Coming soon...

A picture of the best Christmas present ever!
A list of my favourite books of 2006!
The Great Goat's hopes and dreams for 2007!
Random facts to help you face the apocolypse!
And a report from the newly freed Siska.

PATTOTE: Stay tuned...

Shag, Marry or Kill...

or "Smok" is a game Der Fuhrer introduced me to. You pick three celebrities and you have to pick one to shag, one to marry and one to kill. It's hard enough when you realise that you're going to have to off Colin Firth in order to marry Hugh Jackman and shag John Cusack. But it gets nasty when you have to decide between three people like, um, Jack Black, Bill Cosby and Dudley Moore. Or when you have to pick between people you know. Tons of fun.

PATTOTE: Better living through mocking celebrities.

The Lowest Common Denominator...

...and how tabloids are perpetuating the existence of same.

I think people live up to expectations, so journalists and newspapers should expect more of them. Tabloids think their readers are dumb, so their readers expect the newspapers to be dumbed down. I'm not even talking about which celebrity is screwing around with which sheep. I'm talking about the crappy stories, the terrible headlines, the completely heinous crimes against grammar and punctuation, and, even worse, the ad hoc slanging about which brings two languages into disrepute.

The media has an obligation to audiences everywhere to be erudite and intelligent. When we start dumbing things down in a misguided attempt to access the "people", we are selling the "people" incredibly short. If people don't read newspapers because they're disinterested that's fine. I don't understand it, but let's just add that to the long list of things I don't understand. But aiming lower to up circulation is not the answer.

Of course, PATTOTE continues to acknowledge that people do idiotic things. But they should at least be well informed idiots.

I'm not dead!

I feel fine! I feel happy!

Scene from a taxi

The Daily Voice is, to put it mildly, crap. It's one of a number of truly trashy tabloids (tm me) that have proliferated in Cape Town of late. it comes complete with page three girls, complete in their kaalgat glory.

So this morning on my way to work I noticed a guy with his (two, maybe three-year-old) son. Dad was trying to read the Voice. Kiddie was insistently pointing his finger at the naked girl. In fact, he was pointing so hard at the..erm...nippular area, I was surprised his finger didn't poke straight through the paper. What was going through his mind? Breakfast?

Dear Anonymous

Beansprout, I know who you are!

And it's S-P-O-O-N-E-R-I-S-E. Not "spoon and rise".

Now you get your update.

Love and kisses

Liz

Family Jokes

The Parents have finally come on board the information extra super hyper awesome highway and learnt about the beauties of IMing. Infinitely cheaper than smses and phonecalls, and you can drink a cup of tea, work and talk at the same time. Brilliant!

As fabulous as yapping on the phone is, there is such a sense of urgency to get all the vital information across the subtleties of family communication are somewhat lost. Writing allows those subtleties some space again. IM gives me the illusion of being in my parents living room, drinking tea and playing scrabble, falling about into hysterics with The Mother and The Sister while The Father looks on in annoyance trying to get us back into the game.

My family are great laughers/snorters/gigglers. The family in-jokes keep us laughing long after the jokes stopped being funny and bind us together in our own Ellis-oh-Elize-tried-to-strangle-Juanita-but-she-turned-out-ok-our-dogs-sit-up-on-dining-room-chairs-and-our-car-was-mauled-to-pieces-by-a-field-mouse kind of way.

Every group has in-jokes. Laughing together to the exclusion of another is a societal tool really. Chummy cameraderie and a shared history gives you a sense of belonging to something. Not knowing what the joke is leaves you alienated and alone. Maybe the neanderthal who didn't get the latest woolly mammoth story got stomped on? Who knows. But knowing the joke gives you the power to allow another person in. Not to sound all portentious, but knowing the joke equals survival.
In some ways gossip serves the same purpose, but I don't think sharing gossip leaves you with the same feeling of security that laughing at an old joke does. The same secure feeling you got when you were little and lying in bed, listening to the theme song of Dallas, or LA Law or The Golden Girls and heard the quiet hum of your parents talking.

Family In-Joke 1: We were outside playing when that happened

I was about 6, The Sister was about 4, and we really were outside playing when The Parents called us into the sitting room and lined us up. Somebody had carved a little drawing into the polished coffee table. "Girls, who was it?" asks The Father. I shake my head - my drawing was WAY more advanced than that. The Sister said: "We were outside playing when that happened." Guilty party, table for one. So now when you're trying to evade guilt (Who used up the last of the milk/toilet paper/hot water) you were outside playing when that happened.

Family In-Joke 2: You're all right

The Father (God love him, and I do) is a tough man to please. Certain compliments can only be chipped out of him with an ice pick. So when he says: "Ja, you're all right", he means all the mushy stuff The Mother usually says. So now if you want to give a grudging compliment it is proper ellisiquette to just say: "You're all right." As in: "Dad, don't you think Siskey is a clever dog?" Dad:"She's an all right dog."

Family In-Joke 3: Yoghurt position

The yoghurt position is any position you're in that is extra comfortable and you're not moving any time soon. Yoghurt is of course a corruption of yoga. There are a couple of those corruptions. We speak of satsuma wrestlers as well. And flamingos are high ducks.

Family In-Joke 4: "Put down that book!"

Related to In-Joke 3, this is yelled whenever you're taking too long with anything. Been in the loo too long? "Put down that book!" Still getting dressed after an hour? "Put down that book!" Been in the bath for a while? "Put down that book!" Of course, the fact is that more often than not, I have a book to put down. Sue me.

Family In-Joke 5: "Girls, come here!"

This hearkens back to days of yore, when The Sister and I would be deep into one of our games and there would be a call from The Mother to "come here!" She just wants to "tell you something!" And after dragging our heels, and leaving the ruins of our game behind, we'd get there only to be told: "I love you!" Cue much groaning and stomping off. We were ungrateful little brats.

Are you an African?

The Father sent me this:

"Hi. We have a new guy working with us.He is a black Zimbabwean. Father was an Englishman so he speaks English without a Shona or Ndebele accent. Victor, who is Tanzanian and speaks Swahili, does not regard him as an African because he does not speak an African language!! I on the other hand, am African, because I speak an African language, namely Afrikaans!!! Is this crazy, or what?"

Discuss...

Evergroan

Hell is being stuck on a taxi playing Will Young's Evergreen on loop.

White chick

While crossing the taxi rank at Cape Town station this morning, one of the guys yelled: "Hey! Abelungu!"
It's only since my regular forays with Habitat for Humanity that I've discovered that abelungu means "white people" in Xhosa (for your interest, the singular is umlungu), because when you're working gangs of kids follow you around shouting it.
Because I recognised the word and the fact that I was the only umlungu in the vicinity I answered, which I think surprised the yeller. Unlike the word amaBhulu (which is Xhosa for Boer or Afrikaner), abelungu/umlungu has no negative overtones. It's just a catch-all word.

If I went to that same taxi rank and yelled: "Hey! Black people!", would the response be the same? Should I be as offended and annoyed as I am when someone whispers: "Hey, girly" in a queue? I don't find being identified by my race offensive. I find being labelled because of it wrong and aggravating. Does allowing one label let all the other labels in?

Who(us) Dunnit(us)

I've just discovered the the Falco series by Lindsey Davis. I've been wanting to read about this Ancient Roman Private Eye for ages but haven't been able to find the first book (The Silver Pigs) anywhere. And you all know how much I loathe reading books out of order. But at last I found it, finished it and have embarked on the others.

The gist is that Marcus Didius Falco is an informer in Rome under Emperor Vespasian. He has all manner of cases to solve, which he does with a helping of his truly terrible luck. The books are funny and touching spoofs on the old gum shoe detective books.

I love the patter and the plots, which are complex but absorbing. I especially like the author's lack of coddling. She writes; it's up to the reader to understand.

PATTOTE: Better living through discovering entire new series of books that will take me a few years to complete.

RIP Red Rocket

The Red Rocket is gone!

Long live the Rocket!

PATTOTE: I miss my car!

According to the Furher...

Spitting is Love
Swallowing is True Love
Gargling is just showing off.
PATTOTE: Better living through yeugh.

Tiny girl in Pink Tutu Astounds

I was walking the little powder puff through the neighbourhood the other day when I heard some high-pitched shrieking. As I passed a nearby gate I saw a little girl wearing a pink tutu pretending to be an opera singer. She was serenading a dog - arms outstretched, standing on her tiptoes. When she saw me, she paused and smiled a bit. As soon as I passed out of sight, she went right back to singing.

It's all in my head.

Allow me a little whinge, please, as migraine weather has arrived and I now have a public forum in which to vent. Those who don't suffer from migraines can smirk: "Oh, it's just a headache," as much as they want. When they've curled up in a fetal position in a dark room, been slowly driven mad by one tiny little crack of moonlight, or thrown up so badly they almost lost an eyeball, then I'll consider their opinion.

I have heard varying reasons for migaines. The most reasonable explanation (according to a neurologist I once visited) is that there is a dip in serotonin levels, causing neuropeptides to dilate blood vessels in the brain, causing the headache. Migraines are characterised by pain on one side of the head. I usually feel nauseated, irritable, sensitive to light and sound, and can't take being touched in any way. I have occasionally had numbness on one side of my body but it's not a regular part of the attacks.

