag wees na 'n minnaar of iets dergliks.) Ek sal bitter spyt wees as ek moet uitvind iemand het sommer net vir die grap sy pel se e-posadres ingevul en vir my die boodskap gestuur, want hier saai ek dit nou uit vir die hele wêreld. Ek neem egter aan dat dit die ware Jakob is. Dames (verkieslik in die omgewing van Boksburg) wat reken dat hulle my soort lyf het (wat klaarblyklik by hierdie meneer byval vind) kan gerus van bogenoemde e-posadres gebruik maak om hulself voor te stel as kandidate vir romantiese flirtasie.

Hoekom is dit so dat hoe minder jy dit soek, hoe meer kry jy dit? Ek ken een jong dame wat haarself in elke moontlike man se arms in smyt, en sy's nie eers lelik nie, maar niemand wil met haar trou nie. Maar hou jouself skaars, dan soek almal jou. Tog is dit snaaks dat nie alles in die lewe omgekeerd werk nie: Ek is seker daar is baie mense wat daarvan sou hou as hulle dieselfde benadering kon volg ten opsigte van ander dinge: vreet soveel as wat jy wil, dan verloor jy gewig; blaas jou maand se salaris in twee dae, dan word jy ryk; vloek vir jou klieënte, en word bevorder; rook 40 sigarette per uur en verbeter jou longfunksie met 250%.

Bye. Ek praat nou al weer snert.

Finished! Whew!

When the judges came around this morning at the Homemakers Expo in the Convention Centre, I said that they should award Pavatile with a special prize for having the stand ready in time for the first visitors in spite of the extreme adversity, including violence, malicious damage to property, furtive production to avoid intimidation, etc., etc., etc. which the guys have had to go through during the past week or so. The story about foxhole friends is certainly true. We've gained a new cameraderie at work amongst the office staff, senior production supervisors, artisans and drivers as a result of everything that has happened. I was one of the few who did manage to go to bed last night and get up at the regular time. The others worked until dawn.

I'd done the graffiti for the wall panels a day or so before, sketching from selected CAD printouts which illustrate specific technical advantages of various products. It was fun, and went surprisingly quickly. I used an Artline 100 pen, which I have discovered to be a wonderful feel-good instrument. Since the destruction of the products intended for the show precluded the execution of the original symmetrical stand design, we went for an "under construction" theme, and I wore my construction helmet (which I bought to go onto the building site at Oasys Village last week) when I went to (wo)man the stand this morning. (I am a supplier to Pavatile, so I know the products well enough to answer technical questions, hence my presence at the Expo. My friends know me as someone who cannot walk around town or go to a coffee shop or anywhere else without looking down at the ground!) The yellow helmet elicited all sorts of jocular comments from visitors to the Expo and from other exhibitors. I must say, in spite of the fact that we didn't have everything the way we intended it, this has turned out to be the easiest trade show stand to work from. The drawings on the walls mean that I can explain competitive advantages with ease, and we finally have decent brochureware as well.

Now I have my work cut out for the evening, with two Project Management course proposals and some course notes for my Sun City seminar to finish off before my next shift tomorrow morning. (I am going to take the laptop home, because if I stay here to do it, it will feel more like work.) I heard yesterday, to my delight, that my proposal to present a Project Management workshop for the exco of one of South Africa's major wine companies got accepted, and I am so pleased, because they sound like a bunch of people who are strongly focused on strategy and on inculcating a good business culture — sooo much easier to work with people like that!

Respect

During the past few days I have developed a sense of appreciation and respect for a small team of committed colleagues, who, in spite of very adverse conditions, have shown determination and dedication to the job, to deadlines and to undertakings to customers.



Pelted with stones and assaulted with sticks, this one outran his assailants. There have also been attempts to kill some of the others, they say. The police said they do not have enough manpower to prevent this from happening, so the guys are just using ad hoc workarounds to get the work done, and working around the clock.

