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...