The most difficult part of treating migraines is that...there isn't any real way to treat them. You can try to prevent them, and try to reduce the number you have and their duration. I use Maxalt, which is rizatriptan, with a lot of success. But it only works if you take it as early into the migraine as possible.

Unfortunately the triggers vary hugely. Mine are chocolate, cheese, flashing lights and stress. I've also recently discovered that overprocessed junk food adds to your chances of getting them too.

And of course, I've indulged in all of these delightful things in the past while. And now I'm paying for it badly. I suppose the good thing is that now I can come back to this post and it can be a deterrent.

Until then, I'll clutch my sunglasses and sleep. Whinge over.

What's really destroying the US

These children have no chance of becoming responsible, intelligent adults. Read Bill Maher's insightful and incisive commentary here.

PATTOTE: Better living through politically incorrect US commentators.

Cricketing Obits

Peter the Lord's Cat and Other Unexpected Obituaries from Wisden is on my list of must-have books. Wisden's is more than just cricket - it's an institution of wonderful writing and understated English wit. And isn't that just the best title you've ever read?

Spot the errors.

If you can name the two things that are incorrect in this picture, you get a small island come my glorious revolution. But not TOM. TOM is exempt from survival.



PATTOTE: No bad spelling allowed

I'm the baby...

...you gotta love me.

http://s51.photobucket.com/albums/f363/Liz_Isabella/?action=view&current=MOV00020.flv

Gibbs avoids arrest

Herschelle Gibbs finally faced the music in India, where he has been wanted for questioning since the match fixing scandal broke in 2000. He's avoided arrest by helping the Indian authorities, and provided them with the names of 3 former national players who were involved. So now he can help us to victory in the Champion's Trophy. But I want to know who those three additional players were. And whether Gibbs will be spared criminal charges. He was already punished by the UCB, after all.

The Ellis Family Bush Telegraph System

11:02am I talk to The Sister. She tells me The Parents will be visiting for a few days. I tell her a joke.

11:30 am The Parents phone. They tell me they're going to visit The Sister for a few days. They tell me a joke they heard from The Sister. Yes, my joke. I tell them that is my joke. They say The Sister laid claim to it.

11:38 am Cue outraged phone call from myself to The Sister's landline. The landline is engaged.

11:39 am Cue fuming phone call from myself to The Sister. She picks up on the cellphone. The Mother is on the Landline warning The Sister that beans have been spilt re owner of the joke.

11:40 am The Sister talks to The Mother and Myself, one in each ear. We agree to let bygones be bygones.

1pm two days later The Father calls. The Mother is at work and he is getting a sneaky chat with me ("I won't tell if you don't"). He tells me the fun they had visiting The Sister, The Sister's Fiance and Curtis-the-Fetus. He says The Mother will call later.

4pm The Sister calls. She tells me the fun they had while The Mother and The Father visited.

10pm The Mother calls. The Father is asleep and she is getting a sneaky chat with me ("I won't tell if you don't"). She tells me the fun they had visiting The Sister, The Sister's Fiance and Curtis-the-Fetus. Goodnight, they'll call again for the regularly scheduled Saturday chat.

Who has a chance to miss anyone in this family? We're always talking.

Take a walk on the weird side

Those of you who know me also know that I have a latent interest in healing techniques and new age-y stuff. Some of it makes me want to roll my eyes. Other aspects - particularly the tai chi concept that what is in the mind is then in the body - make sense. To me anyway.

So pyschosomatic partial cynic that I am, I wasn't sure what to expect from the healing workshop that I attended this weekend. it was more rewarding than I thought it would be.

I learnt:
1) That people will always come back.
2) That nothing bad happens when you face what you're feeling, no matter how overwhelming it may be.
3) That a touch on the shoulder is more comforting than I have allowed myself to believe.
4) That the evil part of me is determined to hear dodgy euphemisms in everything.

Dystopian pleasure

Just been reading an extract of The Discomfort Zone: A Personal History by Jonathan Franzen. It's very good and excruciatingly honest. I find Franzen's work hard to read but very rewarding.

Useless Information

I was tagged by Marissa to write down 20 random facts about myself, so here they are. I'm going to tag Kristy (so that she'll update) and anybody else who's keen.

1) I once almost chopped my left middle finger off with an axe.
2) I sometimes sing to myself before going to sleep.
3) I like skipping and hopping down passages.
4) I like to imagine my funeral, and regularly write my eulogies.
5) I have flat feet and can go through a pair of shoes in less than six months.
6) I practice what I'm going to say before I speak on the phone, because otherwise I get tongue-tied. A great bonus for a journalist.
7)The first dream I remember having was when I was four. I was trapped in a house full of white statues and their arms kept falling off.
8) I have a little sniffle everytime I look at a picture or video of my nephew.
9) I've always wanted to play the piano.
10) I like slogan tshirts and want an entire collection.
11) I can't do Embrace the tiger, Return to the mountain in taichi without falling over.
12) Berg winds make me grumpy and aggro.
13) I have fake eardrums.
14) I bruise like a peach.
15) I enjoy telling really bad jokes because they get a great reaction.
16) I really love making an entire room of people laugh.
17) I often feel that my entire life is a dream and I will be waking up at any second.
18) I have a birthmark that stretches around my middle.
19) I try not to cry in movies because I'm afraid people will laugh.
20) I like going to movies on my own.

PATTOTE: Better living through information you can now use against me

The following scenes may not be suitable for sensitive viewers

My name is Sadie. I'm a gingerbread person - a politically correct biscuit for the 21st century.



Oh no! Someone ate my arm!



Oh no! Someone ate my other arm!



My perfect liquorice boobies! She ate my perfect liquorice boobies!



I guess I'll quit while I'm ahead.


PATTOTE: Hee hee hee.

So you think you know Jane Austen?

Apparently...I don't. I got 12 out of a possible 18. What kind of a bookaholic is that?

Take the quiz.

Books Books Books (2)

I went through to Stellenbosch this weekend to celebrate Marissa's birthday with an Alice in Wonderland-worthy tea party at a place called Cupcake. The party was brilliant. However, the true find of the day was Verbatim, a gorgeous little bookshop inhabited by two ladies who talk a mile a minute and have an opinion about everything...
I bought Master and Commander and Post Captain by Patrick O'Brian, The I hate to Housekeep Book which looks amusing, and Somerset Maugham's collected short stories.

PATTOTE: Better living through adding more books to my already precariously piled shelves.

A sign of things to come?

This morning I tried to put the iron into the fridge.

PATTOTE: Better living through a crazy great goat

Foiled Again

Justice took another nosedive today when the Jacob Zuma corruption case was struck off the roll. The judge said the state's case lacked evidence. The state believes that it still has a case and will continue to investigate in the hopes of bringing an indictment at a later date.

This is very frustrating, especially after the whole Aids fiasco. The judgement also lends credence to his claims that the government is setting him up. He has manipulated the negative publicity he has received perfectly, creating a little niche for himself as the wronged struggle hero. Rather than his political career being in tatters, he can make a new stand. I hope that the ANC still blackballs him for their national executive, despite the continued support the Youth League is giving him. I don't know what will happen if he enters politics again, but his signature song is "Get me my machine gun". Do we want that in a position of power?

Laughing - but dying on the inside

Seen today in the submissions pile:

"amaizing"

I didn't know I could twitch and laugh at the same time. Progress!

PATTOTE: Better living through correct spelling - and laughing at creative attempts.

For your Information

An addition to my post yesterday. Here is a link to the pope's full speech. Were his comments taken out of context? Is he spoiling for a fight and now getting what he deserves? You decide.

Or Else

I've been reading about the outcry among Muslims after Pope Benedict's speech, in which he is reported to have quoted an obscure medieval king who labelled Islam cruel and inhumane. The pope has a propensity to overestimate his audience, often delivering incredibly complex and academic speeches to people who are only half-listening. After the reaction to his speech broke, he stated that he never intended to offend anyone and that his comments had been largely misrepresented. However, some sections of Muslim society are demanding that he withdraw his statements completely and apologise. Or else.

It's the "or else" that worries me. This latest outraged reaction has been widely reported as coming from the extremist Muslim minority, and it is they who are getting all the airtime and all the newspaper space. That minority is holding the rest of the world to ransom. Support us "or else". Publish our point of view "or else". Print pictures of us burning effigies and flags "or else".

And it's not the non-Muslim world that is suffering because of that attitude. It's the million of non-extremist Muslims that are caught in the middle, in a world where dialogue now consists of fury from one side, and silence from the other - or else.

Personal Ads

I've aways said that if I were to place a personal ad it would be:
"Neurotic Virgo seeks one more thing to worry about."
You?

Oh, irony!

So Marissa and I are walking along on Friday afternoon, pavement bustling with rush hour traffic. We're discussing the fact that everybody looks so adult and together. And as I say: "Yes, well, we all look poised and confident on the outside, but on the inside we're a mess," I trip and land flat on my face. That is where poise will get you.

PATTOTE: Better living through two bruised knees, a giggling friend and soothing pots of tea.

Counting Crows

Ok, I'm going to be upfront and say that the biggest reason I came to love Counting Crows is because Adam F Duritz writes so many beautiful songs about someone called Elisabeth. Admittedly "Elisabeth" must have done some serious damage, because those songs are always a little desperate and painful. Desperate, painful and beautiful. But outside of the kick I get when I hear him singing to Elisabeth, I have a deep affection for the group's lyrics.