'n SMS-gesprek

"Cope jy?"
"Nee, maar ek wil nie hê dat mense moet weet nie, want dan gaan sommige van hulle my probeer red, en ek wil nie gered word nie, ek wil eintlik net kla. En die ander wat my nie probeer red nie, sal ophou om hulle probleme met my te deel, en dan teen die tyd wat ek daarvan uitvind, sal die probleme baie groter wees."
"Kla maar soveel as wat jy wil. Ek sal niks vir jou doen nie."
"Dankie, jy is 'n goeie vriend."

Monday

I need a weekend soon.

Communication

My mother phones me.
"Have you read the most recent article about Facebook in Die Burger?" she asks.
"No, I haven't. Why?"
"This time it's really serious. They are saying that Facebook is very bad, and dangerous, and they have all the evidence. I thought that I should warn you."
"Oh. OK. So why do they say that it is bad?"
"I don't know, I haven't read the article yet, but I will keep it for you."

A few days later she phones me again.
"Can you tell me what MXit is?" she asks.
"Yes, it's a program that you can install on a cell phone to make SMSing cheaper," I reply, trying to keep my answer simple — and neutral.
"How much do you know about it?"
"Not a lot, but you can ask me questions and I will see whether I can answer them." I am expecting something similar to the conversation about Facebook, so I add, "I don't have MXit, because my model of phone is too old to be able to take it."
"Oh, I just wanted to know how much you knew about it. It's a really fantastic thing, and I am going to install it. Maybe you can get another phone."

My desirable domain — the story goes on

Afrihost sends me another note, this time in reply to mine: "Hi Tania, We have received a request to transfer the domain. We have come to realize that the person who requested the domain does not own the domain. We will inform them. Thanks."

Then 'Bjorn' mails Afrihost (and copies me, and my client): "I have not requested this!"

Teehee. Someone's in trouble. Not sure who yet.

Uh, excuse me, dude... that's actually MY domain!

I'm the tech and admin contact for more SLDs than I can remember. Today I get a ticket reply request from UniForum to tell me that Afrihost is trying to change the DNS settings on one of my domains (nogal one that cost my client several thousand bucks after we had to negotiate with the sniper who beat me to registering it a couple of years ago). I have no business relationship with Afrihost (the Web site is hosted on our own server, and I am using my own DNS provider), so I send them a little note asking them what they are trying to do, and why. (Needless to say, perhaps, I also send the magic cookie back with a "Deny" in the subject line.) I get a friendly little e-mail message from Afrihost (not in reply to mine — they haven't read mine yet) to tell me that their client, Bjorn, from such-and-such a paving company, has asked them to take over the hosting of this domain, and could I please do this and that within 24 hours. If I knew how to raise one eyebrow independently from the other, I would do that at this point, although no-one is watching. I reply via e-mail, "Your client does not own this domain and the move is therefore denied." Did Afrihost perhaps neglect to tell their client Bjorn that he needs to register his own domain in order to have it hosted?

Red Hat Day

My mother phones me to tell me that her neighbour has invited her to a Red Hat Day, and asks whether I would accompany her.
Certainly, I reply. After all, the only Linux command line code which I actually know is shutdown -r now, so if my septuagenarian power-user mother is getting into Open Source software, I'm game to learn what I can too.
"I am so glad," she says, and tells me that my cousin and aunt will be there too. My cousin Amelia has just left her job as a bank manager to open some kind of alternative medicine business. Why would she want to learn about Fedora, I wonder? All this seems fishy now.
"When is it?" I ask. "What are the details?"
"It's on the 25th. We depart from the clubhouse at 11. Mothers have to wear red hats and purple clothes, and daughters must wear lavender and pink."

Somehow I don't think this event involves information technology...

My opstel oor ons vakansie by die see

29 Junie, die dag voor my verjaarsdag. Ek en Roelof gaan vroeg Somerset-Wes toe sodat my niggie Ilse my oë kan toets. Ek kry 'n leesbril en voel tydelik besonder oud. Ons gaan kuier daarna vir Christopher in die Strand. Ons eet pizza slices wat ons by die Spar gekoop het. Christopher glip 'n rukkie lank uit om 'n huuragent te spreek in verband met tydelike verblyf in die Ocean View Hotel, want die meenthuis waar hy bly is ook maar net 'n tydelike ding. Nadat ons almal so 'n bietjie op die grasperkie gesit en uitkyk het, besluit ons om gou-gou te stap om roomys te koop. Die roomysplek is verder as wat ons gedink het, en die uitstappie neem die res van die dag. Aan die einde van die middag neem ons dus 'n taxi terug na Christopher se blyplek. 9 missed calls op my selfoon (my vennoot, ouers en gewese man bel mekaar inussen blou van bekommernis). Ek en Roelof ry terug Stellenbosch toe, en is totaal uitgeput van snertpraat.

