Traitor

I am the Benedict Arnold of bibliophiles.

I've started to sell off my books.

To cull the herd.

I don't want to talk about it.

All I'll say is that emigrating had better be worth it.

Deeply ashamed

I'm a very bad person. Even though I consider myself socially aware and environmentally conscious, when I checked out my biological footprint I discovered that I am personally using 7.3 hectares of space every day to live:

CATEGORY GLOBAL HECTARES
FOOD 0.7
MOBILITY 1.5
SHELTER 1.5
GOODS/SERVICES 3.6
TOTAL FOOTPRINT 7.3

IN COMPARISON, THE AVERAGE ECOLOGICAL FOOTPRINT IN YOUR COUNTRY IS 4.3 GLOBAL HECTARES PER PERSON. WORLDWIDE, THERE EXIST 1.8 BIOLOGICALLY PRODUCTIVE GLOBAL HECTARES PER PERSON.

IF EVERYONE LIVED LIKE YOU, WE WOULD NEED 4.1 PLANETS.

Holy ecological disaster, Batman!

Resolution #2: The F-Word

Using the f-word is not a suitable alternative to a failure of imagination. You're smart, come up with something else. You're tough, deal with the situation. Maybe meditate? Who the fuck knows. Actually, never mind. This resolution is bound to fail, because sometimes shouting FUCK loudly is the only thing to do.

PATTOTE: Better living through smarter adjectives, and the occasional: "Oh for fuck's sake."

It's very hard to explain

Now, the thing you need to know about me, Great Goat and future leader of the world, is that I am not particularly maternal. I don't hate children with a fire-breathing rage or anything, but I have limited patience with brattiness and whining gives me a headache. So I have an ambivalent attitude towards having my own kids. Being told, "You'll change your mind when you have your own," bugs the shit out of me, because it just makes me want to say screw you all, this oven is closed for business. But yeah, I can take or leave procreation.

But God, I love my nephew. I haven't even met Jamie yet but I'm totally fascinated by this tiny person who represents the next generation of my family. I love that he's apparently developing Ellis ears (see dumbo-esque), that from certain angles he's the double of my sister, from others the double of his dad. I've never had any sort of exposure to kids growing so I'm flabbergasted at how fast they develop and how much personality they seem to have at such a young age. And sure, I'm eagerly awaiting the day I can start the long process of indoctrination (Cool auntie Elize, not so cool auntie ****, cool auntie Elize, not so cool auntie ****).



I guess I'm just looking forward to being an aunt. I'd rather he just call me Elize though.

Corporate Paedophilia

I read an article in the Cape Times recently about underwear lines available in South Africa for girls under ten. This underwear include bras for children as young as two. Yes. Two. Retailers have defended the articles as "what the customers want". One of panties available for little girls had the words "spoil me" with an image of black cat on it. What kind of customer wants to put that on a 5-year-old?

The tshirts for children with words like "Broken Flower", "Porn Star", or "First Desire" are barely noticed anymore, but are a frightening example of the hypersexualisation of prepubescent girls.

Yes, girls do develop early in some cases, and yes there should definitely be lines available to them. But no baby needs a bra. And the article discovered that while the average girl's first bra would be a 32A, what the companies are selling is only 25 inches. This is not recognised in the industry and can damage a young child's soft tissue.

In a country with such a high incidence of crimes against children, why would we want to encourage girls to send out messages they don't understand? I'm not in any way saying they're "asking for it". I'm just saying that there are disgusting psychos out there, and instead of finding the happy medium between baby clothes and slutty kid's clothing, the big clothing companies are encouraging an environment where children can be exploited because they don't know any better and their parents just don't care.

Alexander McCall Smith

I've just finished 44 Scotland Street and am rapidly working through the 21/2 Pillars of Wisdom, after polishing off the Number 1 Ladies Detective Agency series, and I have to say, I love him. His books are such a lovely breath of fresh air, and I deeply appreciate the fact that he can make me laugh out loud.

I think it's the graceful simplicity of his stories and writing that appeal to me most. They're human and interesting but completely unpretentious. Pretentiousness is actually the punchline of many of his jokes. Making fun of people who think they're a cut above everyone else or know absolutely everything are beautifully characterised and then completely eviscerated.

21/2 Pillars of Wisdom is not my favourite of his books, but highlights in parts what is used to great effect in the rest of his work. Nothing really happens; it's like Seinfeld with three Germans. A blundering fool, fixated on the wrong priorities, convinced of his own superiority, and the trouble he gets into as a result. Will he learn from his mistakes? Will he even be able to recognise them? That is Smith's genius right there.