They remind me a great deal of TS Eliot's work. Words, upon words, upon words, in an order you never contemplated but comprehend nonetheless. TS Eliot always makes me feel that I'm on the edges of understanding and that at any second I'll get it, and the secrets of the universe will be opened to me.

The two songs by Counting Crows I love most are "St Robinson in his Cadillac Dream" and "Wish I was a Girl". St Robinson feels to me like having a dream that leaves me feeling content and happy, and trying to have that dream translate into reality. Sometimes real life is such a let down. That moment between the dream and the waking up is perfect. There's the potential that today will be the day. Real life could be the dream.

Wish I was a Girl means a great deal to me, largely because of the lines:
"I wish for all the world
That I could say
Hey, elisabeth, you know I'm doing all right
These days"

At one stage I would have sold my soul to hear those words directed at me. Now, of course, I'm a big person and I understand that this is a song about letting go. A song about reassurance. Now these lines strike me:
"For all the things you're losing
You might as well resign yourself to try and make a change"

Nothing stays the same. What you lose, you regain at another time, in another form. The only thing you never lose completely is you. I'm the only person who knows me inside out. I find that comforting.

PATTOTE: Better living through Counting Crows, because they are totally going to live on my island one day.

Encounter at the ATM

While waiting in line at the ATM the other day, this young guy joined the bunch of bored looking people. He smiled at us all, nodded his head a couple of times and said: "The Lord Jesus loves you all."

And that was it. Short, to the point, and he returned to perusing his bank statement.

The fine art of waking up

As far as I can tell you get two kinds of "not morning people". You get the sort who can't function at all before 10am - speaking to them will garner you a grunt and that's about it. Then you get the sort that can function fine, but the getting up part is a nightmare.

I'm the latter. It doesn't matter what time I go to bed, when that alarm goes off I'm barely concious. I hit snooze multiple times. I bargain with myself over whether 15 extra minutes would really kill me. I come up with elaborate schemes to wake myself up without actually having to get up immediately (the latest being putting the light on after the second alarm but keeping my eyes shut).

Of course I'm annoyingly compos mentis even when I'm trying to avoid getting up. I talk a mile a minute every day of my life, and straight through the night as well. Why would I not grumble loudly to myself as I try to find the off button on my alarm?

PATTOTE: Better living through those of us who are "rubbish in the morning" (quote unquote).

Atomic puns

Oxygen and Hydrogen walk into a bar. Gold is sitting at a table. They say: "AU, get outta here."

Snark snark snark...

Books, books, books!

Marissa gave me three new books to feed the addiction. They are:

Fever Pitch by Nick Hornby (to fill out my collection)
Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer (a book I wanted to read forever)
and
Vanilla: Travels in Search of the Luscious Substance by Tim Ecott (which sounds decadent and fascinating)

I can't wait to get in there.

PATTOTE: Better living through libraries, especially mine.

Going to hell in a handbasket

I love this saying. Not only are things going to hell, they're going in a pretty container, probably with bows and flowers attached. You just can't get much more pear-shaped than that.

PATTOTE: Better living through me, cause the world is going to hell in a handbasket.

Frodo "blah blah" Baggins

I'm reading Lord of the Rings at the moment. I'm about half way through The Two Towers and enjoying the book more than I ever have before. I think JRR Tolkien's books fall into that category where, unless you're the right age and in the right frame of mind, you just fail to get into them.

That said, Frodo and Sam are working on my nerves big time. It's traitorous but true: I hate the main characters, and arguably the main point of the books.

But seriously, they're going to destroy the source of all evil. This should be riveting stuff. Perhaps my theory will mean that when I reread Tolkien's work in ten years I'll update with Legolas "blah blah" Aragorn "blah blah".

PATTOTE: Better living through rereading the classics.

Please do not complain about the pictures...

...there's fuck all I can do about them. Once you've all seen them, they're coming down anyway.

Dial 1-800-CANINE

So I phoned my dog on Saturday afternoon. Ok, ok, strictly speaking The Mother and The Sister went to visit Siska at the scene of her incarceration and phoned me and let me chat to her over the speakerphone. So I talked to my dog on Saturday afternoon.

Me: Siskey! Siskey! Baby girl! Googoo gahgah!
Siska: [thinks] What's the buzzing?
Me: [getting frantic, the dog has forgotten me!] Siskey! Baby! Siskey! [whistles loudly]
Siska: [puzzled] Hiking lady?
Me: [relief] Yes!
Siska: [still puzzled] Where are you Hiking Lady? Lady-who-owns-the-handbag-full-of-sausage-roll-dog-treats and Lady-who-smells-of-baby-powder are both here but I don't see you.
Me: Well, I am rather far away. I'm talking to you over the cellphone. You know, the boxy thing that looks like a toy but isn't.
Siska: Ohhhhh
Me: So, how are you?
Siska: Same old, same old. When you've been on the inside as long as I have...
Me: Yes, about that...
Siska: You lied.
Me: Well, it wasn't a lie exactly...
Siska: You lied.
Me: You exaggerate.
Siska: [does remarkable subliminal imitation of Liz's gooey Siska voice] What a good girl you are! You deserve a holiday. Yes you do, yes you do. And because you're a special doggy who deserves a holiday I'm sending you away on an all expenses paid trip to the Ryslip Hotel and Country Club. Five star accomodation, meals, hiking trails, new toys, tons of food.
Me: [defensively] You get fed!
Siska: You lied. You put me in a wooden box and the next thing I know I'm being unloaded at the "hotel", except its labelled quarantine facility! And the people talk funny! [wails] They called me fat!
Me: Calm down...
Siska: You lied.
Me: Ok, ok so I lied. It was for your own good. And you can't tell me you're not having a good time.
Siska: [sniffs] I guess not.
Me: [patiently] How's Squeak?
Siska: He's all right. He likes it here and he has a new friend. Lady-who-owns-the-handbag-full-of-sausage-roll-dog-treats brought a new one. She keeps saying he's orange. Could you tell her I'm colour-blind? But he's very nifty. And I have my bone, and my balls, and my rope and my bed and everybody loves me here.
Me: Way to be modest, Siskey.
Siska: It's not my fault I'm beautiful. Lady-who-owns-the-handbag-full-of-sausage-roll-dog-treats, Lady-who-smells-of-baby-powder, Man-who-likes-to-terrorise-me and Other-man-who-looks-at-them-all-like-they're-mad tell me so all the time.
Me: [mutters] We've created a monster.
Siska: There are dogs here, you know.
Me: Really? At a kennel? How odd.
Siska: I've never been a dog person.
Me: Strange that.
Siska: They're very loud.
Me: So shout back.
Siska: Oh, I do. The book club is great. Then there's the music forum. And a Toys We have Loved retrospective. We have a debate every day...
Me: [interrupts] A debate? You're a bunch of dogs. What could you possibly have opinions on?
Siska: [huffily] Excuse me, we are a bunch of dogs from all over the world. We discuss lots of stuff. Lots of important stuff.
Me: Like?
Siska: Uh...we discussed what kind of cat George W Bush is like. Why vacuum cleaners are scary. Whether retrieving sticks makes us smart or makes us slaves. Begging: the ends justify the means. Stuff.
Me: Who's a clever girl?
Siska: [smugly] Oh, stop.
Me: I have to go. I'm sorry I lied.
Siska: That's all right. I really like it here. It's better than the big farm in the sky.
Me: Ok, go get Squeak!
Siska: [...]

PATTOTE: Better living through black labradors with toys on the brain.

Singularly Uninspired

I know, I know...my propoganda has come to a grinding halt, but even future dictators get writer's block (although we usually have our spindoctors, er, eliminated, for it). So in the interest of assuring you all that I am alive, here is a little roundup:

Where am I?
I'm sitting at my desk, waiting for the Fuhrer to finish up pg 1, so that I can collect the newspaper and send it to the printers before I get a worried phonecall from them, tsktsking about printruns and distribution.

What am I doing?
You mean, other than quickly scrolling through the windows I have open on my desktop to pretend I'm working? Nothing.

What is next on the list?
It's either going to be collect, distil and send, or make a cup of tea and hide out with the admin staff. I'm leaning towards the tea.

What have I been listening too?
A group called The Weepies. Their discordant harmoniousness rules.

What have I been watching?
A lot of crap on DStv that I would usually refrain from, but it's there.

Where do I find the time?
Well, I'm dogsitting in a big-ass house and that much space is kind of making me nervous. And a little paranoid. And a little insomniac. So, I've been watching a lot of Wildlife SOS and Pet Rescue in addition to slavering over BBC Food. And Supernanny. And It's Me or The Dog. The latter make me worry about the future of humanity and plan my island sanctuary in more detail.

And when you're not watching crap?
I'm reading Cold Mountain and admiring Jude Law in my head. Lord of the Rings is up next. Again.

Immediate plans for the future?
To go home. Enjoy my day off tomorrow. Eat my colleague's sundried tomato and pesto dip. Put petrol in my car. See the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie. Watch a dvd called Gaia for work and write a pithy review of it. Remember to go back to my place to pick up my shampoo and said dvd.

