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
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Thursday, November 16, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
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...
"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...
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
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?
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?
Monday, November 06, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
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