30 Junie (of die vroeë ure van 1 Julie). Ek en Roelof vat vir Christopher Strand toe na my verjaarsdagpartytjie. Ons check die hotelkamer uit. Dis Christopher se eerste nag daar. Ons lyk almal terrible en slordig na die partytjie en wonder wat die netjiese man by ontvangs van ons dink. Roelof en my studentevriende gaan daarna weg vir die vakansie, maar ek moet werk.

28 Julie. Ek en Roelof gaan kuier vir Christopher in die Ocean View Hotel. Die kamer kyk uit oor die see. Ons eet vis en chips op koerante op die vloer en kyk hoe die Bulle teen die Haaie verloor. (Op TV, nie in die see nie.) Christopher het 'n bad tot sy beskikking! Ek wonder hardop oor die moontlikheid om vir my en my ma vir 'n naweek in die hotel plek te bespreek. Sou die prys wat ons moet betaal pro rata dieselfde wees as wat Christopher betaal?

29 Julie. Christopher bel vir my met 'n briljante idee: Hy sal vir 'n naweek in my voorkamer gaan bly, dan kan ek en my ma sy woonstel kry. Ek begin planne maak om my ma te ontvoer.

10 Augustus. Ek laai my ma na werk op met die nuwe Clio wat ek nou tot my beskikking het. My ma het gepak, maar sy weet nie waarheen ons gaan nie. Die Clio het iets wat vir ons albei 'n nuwe luukse is: 'n CD-speler. Maar ons gebruik hom nie. Ons gesels. Dis al donker toe ons daar aankom. Die hotel is vol mense wat 'n Joodse kongres bywoon. Hulle het hulle eie car-guards saamgebring wat myne ook sommer bewaak. My ma bel my pa en my kleinniggie Una, en sy SMS my broer in Australië. Sy's baie opgewonde oor waar ons is. Sy klouter ook sommer in my telefoongesprek met Christopher en bedank hom vir sy woonstel. ("Nou weet ek hoekom jy is soos jy is," sê hy vir my na die tyd.)

My ma het onlangs 'n skoueroperasie gehad. Ek help haar om uit te trek, en sy doen fisioterapeutiese oefeninge wat die gebruik van 'n houtlepel insluit. Ons klim saam in die dubbelbed, met al ses kussings sodat die relevante liggaamsdele gestut kan word. Ons gesels oor die rolprent Babel totdat ons aan die slaap raak.

11 Augustus. Die son kom op. Ek trek die gordyne oop en ons sing vir Una happy birthday oor die telefoon. Ons eet muesli in die bed, en daarna bad ek lank en diep en salig. Dit is so heerlik, dat ek sommer lang gedagtes begin dink oor die vroeë middeleeuse Katolieke wat nie dikwels gebad het nie omdat hulle dit as dekadent beskou het om soos die heidense Romeine hulself aan sulke vleeslike genot oor te lewer. Dis vir my so 'n voorreg om in die bad te kan lê dat ek gelyktydig diep dankbaar en effens asketies-Katoliek-skuldig voel.

Die kus verander vinnig. Binne vier weke het heelwat van die Strand se sand weggespoel, en die see is nou nader aan die pad. Die branders het so hoog soos die lamppale gebreek en het enorme klippe (wat te groot is om op te tel) op die parkeerterrein neergegooi. (Christopher is 'n omgewingswetenskaplike, en hy sê dis as gevolg van global warming.)

Ons gaan Somerset Mall toe. Dis wonderlik om te weet dat ons nie 'n spesifieke tyd hoef huis toe te gaan nie. Ons koop kinderklere vir Una se kleinkind Rebecca ("my second cousin twice removed"). Ons eet middagete by 'n coffee shop, en ek koop vir myself 'n hele nuwe wardrobe, insluitende glitzy grootmensklere (soos dames en besigheidsvroue byvoorbeeld byvoorbeeld sou dra) en 'n paar tekkies met pienk veterlissies (of is die -lussies?) wat by my pienk baadjie, t-hemp en en serpe sal pas.