Next week, we're back with a vengeance with a review of Cold Mountain, a transcript of the phone conversation I intend to have with the dog on Saturday and perhaps pics of the entire "putting a newspaper together" process. Never say I'm not devoted to the education of the masses.

PATTOTE: Better living, through, um, something. Sorry, the situation of spindoctor is still vacant. And takers?

The Incomparable Jasper Fforde

Right now I'm reading The Big Over Easy by Jasper Fforde, a cautionary tale from the Nursery Crime Division of Reading Central Police. Reading, it seems, is the hub of nursery tale activity, with gingerbreadmen committing heinous crimes, and the Three Little Pigs getting off for the murder of one Mr Wolff. This is the first book in the series, and DI Jack Spratt and DS Mary Mary are investigating the mysterious death of Humpty Dumpty. Did he jump off the wall or was he pushed? I haven't figured that out yet but so far the book is very funny. There are tons of references (Humpty's landlady is Mrs Hubbard, and his next door neighbour is the narcoleptic Willie Winkie) and even more puns. I like them, they make me feel smart. The next one in this series is The Fourth Bear, and it features a blond who comes along and ruins the Bruin bear family's life. Heh!

The other series Fforde writes is much the same. The books feature a literary detective called Thursday Next. In the first book, The Eyre Affair, Next investigates the kidnapping of Jane Eyre and other literary characters. Fforde has created this awesome little world, where all that matters is books and the characters in them. Shakespeare fans have streetfights with Marlowe fans, and everybody takes bets at Shakespeare performances to see who will win the next fencing match. I'm going to start Lost in a Good Book as soon as I figure out who offed Humpty.

The writing is brilliant, and now that I've seen Reading, even funnier.

PATTOTE: Better living through anthropomorphised animals and unfzskably surreal situations.

Ruining the Mystery

I'm reading the new Nora Roberts book, Angels Fall. It's really, really good. I'm trying to figure out who the murderer is and, while I have my suspects, she's not giving anything away in this one. So all in all I should be enjoying this book experience.

Except the book is completely riddled with spelling, grammar and punctuation errors, and they're driving me crazy. It's really jarring to be ripped out of an atmospheric thriller because quotes are the wrong way round, the last letter of a given word has become the first letter of the next word, or, as in one memorable paragraph, words are missing completely. Sentences need conjunctions and prepositions people, it's not a voluntary thing.

If the story wasn't so good, and if it wasn't against my policy to dump books half way, it would be gathering dust somewhere. But I need to know who the murderer is.

PATTOTE: Better living through grammar nazis.

Blogging the Baby

Curtis-the-fetus arrived after concerted effort from his mother, who was pretty tired of being pregnant judging by the bored smses I've been receiving. I'm biased, but I think he's lovely.



Happy birthday Jamie Luke! I hope you grow up to like chickpeas, lentils, museums and Manchester United. And congratulations Juanita and Gareth. I'll stop calling your son Curtis now!

Why Dubbya should be gagged

Oh dear

So Bush makes an arse of himself again. Not only is his logic infallible - if Syria stops Hezbollah, then the fighting will end in Lebanon, nothing to do with Israel at all - he treats Blair like rubbish and talks over him. Chewing away, talking with food in his mouth, he insults Kofi Annan and almost makes it sound like Condi is on her way out (ousted or to Lebanon, who knows). This is a politician?

PATTOTE - Better living through a benevolent dictator who will keep the microphone off.

Literary bums

The Father sent me this email yesterday (punctuation his):

"Hi. I must tell you this quickly. About 07:30 this morning, one of the lesser-known-rough-sleepers came to Willow House asking if there was any chance of a cup of coffee. I said to him, that if he waited until 08:00 he could have breakfast. He then asked where I was from and I said: "South Africa". He went to his bag and took out a well-read, well-worn copy of Andre P Brink`s book [A Dry White Season]! Have a nice day. Love. Dad."

How cool is that?

PATTOTE - Better living through lesser-known-rough-sleepers with an eye for good reading.

Wha?! update

The Fuhrer suggested that the keyword search may have something to do with the song that plays when Shaun Pollock comes out to bowl or bat. For the person searching, the song is Nkalakatha by Mandoza. Just so you know.

Wha?!

Somebody recently found my blog searching on google's Australian site with the keywords "Shaun Pollock favourite song". Now, I'm a fan but his favourite song? Who in the what now?!

Zorro

I've just finished Zorro, by Isabel Allende. I enjoyed it immensely, as I have all her other books. Not only am I a fan of Zorro himself, but her recreation of his character is pretty flawless. Foppish, hypochondriac dandy by day; masked defender with whip by night.

Zorro has an unswerving sense of social justice and a sarcastic tongue, a lethal combination. Allende sets the scene, with the colonialisation of Mexico by Spain, the subsequent mistreatment of the the existing population, and the proselytising missionaries. Zorro himself is a mestizo, a half-bood, and it allows him to exist in both worlds. Each world gives him the knowledge he needs, but both worlds also need him.

I found Allende's matter of fact comments through the stories very amusing; her dry humour and practical opinions in the face of Zorro's flair for the dramatic brings the reader neatly down to earth.

There are two things I noticed about the novel. The first, that the story has a far more "western" flavour than, for instance, Portrait in Sepia and House of the Spirits. Of course, the story is following the character's life through North America and Spain so I guess it makes sense. It made her references to mysticism and magic more obvious. There was less innate acceptance and subtlety about different beliefs and more, "You are an outsider, so how could you ever really understand Zorro?"

The other thing is a minor quibble: after three quarters of a book dealing wih Diego's life, the climax was not particularly...climactic. Kind of a let down really.

Anyway, cool book. Read it.

How do vikings send secret messages?

With Norse code!

Licenced to uh...kill?

The Sister and Curtis-the-Fetus have passed their driver's licence. I say they have passed because The Sister said that the kid was whirling around the entire time. Probably in a flat spin (hah! pun!).

Here's hoping she doesn't perpetuate the family tradition of crashing into stationary beetles...

Well done Ms Ellis! I'm very proud.

The epitome of coolness...

...in my super-duper red hard hat.

And please - no comments about the size of this picture, I'm done battling with them.

High flying canine

It was with some trepidation and a few sniffles that I sent my beloved dog overseas today. She was fine, I was the mess. Her biggest concern was the fact that I packed up all her precious toys. While I was trying to hug her goodbye and, you know, bond, she was more interested in trying to get at the Pick 'n Pay packet carrying the precioussssesss. I will always have a vision of me sitting on the couch trying to tell her how I love her and how I'll miss her and her standing on the couch, front paws balanced on the back, trying to reach the table with her teeth, thinking: "Yes, yes, whatever. Now shut up and use those opposable thumbs."

The guy who came to pick her up was so kind, like he's used to overwrought owners plotting out worst case scenarios (I don' t accept his assertion, however, that doggy parachutes are illogical and expensive). The parting was short and sweet. She climbed into her crate with nary a whimper and just looked at me with her big trusting labrador eyes (drugged probably, rescue remedy will do that).

And then she was gone, her toys taped to the top of her crate, along with a sticker saying "One live labrador dog" - thank you SAA, I would like her to arrive like that.

PATTOTE - better living through little black dogs with very little brain.

The murky world of fanfiction

Ok, so I read fanfiction. Occasionally I might add, before Leigh starts in on her "you read Star Trek porn" spiel. The ghastly truth is that yes, I got into it through Star Trek. And can I just tell you that the world of fanfic is peopled with terrifying writers with varying degrees of talent. From the sad no-hopers who's prose clunks down upon us to the the fangirl squee-ers with their millions of !!!!!!!!!!!!!1111111!!!!!!!!!!!!! and ship names, you do sometimes get really brilliant fics, great stories in their own right, albeit based on someone else's imagination.

My forays to The Leaky Cauldron and Mugglenet in my endless quest for Harry Potter news also led me to this topic on The Werewolf Registry, which is a terrifying world all of its own. My favourite has to be the rip off of Japanese graphic novels. So awesome.

The net really is a wonderful scary place.

PATTOTE: Better living through clicking dodgy links.

Urban Legends

One of my blogline feeds is from an urban legends site which I find very entertaining. They covered two points that I found interesting.

1) The eagle's head on the US seal turns to the left in peacetime and the right in wartime.
Apparently this rumour really spread when Dan Brown wrote about it in Deception Point. According to snopes.com the eagle's head has changed direction in the past, from looking right (at the arrows it holds in its claw) to looking left (at the olive branch in its other claw). Or should that be talon? Anyway, the change everybody remembers was made by Truman after the Second World War. Documents predating that have the eagle staring right, but Truman decided that it fit the US post-war working for peace image to have it looking at the olive branch. The general populace (when they noticed) assumed it was a tradition, but it was a whim.

Speaking of US presidential whims, apparently the US missed the boat on going metric because Reagan couldn't understand how it worked...

2) There is a nine-letter English word that remains a word even as you remove succesive letters. Curious? It's startling. No, that's the word, startling.
Remove the l: starting
Remove the t: staring
Remove the a: string
Remove the r: sting
Remove the t: sing
Remove the g: sin
Remove the s: in
Remove the n: I

Heh!

