Monday, August 29, 2005
Sex Case Goat is Pregnant!
I’ve noticed that in Britain and South Africa, newspapers advertise their new headlines everywhere, with hastily scribbled news blips posted on building sides and traffic posts to pique your interest in the paper. It seems like an extremely old-timey practice (what, don’t you guys have constantly updated internet news links hardwired into your brains?), and makes me want to watch Newsies….Okay, you got me. Nothing ever makes me want to watch Newsies. Anyway, the other day, one of the headlines of the Daily Sun, one of Jo’burg’s local rags, was “Sex Case Goat is Pregnant! See Pg. 2.” This was, to me, a total “if it hadn’t of been for that horse, I never would have gone to college” moment. I cannot even begin to fathom how apparent local celebrity Sex Case Goat’s pregnancy is news, unless the case in question revolves around a human-goat union, with the goat’s expectancy as a result. Which is, of course, impossible. I never looked over to page 2, to do so would surely have been to stare directly into the mouth of madness.
So, more impressions of Johannesburg. No way around it, it is a dirty, ugly city. The air quality here is terrible, and the city is oft shrouded in smog. The predominant architectural style is what one might call “cement block chic.” As one of the locals here told me, it seems like Afrikaaners have no sense of aesthetics. I don’t know if that’s entirely true, but this is certainly a land that breeds pragmatism over style. Speaking of the Afrikaaners and their recently-born, Dutch-derivative language, in times past I often joked that Afrikaans seemed to be nothing more than taking English and German words and adding a bunch of unnecessary vowels to them. Having now spoken with Afrikaaners and gained firsthand exposure to their language, my jests have been confirmed. For example, what is Afrikaans for port? Poort. What is Afrikaans for thermostat? Termostaat. What is Afrikaans for computer? Coompuuteer. All right, so I made that last one up, but heck, I don’t know what the Afrikaans word for computer is, it could well be that.
The Springboks lost: rugby fever is in remission, for now.
Finally, let’s talk fauna. Wow, Africa, must be great animals, right? Well, theoretically. Various denizens of the savannah are all over the money here (antelopes on the coins, rhinos on the ten rand note, elephants on the twenty, lions on the fifty, etc.; the currency here is so zoocentric presumably because to put any South African historical figure on them would be bound to piss off somebody). So far, however, the only animals I’ve seen are pigeons and feral cats. I’ve got cats that need seeing at home! I have also encountered some smaller animals, of the grade commonly referred to as “creepy crawlies”, in rather more intimate conditions. So the other night, as I’m getting ready for my shower, I notice a small black spot on the floor mat. I sort of kick at it, expecting it to be a grain of lint that will blow away. Instead, it begins crawling. Soon, it is joined by several others of its ilk (albeit of various sizes and species): spiders! When I’m home in the U.S., my procedure with spiders in the house is thus: first, make sure it’s not a widow or a recluse. Those you have to kill. Then, if it’s a jumping spider, it can stay in the house: they are friendly and take care of flies in the windows. Any other kind of spider I catch in a cup, try not to harm, and deliver outside. I was about to go into that mode here, but I was suddenly shocked back by an attack of common sense: I don’t care if you’re in a nice room here, let’s get one thing straight: you’re in frickin’ Africa and your bathroom is infested with spiders. You have no idea what kind of spiders these are: the safest bet is that they will kill you (zoological note: not actually the safest bet). For all you know those could be AIDS spiders, you know, those spiders that when they bite you they give you AIDS. As such, I brought the hammer (a wadded paper towel) down on all of them, threw it into the toilet, and flushed like there was no tomorrow (the water pressure here is amazing, by the way. You could flush a small dog, no problem, and the shower heads are akin to those obtained illegally by Kramer in that one episode of Seinfeld.) After such an event, innocence of one’s surroundings is lost. Formerly, following my morning shower, I would hunker down on the floor, groping blindly for a towel to wrap around myself. This behavior becomes impossible when you have evidence of spiders. Check the floor: are there spiders? Check the towel: spiders? Shake that towel, just to make sure. I mean, it’s not like my paranoia level can get much higher, but I at least enjoyed the seeming security of my shower. Just goes to show you: nothing is secure, one must always be on one’s guard, lest you wake up covered in tiny fang marks!