PATTOTE: Better living through the fictional lampooning of people we hate in real life.

P(re) M(enstrual) S(cariness)

Every month I fall into the Slough of Despond, a big scary pit of very sad darkness which for one days looks inescapable. And every time I fall into the Pit of Very Sad Darkness™ I'm convinced there's no escape and that I'm going nutty.

Of course, this is total crap and by the next day I'm a little morose but just groovy again. And then I forget about it for a whole month and freak myself out when it happens again. So this time I'm blogging it, and I'm laying in a store of Evening Primrose Oil for the next time. I'm very tired of the Pit of Very Sad Darkness™.

PATTOTE: Better living through other suggestions for combating PMS. And unpanicking The Mother who, on reading this post ,will freak out.

Jane Austen's Life

I've just finished Claire Tomalin's biography, Jane Austen: A life. I really enjoyed it. Tomalin's writing is well researched without being too academic, and very accessible.

However, I think she places too much emphasis on certain aspects of Austen's life, so I don't agree with all her conclusions. If Austen feared abandonment, it was predominantly due to her being sent away to school so early, rather than being put out to nurse. I know Tomalin draws on both of these, but I put more faith in the second factor.

That said, I think she did a brilliant job investigating a really enigmatic woman, supported by research into the family and the times. It's not just a biography of Austen, but of Austen's England, and Austen's family - all of which feature so heavily in her work. To understand one is to know the other and that's well demonstrated.

I also enjoyed reading more about Aussten's character. Her narrative style is so sly and witty, and it was so lovely to see that part borne out in her life.

My visit to Chawton and Bath last year really brought the story alive too. I want to go back there, as well as go to Steventon and Winchester Cathedral.

Now, until I find collections of her letters, I'll carry on rereading her novels. It's fascinating how you can read her work at 16, and then again at 25, and come away with such completely different opinions of her characters and plots. She's a tricky, intelligent writer. I admire any author who can make you like and hate somebody at the same time. Yes, Fanny Price, I'm glaring at you.

Next up: Howard's End by EM Forster

PATTOTE: Better living through books, books, books.

Resolution #1: Be more subtle

Subtlety is not a dead art apparently. And when some bizarro random character wanders over to you and Leigh, 30 seconds after you made under-your-breath comments about how said character should never ever tuck his lumo green tshirt into his jeans, and starts chatting you both up despite admitting that he is in fact unemployed and cheap, it's probably a better idea to only start laughing AFTER he's out of earshot or your direct line of sight.

PATTOTE: Better living by being nice to random characters who could turn out to be axe murderers should you laugh at them.

Christmas Helmet

All I've ever wanted was a cricket helmet. I want to wear it as South Africa powers through the world cup. And I love the grille bit in front. I can't explain the longing, but I've wanted one ever since that poignant school holiday when I turned into a cricket nut, much to The Father's interest.

So imagine my surprise and wild delight when the greatest friend ever gave me this:



How much do I rock right now? It even has my name on it!

PATTOTE: Better living through custom made cricket helmets

Free books!

Kind of, anyway... I finally got onto the bookcrossing bandwagon when I discovered an official bookcrossing zone at the Coffeebean in Rondebosch on New Year's Day. I always keep a death grip on my own books, which is why I have about ten boxes of them to ship overseas for the Great Exodus of 2007. However, I'm coming round to the idea of releasing a few select ones into the wild and keeping track of them via bookcrossing.com

I released one today in Charley's Bakery on Roeland Street (and comforted myself with a shortbread biscuit). It looked so tiny and lonely and defenceless - even if it was only a rather shitty Silhouette book.

PATTOTE: Better living through free books and freeing books.

Good Vibrations

So a friend and I decided to go vibrator shopping at this nifty "sensuality" shop around the corner from my office. Not Adult World, which is cheap and nasty with oddly second-hand looking products. We wandered off to Whet, talking a mile a minute as per usual. We're still yapping as we breeze past the saleswoman behind the counter and come to a standstill in front of the wall o' vibrators. And all of a sudden...silence...as thoughts of "how the hell does that fit?" and "what does the kitty shaped attachment do?" flitted through our heads. The saleswoman (who had snuck up behind us by this point) had a good laugh and said that wall does it to everybody. They come in yapping and are stunned into silence. Fun shopping trip all round.

PATTOTE: Better living through...

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...