PATTOTE: Better living through mindless trivia

Dinner for four

I hosted my first dinner party thingy last night. I've never hosted a dinner like that and it was pretty cool. I made my typical dinner, pasta with sauce. Of course, I also only followed the recipe partly before getting distracted and chucking every herb I could think of into the sauce. It came out all right, and after a couple of bottles of wine it ceased to matter anyway.

PATTOTE - Better living through dinner time indoctrination

The One with all the Friends episodes.

Friends is one of those all or nothing affairs. You can't just watch one episode at a time, you have to get a stack of videos or dvds and watch them all together. It's the perfect way to veg out because those jokes never get tired, and neither do the plot lines. Except maybe the whole Ross and Rachel thing which got old about half way through the first season, although it had its moments (Phoebe: "See? He's her lobster.") Best thing about Friends - Chandler and Monica getting together. That ruled.

There are a lot of people who didn't like Friends because the humour was "forced". I loved it because it was sarcastic and occasionally mean. And because I would love to be able to just throw one-liners around like that. Then I remind myself that it was a tv programme and no-one talks like that. And that nobody talks like they do in Gilmore Girls either. Then I have to remind myself that I know that it's a tv programme and practising one-liners in the mirror in case I ever have need of them is totally unrelated. And then I have to go lie down because personality disorders are tiring.

Anyway! My favourite episodes of Friends are:

The One with the Football - (Chandler: "Mini wave in celebration of me!" /does ridiculous dance)
The One with Chandler in a Box - (Rachel: "It's like inviting a Greek tragedy over for dinner.")
The One with Phoebe's Uterus - (Monica: "Seven, seven, seven!")
The One with the Embryos - (There are so many great lines in this episode, and I love when Chandler and Joey ride into the girls' apartment astride that fugly dog.)
The One with all the Thanksgivings - (The turkey and Joey's head. Heh.)
The One that Could Have Been - (FatMonica is so brilliant.)
The One where Chandler takes a bath - (It's a boy bath!)

The early episodes look so bad now though. That's what you get for dressing Rachel up in "fashionable" clothes...

PATTOTE - Better living through snarky one-liners.

How to while away a long weekend.

I fully intend to do as little as possible this weekend. I'm going to start the festivities by eating calamari and chips tonight and watching old episodes of Friends. Tomorrow I'm sleeping late and reading. On Saturday I'm going to the book fair (free entry!). Sunday is the distant future and I haven't planned anything yet. I'm going to get as much mileage out of the public holiday as possible. I hate public holidays generally; they stuff up deadlines and make it that much harder to get the newspaper out on time.

It has been mentioned that I don't update frequentlty enough. I promise to try and add as many rambling passages as possible, starting Monday. Belowe, belowe.

PATTOTE - Better living when I'm in control cause then there will never be public holidays ever again after.

Scary dreams

I dreamt that Cape Town was flattened by a chemical explosion. I only dreamt it once so I'm assuming that I haven't supernaturally caused the apocalypse.

Pattote: Better living through preserving the planet and ensuring my infinite existence.

I hate these things but...

I got this meme from Marissa, the queen of these things. She knows I hate them and yet also knows that somehow I'm genetically programmed to answer them.

1. Three best movies you've watched recently.
Shopgirl (I now really want to read the book)
Memoirs of a Geisha (I really liked the book)
The Anne of Green Gables collection (I still read these books)
2. Three favourite songs at the moment.
Rascal Flatts - Broken Road
Olivia Newton John - Cry me a river (don't even ask)
P.O.D - Let you down
3. Favourite dessert.
Apple crumble
4.(a) Two physical characteristics you like about yourself.
My eyes and my freckles
4.(b) Two physical characteristics you like in a significant other.
Collar bones and eyes
5. The most unforgiveable thing anyone could do is:
Humiliate me in front of others.
6. If your were to dress someone up as yourself they would be wearing...
My pyjamas (the blue ones) with a Western Province cricket tshirt.
7. Three favourite magazines:
Cosmo, Time and... I actually don't read any other magazines. I really like Men's Helath when I get hold of it.
8. A new favourite bad habit:
Resetting the alarm clock until I only have an hour to get ready and get to work, at which point I convince myself that I have to take the car.
9. Dream house:
Stone cottage set among trees with a stream nearby.
10. Which five people would you have with you on a desert island and why?
Jacques Kallis, Herschelle Gibbs, Shaun Pollock, Mark Bouche and Daniel Vettori. Calypso cricket season mon!

Dog logic

Sappy sounds

God Bless the Broken Road by Rascal Flatts

I set out on a narrow way many years ago
Hoping I would find true love along the broken road
But I got lost a time or two
Wiped my brow and kept pushing through
I couldn't see how every sign pointed straight to you

Every long lost dream lead me to where you are
Others who broke my heart they were like northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you

I think about the years I spent just passing through
I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you
But you just smile and take my hand
You've been there you understand
It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true

Every long lost dream lead me to where you are
Others who broke my heart they were like northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you

PATTOTE - Better living through- damn, I have dust in my eye.

Concrete evidence

This weekend I dug foundations and mixed concrete. I never knew that concrete was such a complex substance with so many finicky qualities.

Did you know:
1) That concrete can take up to seven years to set completely?
2) That concrete dries properly when it is kept wet?
3) That if it sets too quickly it will crack?

Neither did I.

PATTOTE: Better living through knowing the chemical make-up of cement shoes.

The Red Rocket

To know me is to know that I wax lyrical and swear vociferously at my car in equal measure. My lovely car, a red Chrysler Colt built when Noah walked out of the ark and Moses wore short pants. It leaks in the winter on the driver's side and makes nice squelchy sounds when I change gears. In spring little plants grow next to the clutch where I've tracked in mud. The back is a neverending morass of dog hair; the back window (attached to the door that doesn't work) is a morass of dog spit. The boot lock ripped away from the metal (probably because of rust) and is now tied down with some wire. This doesn't help the already flooded tool box which houses a couple of miserable rusty spanners and a hapless yale lock that only The Father knows the reason for.

My car, my beloved car, which for several months now has refused to go up De Waal drive in anything other than second. Which tackles speedbumps with a will but crumples on the way. Which has a second hand petrol cap that can only be replaced by me because I have the knack but makes all the petrol guys paranoid because now they think I don't trust them. Which had an irreplacable oil cap (although the tow bar cover worked for a couple of months) and now has one that cost me an arm and a leg and a fortune in petrol, driving around from spare shop to spare shop, where seedy men checked me out or gave me bewildered looks. An oil cap that still doesn't fit and has to have a bit of cloth fastened under it so it will stay shut.

My car, my beloved car, which had a nice service last week but stopped in a spectacular fashion on the M3 the other morning when I was already an hour late for work (typical). I had to call a tow truck, take it to a mechanic, the whole tooty. It's fixed now for the forseeable future.

The best part of the story? And why I love my decrepit, heap of shit, gift from my awesome parents car? Because the mechanic said when they test drove her she backfired so badly that people were ducking on the pavements. I would have paid good money to see that.

PATTOTE - Better living through rusty red cars with cool wing mirrors.

Another Harry Potter phase

I go through these Harry Potter phases every so often, when all I want to do is submerge myself in the Potter world and I voraciously suck up every iota of information I can find. There are other books that do the same thing; it's not just a Potter thing, it's a Liz obsessively getting into whatever interests her at the moment thing. I had the same dedication to Star Trek in high school.

The worst part about these little lapses into obessession is that I find it very hard to switch off after I've read the book or whatever. So I can keep worrying about the characters for hours after I've actually put the book down.

My favourite character from the Harry Potter books is Remus Lupin, the tragic werewolf with a heart of gold. I've loved him since JK Rowling first introduced him. She's written him perfectly as this lovely person with a horrible disease that makes him into a monster once a month. The rest of the time he's this mild mannered, quiet man who keeps a tight grip on his feelings and never lets anyone get close.

Maybe the reason I feel sorriest for him is because, like Harry, he has lost everything. I'm hoping the last book will bring the two of them closer (Harry is leaving school and he will need Lupin I think) and that JK Rowling will stifle any desire to kill him off.

The man seriously deserves to be happy. It's pretty cool that a writer can create this completely imaginary character that the reader ends up caring so much about.

The books I love the most are the ones where the characters are so alive I feel like I've lost close friends when the story ends. That's why I can read them over and over again.

Literary Lessons

Endless rows of endless faces
smudge life as far as the eyes
can see
peering to the bitter edges
trying to find the rest of
me

Endless rows circle faster
spinning swirling sicken stop.
One room, staring, at the walls,
blackness staring back.

TOMATOE

For some time I have been aware of an anti-PATTOTE organisation that uses propaganda and smear campaigns to undermine the glorious victory that is rightly mine.

The One Man Against The Overlord Elizabeth (TOMATOE) considers itself a kind of freedom fighter and does not hesitate to spread paranoia and discord amongst my followers. His refusal to pronounce my acronym correctly (it's PATTOTE not POTATO) is reason enough to incite my loyal followers to squash the TOMATOE.

But then I remember that he's had years to overthrow me and yet, nothing happens. Why? Because he can't stay awake long enough:



Happy Birthday Robs!

Here's hoping the year brings you the brilliant things you deserve.

What I did on my vacation: part the second

I've never properly understood pub culture to tell you the truth. The idea of your favourite local is a bit foreign, although I suppose sitting around in The Rat on a Friday afternoon is pretty much the same thing.

