Tania.co.za

Bye

I will be away for a couple of days. It started with an invitation to go to the Live concert with my neighbours in the Velodrome tomorrow, and I realised that I would have to come in to work late the next day or risk being completely unproductive; and actually, I would also leave work early the day before. So eventually I just decided that this would be a good opportunity to tidy all my cupboards, paint my cousin's wedding present, make herb oils for her kitchen tea and clear away the furniture for the maintenance guys to paint the walls of my lounge and kitchen. I'll be back in the office on Thursday.

I have also given up on trying to cure my insomnia, and decided instead to find a cure for my attitude about it. I now get up at whatever time of the night it is and go and chat to Robbie (the security guard) in the basement, or if it's around dawn, I put on a rock CD and do ballet while washing the dishes, and then come to work an hour earlier.

We won a medal at the Cape Town Flower Show!

As Marius says: To win a medal at the Cape Town Flower Show without having a single flower on your stand takes some doing! Click on the pic above to find out more...

Hacking

This page was edited on 2007.01.12

My blog tracks referrers (in other words, it is able to tell what site referred people to my site). If it was Google, it is also able to tell what people searched for that brought them here.

To those of you who are still visiting this site because you think I might know how to hack *M*X*i*t, you are in the wrong place! I have never even used *M*X*i*t. My cell phone is too old for me to be able to install it. Go away. And FWIW, if I knew know how to hack *M*X*i*t, I would tell its makers so that they can plug the hole. I certainly wouldn't document the step-by-step instructions on my Web site!

Most of my successful "hacks" (if you can even call them that) have simply been the result of been the result of going in through unlocked "back doors" of Domino Web sites, but there has actually also been an occasion when I got into a place where they stored the financial statements on the LAN of a large Cape Town engineering company (not a Domino thing). I don't believe in destroying people's stuff. When I find a vulnerability, I contact the site owners to tell them how to lock the door. I also tell them exactly what I have seen. (Once I got to a whole lot of credit card numbers of a Cape Town IT company's customers. I was not impressed by the lack of speed in their response.) And I expect the people who find vulnerabilities in my stuff to tell me and help me. It is not OK to use someone's ignorance as an excuse to make them suffer. How does that make you better than them? Rather teach them. Help them. Cure their ignorance. Give them a reason to admire you.  

The cost of living

For years now I have been paying for most of my friend Carol's medical expenses. For years she has been trying to get a disability pension. Carol was abandoned by her parents at an orphanage when she was little. Although as an adult she eventually lived with them in the same house, she never really fitted into the family, she was not invited to go out with them on Christmas, and she was never told what was in her parents' will when they died. After years of volunteer work with street children, Carol — already ill since childhood from a number of chronic illnesses — was assaulted so badly by abductors that she almost lost her legs. I paid for the treatment that saved her legs from amputation. She then got tuberculosis from one of the children who shared her bed when the shelter in Stellenbosch was closed down, and now also has sarcoidosis, heart and liver problems and diabetes, and could probably have done with another bone marrow transplant if she were well enough for the operation.

When she is well enough to do something and is able to use her hands (which, fortunately, is is most days — on some days she is unable to close them) she does some beadwork for money (I bought her stuff to work with, and she is better than I ever was), but it is hard for her to get around to sell it. The neighbours and her cousins sometimes give her food. I usually pay for her soap and toilet paper, and other essential items.

I have some insight now into why it has been difficult for her to get a disability pension: it's logistical. She has never managed to get past the first couple of steps in the process, because, ironically, the process requires her to be well enough (and to have enough  money) to get to all the various places: To the doctor, who must write a report; to the police to get a commissioner of oaths to stamp some stuff; to the Welfare, to queue for hours with nowhere to sit down (when actually, she would be better off lying in an oxygen tent — which she can't afford — she used the money which I gave her for a ventilator for pills — considering she has so little lung function left, and can only walk a few paces at a time), and to the bank to open an account, back to Welfare...