I’ve noticed that in Britain and South Africa, newspapers advertise their new headlines everywhere, with hastily scribbled news blips posted on building sides and traffic posts to pique your interest in the paper. It seems like an extremely old-timey practice (what, don’t you guys have constantly updated internet news links hardwired into your brains?), and makes me want to watch Newsies….Okay, you got me. Nothing ever makes me want to watch Newsies. Anyway, the other day, one of the headlines of the Daily Sun, one of Jo’burg’s local rags, was “Sex Case Goat is Pregnant! See Pg. 2.” This was, to me, a total “if it hadn’t of been for that horse, I never would have gone to college” moment. I cannot even begin to fathom how apparent local celebrity Sex Case Goat’s pregnancy is news, unless the case in question revolves around a human-goat union, with the goat’s expectancy as a result. Which is, of course, impossible. I never looked over to page 2, to do so would surely have been to stare directly into the mouth of madness.
So, more impressions of Johannesburg. No way around it, it is a dirty, ugly city. The air quality here is terrible, and the city is oft shrouded in smog. The predominant architectural style is what one might call “cement block chic.” As one of the locals here told me, it seems like Afrikaaners have no sense of aesthetics. I don’t know if that’s entirely true, but this is certainly a land that breeds pragmatism over style. Speaking of the Afrikaaners and their recently-born, Dutch-derivative language, in times past I often joked that Afrikaans seemed to be nothing more than taking English and German words and adding a bunch of unnecessary vowels to them. Having now spoken with Afrikaaners and gained firsthand exposure to their language, my jests have been confirmed. For example, what is Afrikaans for port? Poort. What is Afrikaans for thermostat? Termostaat. What is Afrikaans for computer? Coompuuteer. All right, so I made that last one up, but heck, I don’t know what the Afrikaans word for computer is, it could well be that.
The Springboks lost: rugby fever is in remission, for now.
Finally, let’s talk fauna. Wow, Africa, must be great animals, right? Well, theoretically. Various denizens of the savannah are all over the money here (antelopes on the coins, rhinos on the ten rand note, elephants on the twenty, lions on the fifty, etc.; the currency here is so zoocentric presumably because to put any South African historical figure on them would be bound to piss off somebody). So far, however, the only animals I’ve seen are pigeons and feral cats. I’ve got cats that need seeing at home! I have also encountered some smaller animals, of the grade commonly referred to as “creepy crawlies”, in rather more intimate conditions. So the other night, as I’m getting ready for my shower, I notice a small black spot on the floor mat. I sort of kick at it, expecting it to be a grain of lint that will blow away. Instead, it begins crawling. Soon, it is joined by several others of its ilk (albeit of various sizes and species): spiders! When I’m home in the U.S., my procedure with spiders in the house is thus: first, make sure it’s not a widow or a recluse. Those you have to kill. Then, if it’s a jumping spider, it can stay in the house: they are friendly and take care of flies in the windows. Any other kind of spider I catch in a cup, try not to harm, and deliver outside. I was about to go into that mode here, but I was suddenly shocked back by an attack of common sense: I don’t care if you’re in a nice room here, let’s get one thing straight: you’re in frickin’ Africa and your bathroom is infested with spiders. You have no idea what kind of spiders these are: the safest bet is that they will kill you (zoological note: not actually the safest bet). For all you know those could be AIDS spiders, you know, those spiders that when they bite you they give you AIDS. As such, I brought the hammer (a wadded paper towel) down on all of them, threw it into the toilet, and flushed like there was no tomorrow (the water pressure here is amazing, by the way. You could flush a small dog, no problem, and the shower heads are akin to those obtained illegally by Kramer in that one episode of Seinfeld.) After such an event, innocence of one’s surroundings is lost. Formerly, following my morning shower, I would hunker down on the floor, groping blindly for a towel to wrap around myself. This behavior becomes impossible when you have evidence of spiders. Check the floor: are there spiders? Check the towel: spiders? Shake that towel, just to make sure. I mean, it’s not like my paranoia level can get much higher, but I at least enjoyed the seeming security of my shower. Just goes to show you: nothing is secure, one must always be on one’s guard, lest you wake up covered in tiny fang marks!
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