However, we went to a couple of pubs and The Sister's Fiancé is an aficianado of same, having been a chef in pretty much every pub between Banbury and the Lake District.

Pubs are definitely not bars; people go to pubs to watch the football, have a pint before going home or go there for supper. In a lot of ways pubs are like Spur (God help them). They're even franchised out; one of the most common lot are Hungry Horse which seem to be everywhere and come complete with jungle gyms outside and cherry machines inside.

What did intrigue me is that everything is self-service. Food or drink, you go to the counter and order it and then they bring it out (with a poor attitude I hasten to add). You don't even tip the barman for drinks. When I asked The Sister's Fiancé if I should he practically recoiled in horror so no wonder everybody working there would rather be elsewhere.

Atmospheres vary. There was the decorated-by-an-eccentric-aunt-and-her-scruffy-mutt-who-came-to-visit-at-the-table one in Pangbourne amd the run of the mill one on the way to Banbury where you had to wait for the leeks to grow and the potato famine to end before you got your soup.

On our way back from Chawton (Jane Austen's home - the signpost for Hampshire says "Welcome to Jane Austen country", how cool is that) The Parents and I visited Watership Down. We found this pub on our previous family holiday when I was 11. It was an accidental discovery brought on by six people crammed into a peugeot cramping at once. It's lovely, with a beautiful view and chickens scuttling about. There used to be bunnies around the back but the waitress told us they'd pegged it and the staff now prefer poultry. I was struck by the lovely conservatory-type dining room and the retro 60's toilet seat cover decorated with perspex flowers. And of course the Ploughman's Lunch. The most wonderful lunch imaginable with gherkins, pickled onions, pate, cheese and Branston Pickle, washed down with a nice cold Strongbow Cider. Made up completely for the lack of bunnies.

The other pub that I'll remember is lovely for other reasons. The Sister, Fiancé and I all went to this place in Stratford and munched an awesome lunch. In that moment, when we were just talking, rubbish and otherwise, I thought: this is my family.

This is my family waiting for potato and leek soup. The Mother, The Sister and I get giggly:



The Sister and The Sister's Fiancé get nauseating:



The Father just keeps his head down:

What I did on my vacation: part the first

I've always had a bit of a soft spot for ducks. They're rather pretty creatures with lovely eyes. My distrust of larger birds (ie geese and swans) was confirmed by several run-ins with my feathered compadres on my recent visit overseas. Have I mentioned to anyone that I went overseas? I've tried to be subtle about it. I failed? Oh well.

Anyway, my first run-in with the birds was fairly innocuous. This one in Henley-on-Thames was more perturbed by the sodden shoe someone had left behind than the psycho South African cooing, "Here ducky, ducky, ducky," attempting to lure him with salted liquorice and sherbet lemons. It's all I had with me, all right?



Things were waddling along nicely but my visit to Stratford-on-Avon nearly unsettled my fascination with water birds forever. In between admiring the lovely buildings, picking postcards of picturesque Stratford and generally mooching along with the Sister, the Sister's Fiancé and Curtis-the-fetus, we tried to feed the duckies with duck food (which was very obviously remarketed pedigree dogfood at 50p a pop).



Yes, yes, aren't they just lovely. Beautiful, graceful, elegant. Not shown, the gang of geese who sized up my defenceless ass and rushed me for the food. Also not shown, the Sister and I debating whether to flee or keep our dignity intact by feeding them really fast and hoping to get rid of them. Eventually we fled and ate icecream instead.

I never had dignity so it's not that hard to miss.

Return of a weary traveller

My visit to places far away has finally ended and I'm back. Upcoming posts will include: Top 10 cultural differences between us and them, How to navigate roundabouts without facing certain death, Swans: graceful creatures, murderous birds, and SatNav: the end of the modern family?

Stay tuned...

Me

To satisfy that noisy peanut gallery.


I'm the one on the left.

Boingggggg!

Hee!

PATTOTE - Better living through bouncing US presidents.

Meanwhile, back at the...ranch?

1) It has been pointed out by members of the peanut gallery (ie The Father), that melkkos is spelt with two k's. Sorry.

2) The link to The Grub Report has.been.fixed. Thanks Kris!

3) Runners are mad people with a deepseated fetish for sadomasochism. It's the only explanation for why anyone would voluntarily slog up Hout Bay main rd, after slogging up Chapman's Peak, cramping so badly that they can barely stand.

4) Being cheerful is hard work. And blowing a whistle for seven hours is exhausting and tough on the ears and the teeth. However, cheering generally is pretty fun.

5) Prison Break, Veronica Mars and Lost are the coolest shows ever.

6) Lee and Rajesh are so getting back together, if Lee would stop being an idiot and give Rajesh a chance. Poor Rajesh.

7) Marmalade and toast are a gift from heaven to make our lowly existences prettier.

8) One week to go. Rob leaves today (lucky bugger) and I'm meeting him in London to go to Paris for two days. So we'll be able to say "We'll always have Paris." Because lets face, we'll start arguing on the chunnel and by the time we get back...well...we'll always have Paris.

9) I was missing varsity a bit (in that autumn in Grahamstown nostalgic kind of way) until Leigh told me about the essays she's marking. That cured me pretty fast.

10) When giving hooves to little black labradors to eat, remove last little bit before she eats it (whole!) and proceeds to hork it up for the next two days.

11) Nanny McPhee is bloody funny. Colin Firth is, well, Colin Firth, and Emma Thompson is brilliant.

12) Six-year-olds are amusing even if they don't understand the rudiments of Monopoly and get upset when you won't let them buy some property you want so that you can crush their innocent spirits.

13) I have a week to go. I'm jumping out of my skin with excitement.

14) My boss made me a new ringtone; it's a verse from Harvey Danger's Flagpole Sitta, the part that goes "paranoia, paranoia, everybody's coming to get me"...heh.

15) Did I mention to anyone that I'm going on HOLIDAY. In a WEEK. To the UK. I'm not sure I can last that long.

PATTOTE - Better living through the minutia

These are the cool people

My obsession with Gilmore Girls opened a new world for me. It led me to Television Without Pity (don't fuck with Tubey), which in turn led me to a nexus of smart people with cool websites. As if I needed an excuse to waste more time on the internet, I was introduced to Tomato Nation, where Sars gives the smackdown to stoopid Americans, The Grub Report, where Keckler smacks down stoopid American eaters, and Chicklit.

I really dig these sites and the smart people who created them. What do you need to succeed in this life? Rapier wit and html.

All the sites can be accessed through this nifty hub. My new favourite is Go Fug Yourself, which pretty much eviscerates, well, everybody.

PATTOTE - Better living through not caring what the hell anybody else thinks, because really, your website your rules.

A family treat

Tonight I'm going to have stovies for supper. Stovies are an Ellis family tradition, a dish invented by the gods and guarenteed to send the family into spasms of joy. Other dishes (egg and chips, melkos, mince and dough balls) could also bring joy to the table, but stovies...fwah.

It's simply mashed potatoes and pork sausages (chopped into pieces and mixed into the mash). You can add some onion to liven it up. I always like it with some chutney or hp sauce, or, when I still ate it, msg laden aromat.

Just smelling pork sausages can make me miss my family. What can I say, we're pigs.

Tea: a how-to guide

I drink a lot of tea and since my plan to train my dog to make the tea failed dramatically (Eau-de-singed-labrador, a new frangrance for winter) I have had plenty of practice at making the perfect cup.

Now, most tea drinkers would have you believe that all you need is a teabag and some hot water. But this is simply not the case. The perfect cup of tea requires time, a good cup, decent milk and dare I say, a little something extra.

1) Boil the water. And when I say boil I mean boil. Bubbles, shrieking kettle, piping hot water.

2) Get your favourite mug. Inspect for cracks and any flakes of whatever that might mar the tea experience. Be sure to purge mug of ALL dog hair. That shit sticks.

3) Get a teabag.

4) Place the teabag into the cup.

5) Now this is where the little something extra comes in - pour the required amount of milk over the teabag. You must put the milk in first. Don't believe me? Try putting the milk in afterwards and you will have disgusting overstrong manky tea. The milk is not a cooling down aid as some would have you believe. The milk is a requisite part of the tea flavour.

6) Pour boiling (BOILING) water over teabag and milk.

7) Stir with teaspoon, squeezing carefully. You want it strong but not disgusting.

8) Discard teabag

9) Drink the perfect cup of tea.

So remember: milk first, no sugar and purge of dog hair. Yum.

PATTOTE - Better living through the perfect cup.

I'm never eating again.

The hydrate electrolyte stuff the doctor gave me to drink just isn't cutting it either. What moron thought that a fake berry tasting drink would be good for people with no control over their upchuck reflex? In desperation (I'm at work with no access to anything else) I nabbed a small bowl of pronutro.

I think I may regret that decision for the rest of my life.

Dear universe, I don't think I'll ever recover if you make me throw up in the editorial office.

PATTOTE - Better living through ugh who'm I kidding. Let me die and get it over with.

I feel bleech, oh so bleech, oh so bleechy, and bleecchy and bleccch.

Future dictators are not supposed to get stomach viruses. Trying to throw up gracefully yet authoritively makes us less credible to the starving masses after all. If I believed in a decentralised system of governance, now would be the time to invest all my power in my dog.