I have been facilitating all these trips for the past week or so at dawn every morning, but she has done the queueing alone. Once the process is complete, Carol can start receiving her disability pension of R750 per month. That must cover all her living expenses. From then on, she will also finally be eligible for cheap and free medicine, which she hasn't been able to get until now (to date, I have had to pay full price for it). But by now she is so ill that she requires medication and procedures which cost a minimum of one to two thousand rand per month (not to effect any improvement, really — this is just basically to prevent her from expiring completely); and if she stops now and awaits her disability grant, she will most likely die very quickly. Last night she told me miserably that she has been thinking that the cost of living is just simply too high now; she does not expect to be able to afford to remain alive until the new year. I said no way, we have always made a plan, and we will make a plan again. Ever since I got divorced I have been wanting to start saving money for my retirement, but this has not been possible, because I need to pay for her to live. But now I am thinking of actually holding some kind of fundraiser just to see her through until next year. I certainly can't work more hours.

Mood, health, sleep, life, the universe and everything else

Mood: I am feeling very chirpy this morning! Looks like we may finally have found a space for drum lessons in Stellenbosch. And the other good news is that my prospective teacher won't be leaving town (as he recently intimated) until at least a year from now.

Health: Last Saturday I went to see an orthopaedic surgeon about my knee. What would normally have meant a standard arthroscopy is not going to be so standard because of my chronic lymphoedema. I had an MRI scan on Monday for the "discounted" price of R950 (yaaaaargh!) so that the doctor can see what he needs to go through in order to get in — if he goes in at all. Maybe I will have to buy a LymphaPress first — something I have been postponing for years, because it costs more than ten thousand bucks. The good news is that I don't have to be careful about how I behave. I can go to wild parties if I like, including the Live concert on the 31st. The worst that can happen under the circumstances, he said, is that the meniscus can tear completely, and then the pain will go away.

Work: Pavatile will be exhibiting at the Cape Town Flower Show this weekend. This is a scary crash-project with brochures going to print (Deo volente!) this afternoon after I have photographed the stand, to be ready on Friday morning. In the meanwhile we will have to print something on the colour laser printer for tomorrow. Six people from the office team will be manning the stand in shifts, two people per shift. Uniforms are being embroidered, and I have arranged for two fancy sun hats to be custom-made by Parisian Milliners. The factory cast very complicated products like Radius Kerbs, SKEs and Transition Cobble Edges under great pressure. With rain yesterday, the team from Ace Master Paving didn't actually begin installation until after sunset. My Gantt chart looks insane, with an impossible task logic and a whole lot of very undesirable MSO and MFO constraints. Somehow, things are sort of on track, though.

Sleep: I received two sets of advice for my insomnia and tried them both: breathing exercises, and reversing my sleep direction. I did the former before I went to bed and the latter when I woke up in the middle of the night, and it seemed to work, because after a while, the fact that the fridge was humming and the clock was ticking from what appeared to be the wrong side of the room, made me feel dizzy, so I dozed off feeling sufficiently scramble-brained to sustain a sleep state until my alarm went off — got about 7 hours of sleep this time, which is an improvement. I am open to more tips, though, so feel free post your remedies!

Life, the universe and everything else: After years of seemingly insurmountable infertility problems, my much-loved colleague Eben and his 38-year-old wife Prescilla are now the parents (IVF) to a baby girl, Isolde Nicolene — about four weeks premature, but doing fine in 1 Military Hospital.

Ek is nou moeg vir...

Ek is nou moeg vir só lewe! Hierdie strike van Klaasvakie gaan nog die einde van die ekonomie beteken! Sodra die naweek verby is, gaan ek hom vat na die CCMA vir non-performance of essential services. En as dit nie werk nie, gaan ek na die Konstitutionele Hof vir skending van my basiese menseregte. En as ek die wetlike kanale ge-exhaust het soos ek exhausted is, and if I still have no joy by then, dan help ek vir Denel so 'n bietjie om hulle verliese in te haal deur 'n paar strategiese aankope, en nadat ek sý regte so 'n bietjie daarmee geskend het, sal ek sorg dat 'n horde verslaggewers van die Kaapse Son hom urelank na besoektyd in 'n Zimbabwiese staatshospitaal besighou en vra vir sy kant van die storie.

Meta blog entry

Op die een of ander stadium skryf seker elke volgehoue blogger 'n metabloginskrywing, oftewel 'n blog oor blogging. OK, hier is myne...