Ek kry ook uiteindelik na 'n maandelange soektog die soort beker wat ek kan kantoor toe neem en waarvan ek kan seker wees dat dit nie deur 'n manlike kollega gebruik sal word nie.

Ons drink koffie en eet sjokolade by 'n sjokoladewinkel.

Dan gaan ons terug hotel toe. Die son sak. Ons eet aandete in die hotel se restaurant.

12 Augustus. Ons lê in die bed en kyk na die mense wat met hulle honde op die stand kom stap en wat aas kom optel. Die kongresgangers neem hulle kinders om op die sand te gaan speel en word bewaak deur mans met yamulkes en oorapparate. Ons maak aan die kant,  en gaan stap dan op die strand en tel 'n skulpagtige ding op wat na 'n miniatuurweergawe van die Sydney-Operahuis lyk. Binne-in is 'n dooie wese. Ek neem dit saam sodat Christopher dit kan identifiseer. (Dis 'n chitin, bevestig hy later, 'n grote wat van die dieper waters moes uitgespoel het. Hy het destyds al vir ons die kleintjies in die rotspoele gewys.)

Ek laai my ma by die huis af en gaan maak vir Christopher broccolisop en neem hom terug Strand toe. Ek ry met 'n ompad huis toe. Ek maak net mooi niks aan die kant nadat ek my klere omgedolwe het en aandete geëet het het nie, en ek voel nie skuldig daaroor nie.  En voel baie happy en gesëend.

Gaborone, Mystic and my mother's pending abduction

Cool, a Project Management course has just been scheduled to be held in Gaborone at the end of October. Haven't had one there for a while. There's still space on the Pretoria course at the end of October too, but I expect the Cape Town one to be full very soon. My hands-on software course in September also still has some places available. Details here...

Went to Mystic for pizza with de Waal and my neighbour René and some other guys last night. It turned into quite an interesting evening, not least of all because one of our party got mysteriously booted out of the place later on! Looks like we may have got a wine sponsor for the Geek Dinner next month, though. Details to follow...

I am abducting my mother for the weekend. We are going to observe the destructive effects of global warming in action, live from a window above the scene, whilst doing crossword puzzles and ordering room service. Almost like the Restaurant at the End of the Universe. More about this later, too.

A discourse between my stomach and my brain

Stomach:	Good morning. Since it's Sunday and you have more time, may I please have scrambled eggs with cheese and broccoli and bacon for breakfast?
Brain:	I am sorry, but I have marinated those chicken breasts for a couple of days and I really should be using them now, so if you wait a while, we can have brunch instead of breakfast. How does that sound?
Stomach:	Not what I had in mind, but you're the boss.
Some time later...
Stomach:	Can I please have something nice now? Like chocolate?
Brain:	But we just had brunch!
Stomach:	I know, but that was one of the worst marinades you have ever made. In fact, do you mind taking the lemon rind out of the marinade into which you put the beef last night? We don't need another disaster like that.
Brain:	OK, OK. Look, I am sorry. How about some shortbread and a cup of tea as a compromise? That's sort of sweet, but it doesn't contain quite as much sugar as the chocolate.
Stomach:	I suppose that will do.
Some time later...
Stomach:	Can I have some chocolate, pleeeeaaase?!
Brain:	But I gave you shortbread and tea! In fact, you had one-third of a packet of very expensive shortbread. What's your problem?
Stomach:	I told you what I want, but you don't want to listen.
Brain:	Wrong; I don't want to be manipulated by your sugar addiction! Look, I made some lettuce and zucchini soup which I was going to put away for later in the week. Have some of that.
Some time later...
Stomach:	Excuse me, may I have some sweeties now?
Brain:	But you're full!
Stomach:	I know, but you're not giving me what I want!
Brain:	Have another bowl of soup. I'll give it to you with some more tea.
Stomach:	Whatever.
Some time later...
Stomach:	I am not happy.
Brain:	But you're so full that you actually won't even need supper!
Stomach:	I didn't say I was hungry, I said I was unhappy. I want --
Brain:	No, you're not getting that. I'll give you another small piece of shortbread with some more tea. You've got to admit, that's quite generous of me, considering that we agreed that there'd be no more than two mugs of tea per day.
Some time later...
Stomach:	We need to talk. I have accepted everything you forced me to have today, and all I really wanted was --
Brain:	Fine! You can have the bacon you wanted this morning! I will make a cheese and mushroom soup with bacon on top. Even though you are already full!
Some time later...
Stomach:	I have had enough.
Brain:	I should think so.
Stomach:	No, I have had enough of you. Why don't you just listen to me for a change? All day long you have been filling me up with every kind of substitute when all I really wanted was some Ferrero Rocher chocolate, and while you have been feeding your conscience with the assurance that you're cutting down on sugar, you have been feeding me with every possible kind of fat, protein, and starch, none of which I wanted, and now I am horribly full and I still haven't got what I wanted!
Brain:	I... I am sorry. If I give you one chocolate ball, will you be satisfied?
Stomach:	Oh, for crying out loud! Yessssss! I will be satisfied! Why don't you just trust me for a change? Look where all your fine reasoning has got you!
Some time later...
Brain:	How was that? Was one ball enough for you?
Stomach:	Yes, thank-you, I told you beforehand that one would be enough. Funny how you still don't believe me. Good night, sleep well, and please try to forgive yourself for everything you have done to me today, because I doubt that the scale will be so happy to forgive you tomorrow.