PATTOTE - Better living through valoid, immodium, buscopan and anything else small and pill-like.

You know what they say about an untidy desk...

To give you some insight into my untidy mind, here are the full and engrossing contents of my desk at work (my desk at home is a whole other story, involving several dog toys, five cent pieces and some pens that met with a tragic accident):

A computer. Apple Mac. Called The Light. A misnomer as it mostly drives me crazy by requiring frequent restarting, which takes on average 10 minutes. Also has a tendency to randomly shut down Quark, mostly right before we go to print. The resultant swearing is loud and creative.

A keyboard. Attached to Apple Mac. Is covered in tea stains and ooh, is that a crumb? Huh, when last did I have Fritos?

A scanner. You'd think a national newspaper would have moved beyond a 5-year-old flatbed scanner. You'd think wrong.

Two in trays. Top one contains new community photographs, thoughtfully sent in by Catholics around the country to torture me with their graininess and penchant for snapping black people, wearing white vestments, against a black background. Also blank cds for when I get round to backing up last year's issues. Like that's going to happen. Bottom tray contains a mass of application forms, pictures for the now defunct children's page, copies of threatening letters to writer of now defunct children's page, competition entries I forgot about (oops) and a board game I was supposed to review but hope the editor has forgotten about. Also an outdate postcode book which I misplaced and replace with the outdated postcode book from admin (I should give that back to them sometime). Scraps of interviews I did last year sometime. Cartoons for still active youth page. Deadline sheet for youth page that writer had better pay attention to. Pieace of paper on which I keep track of how often the journalist uses the words "pointed out" in a story. Scrap of paper with possible music compilation scribbled on it.

Filing cabinet filled with old issues, old community pictures and new community pictures. On top of filing cabinet - two whiteboard erasers, some whiteboard markers and a zip drive that hasn't been used since the month I started working here.

Box of blank scrap paper for making a bazillion notes I then lose. Also useful for cutting out snowflakes to the amusement of deskmate.

Ruler. Was 1m, now a little over 45cm.

Paste up sheets for this week's ads.

Copy of "leadership" magazine that editor leaves on my desk as a cruel joke.

Copy of Catholic Directory. Now out of date because the pope died and priests move around with no forwarding address.

Book containing list of tortuous community pictures. Several books with kids games that are now no longer necessary. Dictionary. Book with shortcuts and style guide.

Time magazine.

Box of extra strength disprin.

Pot of fig flavoured lip balm (it's sparkly)

Piece of paper reminding myself that the last time I backed up the newspaper was Feb 23, 2005.

Cellphone.

Filofax stuffed with little pieces of paper.

Small scrap paper holder.

Broken mug containing an assortment of pens, highlighters and several pencils, one of which reads Jesus Loves Me, a gift from a coworker (oy).

Community pics for this week.

An entire story thoughtfully written in longhand and faxed.

Half empty tube of nivea soft.

Wow, I need to throw stuff out. I would but the box under my desk is full.

PATTOTE - Better living through packratting

Perhaps sedation is the answer?

I've always been quite the active sleeper. I talk a lot of nonsense, I kick and toss and I sleepwalk. I have done some research on somnambulism and apparently it mostly has to do with an overactive or disturbed mind. I'll leave you to make your own decision on that point.

Usually my sleep strolls take the form of waking up in the living room or wherever and just going back to bed. Once the mother woke me up in the bathroom where I was trying to put my school uniform on over my pyjamas.

Since I moved into my own place though I've started wandering around more often, almost all as a result of a conviction that I'm being broken into or attacked (see post below for paranoia inducing events). Once or twice I've found myself in the sitting room having ripped my bedside lamp out of the wall. Sometimes I just find myself on the other side of the room, ready to roll/duck/cover/escape. Last night I raced into the kitchen, put on the light and grabbed a long knife where I stood posed to, I don't know, puncture my imagination until I woke up completely. Maybe nytol is the way forward...

Bitching is good for you

For those of you who don't know, I got broken into at the beginning of February. The burglar bastards were aided and abetted by the broken security gate to my building. They got away with tv, computer, etc and locked my poor Siska into a room before nabbing the cover to her doggy bed and taking that with them. I mean honestly. If they'd asked nicely she would have gladly pointed out the valuables, you know?

So anyway, two months later and the gate is still not fixed so I wrote a snappy letter to the management company, who called asking for another letter requesting a rent decrease. I duly sent this letter and haven't heard a word until today.

They're dropped my recently increased rent by R100.

Ok, so a hundred rand would buy me a decent plate of sushi but still...I feel triumphant!

From now on if my crisps aren't crispy, my sushi isn't sushi..ing or my soap powder isn't making my dander-infested whites whiter than white - I'm moaning.

Those companies actually do care about whether you're happy or not. Who knew?

Woohoo!!!

Free at last, free at last, in 22 days I'll be free at last!

/does dramatic victory boogie to the shock of her co-workers.

Suspiciously good for you

I had the perfect bowl of pronutro today.

It was chocolate flavoured with luke warm milk. I don't know if it was the cereal, the plastic bowl or the perfect schloopy consistency that made this bowl perfect where hundreds of others have failed but I'm glad I lived to experience the deliciously comforting taste of the perfect bowl of cereal.

The house that Liz built

This weekend I had my first Habitat experience and it was brilliant. We went out to KTC squatter camp in Nyanga to start the roof of a house that they had built over a month of consecutive Saturdays. Apparently, internationally, Habitat finishes a house every 24 minutes. They can go from foundation to dedication in just five days.

Anyway, we spent most of the day building roof trusses and lifting them up onto the house. I really enjoyed the hammering and I was unbelievably stiff as a result. Very satisfying.

It was bizarre being a tourist in my own country. KTC is actually really pretty. Impoverished, yes, but green, tons of dogs racing around and kids everywhere. They're very friendly and follow you about in these huge gangs holding onto your hands. We were greeted with shouts of "Abalungu, Abalungu" (White people! White people!) which was just bloody funny.

After we were done with the building we retired to a nearby shebeen where we were inundated with political affirmation (We think white people are cool, you should all come visit more often, one nation, all african, etc) and inside you're like "Great dude, nice to hear it, but can I finish my quart of amstel (one size, R9.50) in peace please?"

The US marines who accompanied us on the build were looking a little shell-shocked by the end...

There are two things I learnt from the experience.

1) It was really nice not to obsess about my own life for a day.

2) Although my red hard hat made me look like Bob the builder, I pulled off the construction thing admirably.

Of babies and babies

This morning on the train I opened Virginia Woolf's Complete Shorter Fiction and this picture fell out.



I wonder who the kid is and whether he grew out of the mole in the centre of his bald head.

In the spirit of babies, the sister told me this morning that she felt Curtis-the-Fetus move. They find out next week if it's a boy or a girl. The last time I saw him he looked like this:



You can see the family resemblance.

Play misty for me

I woke up this morning to find the entire city shrouded in mist. Where the mountain usually is there is just this wall of white. By the time I got to work it was lifting a little, and the tiny peaks of Devil's Peak and the cable station were visible.

It was ethereal.

Oh shit

Graeme Smith has been rushed to hospital with a possible finger break. As if the team needed any other disadvantages.

Dear Universe...

There is only ONE space required after every full stop.

Please make the idiots who write to me stop screwing with my formatting.

Thank you

love

Liz

PATTOTE - Better living through grammar nazis.

Habitat for Humanity

This Saturday I'm going to help put a roof on a house. I'm very excited, and refuse to be afraid of heights for a good cause.

Then for the Two Oceans marathon I'm going to be one of the Green Teams, giving out water and encouragement to runners.

I'll probably kill myself. Heh.

Shampoo will make you happy

I'm quite fond of the new Sunsilk shampoo ads. You know the one where some contractors put a hole through the bathroom mirror, giving the man and the women who live opposite each other a nice fright. And then, in true romcom fashion they start getting to know each other, they're picking out each other's clothes and then the mirror is replaced - just as he's about to bring her a bunch of flowers.

I would very much like to see a movie based on this advert. Of course I'd also like to see a movie based on the music video for Daniel Powter's Bad Day. I'm a sucker for a schloopy movie, particularly if it stars Mark Ruffalo.

The only problem with romantic comedies is that they all start running together and the plotlines get all mixed up. So instead of the motherless boy setting his father up on a radio show to find a new wife, he finds the potential new wife lying in a coma in a nearby hospital after she repeatedly haunts his apartment. That was a pretty good movie - oh wait.

PATTOTE - Better living through weekly conditioning.

Soapie memories

There was a time (although it may be staunchly denied) that my family sat down very faithfully everyday and watched Santa Barbara and Rustelose Jare (as The Young and the Restless was called in the days of simulcast). I don't know if it was a lack of channels or a predisposition for contrived drama that prompted us to do it, but between 5 and 6, that's where we were.