VLOEK: Baie mense dink vloek is nog steeds in die mode. Wake up and smell the banana smoothie: vloek is al lankal uit die mode, net soos wenkbroue wat gepluk word totdat dit soos "cut here" stippellyntjies lyk. Vloek is glad nie so cool soos mense dink dit is nie. In fact, dit is so un-cool dat mense nou al besluit het om nie meer die KKNK by te woon nie omdat elke wannabe-musikant blykbaar deesdae dink hy moet vloek al het hy niks om oor te vloek nie. En as jy gereeld vloek, verloor vloek heeltemal sy nut.

FAVOURITE: Bloute.co.za is (ten spyte van die occasional drieletterwoord) my favourite blog.

GOOGLES: Some of the weirdest and most interesting Google search terms that have ended up in visits to my blog include (sic):

Why we need data cleansing

We are number one!

Bewussynstroomdagboek

Aandete saam met Roelof en Madie vanaand, by haar huis. Afspraak met uitgewer moremiddag in verband met projekbestuurkursus. Gregg en Nelia se verlowingspartytjie Vrydagaand. Afspraak met ortopediese chirurg Saterdagoggend (onderwerp van bespreking: moontlike operasie op my knie). Uitstalling van produkte by Kaapse Blommeskou vanaf Donderdag aanstaande week. (Produkte moet nog gegiet word, aaaaargh! Projekbestuurnagmerrie!) Woon kursus in brosjureskryf vroeg aanstaande maand by. Sperdatum vir volgende artikel vir Die Burger 13 November. Nadya en Charl trou 18 November. (Gits, ek moet nog hulle trougeskenk maak! Dit dan hierdie komende naweek.) Bied twee kursusse aan in Noordkaap aan die einde van November, daarna nog een in die Kaap in Desember. Sperdatum vir laaste artikel van die jaar in Die Burger 11 Desember. Tyd, wyse plek. Jammer, Ma, my volgorde was nie heeltemal korrek nie.

Neighbours

When I got back from the sushi excursion on Friday night, I intended going straight to bed. It was after ten, and one of the house rules is that people are not allowed to make a noise after ten. If someone contravenes this rule, you can delegate your conflict management to the security guards, and if the people refuse to shut up, they can get a fine.

But the weather was balmy, and there were many small parties in the corridors and on their balconies. Someone was playing a drum CD, and I reckoned I was not going to be able to sleep through that. Then the beat went wonky for a moment, and I realised the drumming must be live. I had already got into the equivalent of pyjamas, but I walked barefoot down the corridor, following the sound. I saw them one floor down, on a balcony, with djembes and other instruments. So I went back to my flat and got my tambourine. (You can beat them, if you must, I reckoned, but better still is to beat with them.) They were smoking joints — for "inspiration", they said. Well, I have been told that dagga is to sound what monosodium glutamate is to taste, and I am sure that it is true, because after a while they probably reckoned they were sounding great, but I don't smoke, so to me it was clear that the sense of rhythm and pitch was deteriorating rapidly. I was the only one who was singing Igqira Lendlela properly, which should definitely not have been the case, because I was the only White person in the group. Another guy came onto the corridor above to see who was making all this racket. But before he could say anything, I told him that if the music wasn't to his liking, he should come down and contribute to its improvement, whereupon he smiled and let us be.

The tenant of the flat, who goes by the name of TS, remarked that we were all sitting pretty, because it was his flat that was emitting the noise, so he would be the one to get fined!

I had to go to work the next morning, so I offered to lend them my tambourine when I left.

I've been back to collect it — with Roelof, who lives a couple of doors from me and who requested an introduction to TS. But TS hasn't been home. And Roelof took me to over to meet a very friendly American called Mark, who shares his own taste in music. I think many people would like to be more sociable, but fear rejection. So we keep to ourselves in spite of ourselves. I suggested to Roelof that we go to introduce ourselves to that pretty girl with the dyed black hair who lives across the corridor from me. At least then if we hit rejection, we hit it together.

Maandagoggend half-vyf

Wat is die slaap 'n wondersoete ding
Wat soos 'n springhaas uit my pad uit spring

Addictions

One recent night at, like, 3 in the morning

He:	I did something irresponsible. I took spliff.
I:	I don't even know what that means.
He:	It's weed.
I:	So why do they call it spliff?
He:	You get different versions.
I:	Oh, so is this, like, Dagga 3.1?