On loneliness, flirting and friendship

"Hello, my name is Tania, and I don't want to be your girlfriend."
Maybe not. Let's try again.
"Hey, you never told me you like chess when we met last week. Shall we go for coffee and play some chess? That doesn't mean I want to get off with you, though."
Not cool either. How about this:
"I agree, I have really enjoyed getting to know you over the past six months. But I think you should know that I am not looking for a love affair."

Sigh. I never know when or how exactly I should bring up the subject of my unavailability. The problem is, if you say it too soon, there's always the chance that the guy's going to think (or say!): "Hey, don't flatter yourself! I don't want you as a girlfriend, one-night stand or any other variation on that theme." Maybe I should just buy a fake diamond ring at Ralo and wear it on my engagement finger.

It's not fair to leave it too long before having the talk either. And people forget. It doesn't seem to help that you work it into a conversation in the beginning, and repeat it in another sometime later when you get to know each other better. I don't know whether people simply filter out those bits or whether they reckon that after a while you may have changed your mind; but for some time, I had been getting the feeling that a certain friend actually likes me in 'that' way. Eventually I worked out a way of just asking him straight, but I left it a bit late. One night I bumped into him at my usual Friday night haunt. I was weaving between interactions with several people that evening, and I got the impression that he was jealous, but just not in a position to lay any claim to me and therefore unable to do anything about it. At one point we were standing next to each other at the edge of the dancefloor, and all of a sudden he took my hand. I knew then that I had to have this talk as soon as possible. It was far too loud and too crowded to engage in proper conversation right away, so I decided to deal with it a little later. I just gave his hand a friendly squeeze, disengaged, and danced off into the crowd. At the end of the evening I asked him if he'd like to walk me to the car. We hugged goodbye, and I said, "I sometimes get the feeling when we say goodbye that you actually want more. Is that so?"
"I don't know," he said, "What do you want?"
Clever. Not admitting to anything yet and guarding against a possible rejection by setting me up to expose myself instead.
"It's not going to happen," I said firmly but gently, still hugging him.
"OK," he said. "Better to know in advance so that one doesn't get one's hopes up."
I took that as an admission. I think he was able to utter it because he saw I wasn't going to ridicule or reject him, although I clearly wasn't going to get romantically involved either. He continued to state his feelings as though he had been wanting to disclose them for some time, but clothing them in language appropriate to the relationship as it had just been defined -- "very special" and "one of my best friends" and promising to play his instrument for me again -- and I didn't stop him, because I know all too well how awful it is to feel strongly about someone and to have to reduce the expression of the intensity to understatement for fear of freaking out the person completely. After all, I do care about him. I maintained the hug throughout the conversation, and eventually realised that if I didn't let go now, I would be advancing the kind of attraction which I was hoping to curb.