Interestingly, I mostly remember watching it with my Dad. The Father and I companiably sat through Santa Barbara, which was bizarre and weird and pretty bloody funny. With all seriousness we'd curse Kelly to the nearest diamond mine, hoping against hope that this time she would stay dead. We'd laugh at Gina, of Mrs Capwell's Cookie's fame, who's lighthearted evil deeds were nothing in comparison to the big honcho himself - CC Capwell. But our favouritest character was the much maligned, but ever redeemable, Mason Capwell. The red-headed stepchild loved only by his mama. I missed one all important episode after Mason's long sought love Mary died, felled by a trapdoor in the roof that blew over in a strong wind. The Father (who gets dewy at the end of Sleepless in Seattle) caught me up about the funeral: "It was very nice. But the best part was when CC told Mason that he loved him and was sorry for his loss."

After Santa B, it was The Young and Restless, which I fear we watched just for Jack's exploits and because it filled up the 20 minutes to supper at 6. I was always up and down to fix the radio for proper reception so that we could get the simulcast English. I don't even remember what it was about mostly, except that the same whiny characters are present during its new timeslot on E.

Now I've moved my penchant for investing too much time in imaginary characters (TM Marissa) to Isidingo. I will not rest until Lee and Rajesh get back together. And now that it's come to light that Barker has been secretly hiding Lee's presumably dead mother in a mental institution, I seriously can't afford to miss an episode...

PATTOTE - Better living through imaginary people.

Mmmm, salticrax

News24 ran this column today about dodgy words and the South Africans that use them. I've long wondered about what kind of a person calls a Christian bookshop chain "Cum Books".

Hit list

I'm enjoying this song at the moment. It's from the One Tree Hill soundtrack, which I've never seen, but the album rocks.

Lightyears Away by Mozella

It's almost like you had it planned
It's like you smiled and shook my hand and said
"Hey, I'm about to screw you over big time"
And what was I supposed to do?
I was stuck in between you and hard place
We won't talk about the hard place

But I don't blame you anymore
That's too much pain to store
It left me half dead
Inside my head
And boy, looking back I see
I'm not the girl I used to be
When I lost my mind
It saved my life

It's how you wanted it to be
It's like you played a joke on me
And I lost a friend
In the end
And I think that I cried for days
But now that seems light years away
And I'm never going back
To who I was

Cause I don't blame you anymore
That's too much pain to store
It left me half dead
Inside my head
And boy, looking back I see
I'm not the girl I used to be
When I lost my mind
It saved my life

I think that I cried for days
But now that seems light years away
And I'm never going back
To who I was

Cause I don't blame you anymore
That's too much pain to store
It left me half dead
Inside my head
And boy, looking back I see
I'm not the girl I used to be
When I lost my mind
It saved my life

That life seems like light years away
Light years away
And that life seems like light years away
Light years away

PATTOTE - better living through mopey lyrics

This is what I crave

Litnet (thank you, Marissa, for pointing me in this website's direction) has published an amazing interview with Latin American writer Carlos Fuentes.

Two things stand out for me in this interview:

1) He highlights the idea that the west owes Islam a great deal ie medicine, alphabet, language sources. This struck me because of the totally bizarre conversation I had with my tv repairman the other day in which we compared Christianity and Islam.

2) That the true writer has to be on the outside, always watching, always observing but always alienated. A weird kind of objectivity that allows imagination to mix with reality and create something new.

I love Latin American writing (particularly Isabel Allende - Zorro here I come) because of the magical realism that permeates even the shortest of short stories. It is inextricable, the product of a society that still lives so close to its roots in myth, superstition and legend, and remembers its place as descended from the oldest civilisations in the world, even as they get torn apart by bloody coups.

PATTOTE - Better living through admiration of the greats.

Besotted? Me?

Awwww, who's a pwetty girl? Who's a pwetty baby doggy? Who's a pwetty pwetty sweet ickle girl? And is your mummy crazy? Yes, yes she is.



PATTOTE - Better living through food-obsessed labradors.

Trashy tomes

As always, after finishing a book of mighty weight and import I've turned to my old trashy standby - Nora Roberts. I heard an opinion yesterday that there is no such thing as a guilty pleasure, only losers don't admit when they like something unpopular. So here it is:

I LIKE NORA ROBERTS.

How you know you're reading a Nora Roberts book:

There's a beautiful, strong-willed, talented, independent heroine.
There's a handsome, strong-willed, talented, independent hero who's great with his hands.
There are three beautiful, strong-willed, talented, independent heroines.
The heroines are a cool blonde, a tomboyish brunette and a feisty redhead.
They're based in Ireland.
They have relatives in Ireland.
They're magical beings reincarnated in Ireland.
There's a huge Irish/Italian family.
The men and women split into careful groups.
They talk about each other.
The men swear a lot and dig their hands deep into their pockets.
Or jerk their shoulders.
Or lift their chins.
Somebody is murdered.
The hero and heroine meet over the corpse.
The heroine goes it alone and the hero is pissed.
He uses his handy source in the police department to surprise her.
The handy source doesn't care that the hero is an ex-cop private eye with unlimited resources and numerous fake ids, as long as he scores free Orioles tickets.
There's an ex-convict junkie mother somewhere in the picture.
When the hero proposes to the heroine he makes sure she wants kids (Two, with an option for three).
They live happily ever after - with impossible wealth, a great sex life, smart mouth kids, a completely improbable job as a private eye astronaut scientist and plenty of Sunday lunches with the totally atypical in-laws.
You meet them in a following book.

It's her predictability that makes her comforting...

PATTOTE - better living through slushy romance.

Stumped

Why I love cricket:



Why I hate cricket:



PATTOTE - better living by wasting Warne

Heh

The rolling about and laughing slays me every time.

And then they all get wiped out in a freak lighting storm...

Just picked up this article on spoilers.
I remember as a kid asking my mum at every scary moment: "What's going to happen?" Followed very shortly by: "What happened?", because I was too busy talking to watch and find out for myself. Eventually the mother banned all talking during the movies, good training for my future career as an annoyed movie watcher.

Now I trawl all websites for any spoilers I can get. TWoP is particularly good for those. Although I always regret it afterwards. At least I've stopped downloading advance clips. I ruined an entire season of Gilmore Girls for myself like that.

PATTOTE - Better living through ruining the surprise for everyone.

Liking Annie Proulx (as strange as that is)

Just finished The Shipping News, by E Annie Proulx. I saw the movie before I read the book so I didn't know what to expect. For some reason it feels wrong to say you liked a Proulx book, because her style is so very unlikeable. She finds the ugliest part of any given situation and highlights it as much as possible, with no apology or regret. The people are fat and disgusting, hot stinky breath covers everything, sex is not so much sex as undisguised rutting and the children are all annoying brats. That is why when she ends the novel with a positive idea - that love does not require misery or pain, but slips in quietly while you're worrying about something else - it gives it even more weight.

Accordion Crimes has been sitting on my bookshelf for a while now, maybe I'll pick it up when I'm done with Virginia Woolf. Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf? Me! Me! Me!

PATTOTE - Better living through writers who acknowledge the existence of gay cowboys.

Where the blog are we going?

I received two blog addresses today from two friends. Is this a sign of the times? Are we heading away from pouring out our souls to paper? Are diaries supposed to be interactive? Should people be reading our thoughts. If we were meant to be clairvoyant, wouldn't we be?

I'm going to swing both ways for the moment, keep a blog for the mundanities, keep a diary for the real stuff. I guess we'll see which is more boring soon.

PATTOTE - Better living through 24 hour access to everybody's every thought.

Save the world by eliminating...well...everybody else.

I have a dream. My dream extends across the world. It embraces the environment, cradles our abused and downtrodden eco-systems, coaxes and appreciates our beleaguered weather patterns. My dream involves peace, harmony, charitable co-existence and the complete and utter annihilation of people.

Originally when I set up People Attempting To Take Over The Earth (PATTOTE), I was just going to throw a bloody revolution and take complete control of everything. I had a long list of how my being in charge would help everybody, most of them revolving around the abolition of personal vehicles.

1) You will either be a pedestrian or a mass transit user. No cars, trucks, mopeds, scooters, heelies or other inane bewheeled devices equal no being run over by uncontrolled children or blind pensioners.

2) The new pedestrian rules will insist on everybody travelling in one direction on a given pavement. Up one side, down the other, simple.

3) There will be no dawdling on said pavement. The minimum speed will be a brisk walk and to discourage the soon-to-be-illegal practice of window shopping, shops will have to have shuttered windows. But lest you think I'm being excessive, the shutters will bear the great pictures of history. Or possibly propaganda. I'm undecided. It doesn't matter, you won't be able to stop and look at it anyway.

4) Single file. All subjects of the newly ordered and anally retentive regime will be required to march..er...I mean...proceed at a brisk walk, one behind the other. And if your brisk walk is too slow for those behind you, a quick overtaking maneuver will be allowed. But hold formation before and after said maneuver.

To my mind, control depends on two factors: keep people cold, hungry and ever grateful for the little you give them, and control their pedestrian habits. This will naturally spill over into their homes and create a nice robotic environment. Bliss.

Of course, that was the original idea. When I was still prepared to give humanity a chance. Now I say drive everybody into the sea. I'll retreat to my private island where my favoured few will take care of me. I might let them repopulate the earth. If they promise to walk in single file, not dawdle or window-shop. Is that really asking too much?

PATTOTE - Better living through my way or the high way.

Petrol Humour

A petrol attendent asked me recently if I wanted my windscream cleaned. He'll be allowed to live come my hairy coup.
PATTOTE - Better living through inadvertent wordy faux-pas(s)