Hooked on sushi
About two weeks ago, I got an SMS from an unknown number: "Tania, would u like 2 go 4 sushi with me? All u can eat for R89."

Hmmm. This person knows my name. And he is under 30, otherwise he would have written "would you like to go" instead of the abbreviations. And it's probably not a woman, because I don't have female friends that fit the picture. Maybe somebody I met on the net, to whom I gave my cell number?

I reply: "Very busy, so if in Stellenbosch, we can do it on a weeknight, otherwise will have to wait for weekend."

"Have u ever had sushi before?"

OK, this person doesn't know me that well. I love sushi. I have too few sushi-eating friends for whom going out wouldn't be a major journey, though, and besides, it's expensive; so on the rare occasion that I eat sushi, I usually eat alone.

I reply briefly, then hear nothing more from the mysterious stranger.

After a week or so, an SMS from my business partner's nephew (a former colleague/employee): "Hello, everyone. I am back at my regular number."

Then, shortly afterwards: "Would u like 2 go 4 sushi tonight?"

Ohhhhhh! OK, so the mysterious sushi person is Rudi.

"You don't happen to have a chess set with you?" he asks as we talk on the phone to confirm where to meet.

"You know, I did think of bringing one, but I reckoned you would bring yours."

"I sold mine."

OK, no chess tonight, then. Just sushi.

It turns out, Rudi (who has a conservative eating background), was fed half a bottle of white wine by a friend a fortnight ago, and taken out for sushi afterwards. Being somewhat prone to addictive behaviour, he got instantly hooked. By mid-October, he had emptied the bottom of his cupboard of his chess set, a heart-shaped vase, an old cell phone and various other items. These were converted to approximately 500 bucks in cash, which financed his new habit for a good few days.

Sushi eating is a delicate operation: little bowls, carefully shaped food. I don't know all the nuanced protocols, but I manage. Rudi doesn't know how to eat with chopsticks, so handles it the way pap is eaten in the Transkei: no utensils. I don't drink booze, so he finishes the bottle of pink sparkling wine unassisted.

What he didn't reckon with, was my comparative capacity for sushi. Some people will drink you under the table; others, like me, can eat you under the table, provided you're a novice at sushi. And I wasn't even over-eating! But for Rudi, the whole event was as good as an OD. He's going to lay off the stuff for a while.

We go to his parents' home for coffee. They are in Hermanus for a couple of days, which explains why he is in need of company.

The not-so-cool part is being told that I should be pleased that I am regarded as "flirting material" (his expression) by men nearly half my age. The cool part is being shown all the pills which he has to take for the rest of his life. Where available, I read the pharmaceutical leaflets. There is even a pill to deal with the side-effects of the other pills! Balance is a delicate thing. Eating sushi, I have discovered, is not.

I think Rudi is broke now, so his habit should be broken for a while. If he sells his remaining cell phone, he won't be able to phone me for a game of chess.

My own addictions

There are some emotions which I don't understand. Nor do I understand the mechanisms by which the "drugs" I have found to work, work. I don't mean substances; there are activities, and specific people, which and who have the capacity to calm me down and keep me sane for another day. And it's always a challenge to take those drugs in moderation.

Living a "normal" life is inordinarily complicated. We are expected to be literate, to be able to drive, to clean our homes, pay the rent or a bond, and hold down a job, not merely by arriving on time, but by managing complexity, reacting and proacting suitably, and beyond all that, conduct relationships with a number of people not directly related to any of those activities. That so many people actually manage that, often in the face of great personal pain, is nothing short of a miracle.

Seëninge

My hart gaan uit na alle oud-Suid-Afrikaners wat nou in lande woon waar 'n mens nie in die middedorp en in 'n nywerheidsgebied 'n kafee kan kry waar jy 'n samosa en 'n 500 ml botteltjie melk kan koop nie.