Fine for that situation. But what if you suspect from the onset that some guy has an amorous interest? If he flirts, it's so much easier. I enjoy innocent teasing, but don't like flirting, and I don't mind saying so. So if the guy doesn't want to listen, I can simply cut off all communication. There's little point anyway in trying to pursue a friendship with someone who is only interested because he's hoping it will turn mutually hormonal.

But not everyone flirts. Some people just dish out flattering observations, and you can't be sure that it's flattery with the purpose of coupling. I hand out arbitrary compliments myself, after all, and I will deliberately reassure my friends that they are cool if they appear to be in doubt. At least three people this year alone can attest to having been on the receiving end of my, "Yay, I'm so glad you're letting your beard grow again!" and they will have realised sooner or later that just because I think most men look better with beards doesn't mean that I want to get 'involved' with them. And just because I start conversations with people in bookshops, bank queues, Internet cafés, the laundromat, the bathroom scale section of Game or anywhere else for that matter, it doesn't mean I am trying to find my Valentine.

Let me briefly digress here to mention that this latter habit of mine has indeed caused me frequent consternation. I have had a supermarket packer, a bottle store cashier, a linen shop doorman and several security guards ask me for my phone number after but the briefest of conversations, not to mention the fact that two men actually in full seriousness proposed marriage to me last year -- and this in spite of the fact that I had by then stated my position with what I thought to be unequivocal clarity -- and we never even touched. How sad it would be, though, to have to hold back from making friendly conversation just because people may take it the wrong way.

Back to where I was going, though, which is the subject of flirting. When I tell people who flirt that I like teasing but don't like flirting, they usually ask, "So what's the difference?" The difference between teasing and flirting is simply this: you can tease your mother and your sister.

There are many lonely men who flirt and thereby prevent themselves attaining the very things which they so desperately crave. The problem is, they realise all too well that if they are to be honest about their desires, they could end up sounding so depressingly grave that people would reject them anyway for fear of being burdened by all their sadness. Imagine someone saying, after just a few opening sentences, "I am really lonely. I want friends. Will you be my friend?" Most people don't want to hear serious requests like that up front, and since lonely people usually know that, some choose to hide behind a flirtatious mask, so that a potential slap to the soul will at least be impeded to some degree by the fact that "what she rejected is not the entirely vulnerable real me".

I am not saying that everyone who flirts is lonely, or that most lonely people resort to flirting. Nor am I suggesting that lonely people who flirt don't also sometimes do so in the hope of achieving the same temporary gratification as can be expected by a suave Casanova. (And occasionally, I should imagine, they even succeed.) But I have some personal, subjective and honest advice for lonely people who flirt in an effort to establish or build relationships: DON'T. There are other options. Be friendly. Show respect, and be respectable. Serve without being servile. Be a gentleman. If people actually want to reject that, they are not rejecting you, they are rejecting God and all his goodness, so you don't have to take it quite so personally.

Of course one of the reasons that people flirt is because they don't realise just how emotionally rich a simple friendship can be, so they are always moping about that elusive romance. I don't blame anyone for wanting a friend who can actually engage his loins, nor do I by any means underestimate the joy, synergy and potential benefit of that kind of partnership; but why pursue only that? Most societies allow us only one of those anyway, so if you fail, you go back to zero. But the number of friends we can have is not limited, and the depth of the love we can have for them has at times even outshone all other relationships. How many people realise that David and Jonathan embraced each other, wept, and kissed? Whether David loved Michal, Abigail or Bathsheba with the same intensity, has not been recorded; but even if you want to detour the argument to suggest that David and Jonathan could have been gay, I would, without denying that possibility, view that as the quick and easy conclusion of a society in which passion has become almost exclusively associated with sexual and filial relationships, with friendship often being treated as something which isn't quite as valuable -- unless, of course, the 'friend' owns something that you want.

Many people are wise enough at least to realise that friendship can be the start of a deep and lasting conjugal relationship. The problem is that many therefore treat friendship as a stepping stone instead of a cornerstone, so the destination is passed over along the journey. I had one friend who was "willing to settle for a friendship" with me because I wasn't going to sleep with him. If the value of friendship is going to be reduced to that of a booby prize, don't expect it to yield any lasting return. (I don't see him anymore. There's just no point.)

Assuming, then, that you are convinced of the value of friendship for friendship's sake, how do you go about making friends? Ironically, although I have a good number of friends, I can't give you an easy answer on how to get started. When I got divorced at the beginning of 2005, I had almost no friends, and several of those I had were dependent on me rather than in symbiosis. Naively, I signed up at a dating Web site, thinking that if I put down in my profile that I was looking for friends only, people would believe me. And while I would have liked or even preferred to have acquired some new female friends, I deliberately did not state that I was "interested in women", because then they put your profile on lesbian dating sites. I also deliberately excluded a picture from my profile, and refused to meet anyone who insisted on seeing one first. I reasoned that if I described myself as "average" (most women described themselves as anything from "above average" to "supermodel"), then anyone who was willing to meet me had to be at least half decent and a potential friend. Having been (mostly unhappily) married for 17 years, I was unaccustomed to being wooed, and I had no idea of how to react to the sudden romantic interest which ensued from almost every live encounter. It was certainly quite flattering in the beginning, but I became increasingly vexed by the fact that after a year and a half, I had turned down a great number of 'suitors' and still had very few real friends. The experience, however, practically turned me into a consultant and agony aunt to men seeking women on the Internet. I heard all the horror stories, from tales of possessive and deranged women who lie about their age (or weight) and post 10-year-old photos, later to self-destruct in a pool of alcohol, to opportunists seeking a sugar daddy, practically bankrupting those who fall for their wiles; and one of my friends actually booked himself on a flight to Russia to visit an impossibly gorgeous young woman whose profile and correspondence were almost certainly created by a crime syndicate. (Luckily he came to his senses before making the trip.) Whilst there are many potential pitfalls to Internet dating, I am not suggesting that it is a bad idea -- if you are looking for a mate rather than for friends. You just have to learn to read between the lines and separate the wheat from the chaff. And from the thorns.

In spite of what was largely a failed attempt at making friends, I did retain two or three good friends whom I met on the net. Most of the friends with whom I hang out these days are, however, people I met in the traditional way, either through chance encounters, through being neighbours, through attending events built around a common interest, or by becoming friends with my friends' friends. BarCamp was significant. A turning point, even. It had so many spin-offs. And to my great delight, some of my friends have now also become friends of one another. My teenage experience of clique politics at my high school in Connecticut taught me not to be too disappointed when friends don't all get along like one big happy family. If at least you can invite everyone to the same party without someone refusing to come because so-and-so is going to be there, you're doing pretty well. In case you are in any doubt: I am very, very, very happy that I have friends.

Once you have friends, how do you keep them? I doubt that there is a step-by-step recipe, because not everybody with whom I have pursued a friendship has been equally interested in pursuing a friendship with me, and vice versa. One thing I know is that you must love your friends, and you must involve them in befriending other people who need love. If you don't do that, the fun you have together will eventually become meaningless and empty; and indeed, I am concerned that this may already be happening in some of my friendships, because I have been lazy. Friendship is nurtured through the exclusivity of the unique relationship, and the security given by mutual reassurance. That same friendship grows and is strengthened through the inclusivity of a love which becomes too big for two people to keep to themselves.

Die prent teen die muur

Daar is nie prente teen my mure nie. (Ek het probeer skilder, maar ek was nie tevrede met die resultaat nie; trouens, op die ou end het alle moontlike prente en skilderye my laat kriewelrig voel, en vandat daar slegs onbeskilderde skilderdoeke teen die mure is, voel ek baie meer ontspanne in my leefruimte.) Vanoggend het ek egter 'n paar minute lank 'n interessante prent gehad. Ek het die skuifdeur se gordyne oopgetrek, maar my wasgoedstaander het die lig se toegang gedeeltelik versper. Net die boonste strokie son, met die skaduwees van die sekuriteitshek en die gaasgordyn, het netjies in die middel van die doek verskyn asof dit so ontwerp is.