Allerlei

UMOJA: Well, the show on Saturday was not at the Artscape after all. We discovered this about eight minutes before it was due to start, when we showed our tickets. Somehow, with the help of a map book and miniature torch, Roelof and I managed to overcome a mutual spatial orientation handicap to make it to the Baxter on time! It was a very high energy show, with lots of bum wobbling. Roelof was completely freaked out when the fat lady did rhythmic contractions with her bottom. None of this fased me, because for some reason (I still don't know why) my mother and I used to kwela and do bum dances at home when I was growing up, and we aren't even black. The best-breasted women were topless for the opening and closing numbers. I thought it was an excellent thing, because I still believe that if male toplessness is a mainstream thing, then women should be permitted the same without the stigma of lewdness — or otherwise, to be fair to all, both sexes should have to cover up in public. The music was lively and fun, but to be honest, a bit loud, especially because of the occasional feedback. I thought they handled the "apartheid" bits nicely. Instead of making a heavy political statement, they did a poignant number about migrant labour, and the rest was just turned into humour.

KOOR: Ek het besluit om tydelik op te hou met my deelname aan die Stadskoor Tygerberg. Nadat ek my stem in Kathu verloor het, kan ek nie meer die note wat van 'n tweede sopraan vereis word, maklik bykom nie, en dit is nie sinvol om op hierdie stadium 'n alt of 'n tenoor (wat wel binne my range val) te word nie, want ek sou die bestaande repertoire van voor af moes instudeer. Ek sal dus aanstaande jaar (nadat my stem aangesterk het) terugkeer. Die enigste nadeel is natuurlik dat ek die fantastiese sangopleiding van ons wonderlike nuwe dirigent Rudolf sal misloop. Mense wat my ken weet dat ek nie sommer elke dag woorde soos "fantasties" en "wonderlik" nie. Hierdie ou is werklik goed in wat hy doen. Ek het altyd gewens ek kon in 'n André van der Merwe-koor sing, maar noudat ek Rudolf se afrigting beleef het, pla dit my nie meer nie, want ek weet dat ons koor onder Rudolf se leiding 'n wêreldklaskoor kan word.

Declaration

Having written that scribble this weekend while in a very pouty mood, and having been lovingly chastised subsequently, I went to bed early last night and spent some time in serious contemplation (a responsibility which I have shirked and shunned for a while now). I still have a lot of thinking to do, but I reckon I am ready to issue a provisional personal statement:

Plans for the weekend

Our account executive at Primedia gave me two prime seats for uMoja which is playing at the Artscape this Saturday. I've invited my neighbour, who is currently pretending that he is not an angel. Besides that, I have to edit a draft for a patent with Mikhailo on Sunday evening (not wildly exciting for a weekend activity), assist in writing some kind of play for Marisa, have coffee with Johan in Stellenbosch on Saturday to give him advice on Web marketing and Google rankings (and he is permitted to pay for my coffee in this instance) — although I did tell him that Rafiq is really the one with the unwritten PhD in this science; and the highlight of it all: tidy my flat (which currently looks like a canteen where there has been a strike and a pillow-fight), and do my laundry. Oh ja, and I promised Adrian that I would go to a braai at the fish farm tonight.

Wacko typo

Ummm, ja. About my previous post, well, that is all I can say about what I can't talk about. Or won't talk about.

Now just a quick funny: Marius was in a huge hurry, and we were editing a document together, a proposal for paving for a new shopping centre. He inserted this text, with no time to correct his typing. I think it looks very amusing, but I do know what he is talking about (I wonder if anyone else would be able to figure it out though)!

The PlaZABlok range features a .sruface, ...and sometihing about the non-ye-old worlde-ness of this product. Used at the most carzy, upmarkiet night clubs in Cape Twon

SlateLOk in this size and in this colour takes on a character of its own, distanciating itself from its slatiish grandmother.

Aaaargh! Stupid!

Wat presies is African Renaissance-argitektuur?

Dit kink vir my onheilspellend lelik — soos groot goue kliparende by die ingang van 'n Wes-Afrikase diktator se paleis. O ja, en dan sigsagpatrone met blokomrandings. (I also have it on good authority — although I must protect the anonymity of my source — that there was a push from within the Cape Town municipality to have bollards with Nelson Mandela's moulded head on them erected in Church Square at the Groote Kerk, whereupon a number of design professionals threatened to throw tantrums, vomit and resign. Was that an example of "African Renaissance architecture", I wonder?) Kan enigiemand vir my foto's wys wat hierdie, ummm, "styl" uitbeeld? Ek kry niks by Google nie.

Terug

OK, ek en Marisa is terug van Calitzdorp (heelwat swaarder), maar het nie tyd om te gesels nie, moes dadelik weer aan die werk spring. Later meer.