IT'S A BOY!

In about five months, it will be time for my brother-in-law to start handing out cigars. I don’t care how ‘socially irresponsible’ that may be, it’s a tradition. And like all traditions, it should be respected, and repeated.

My sister is having a baby boy in August. Yes avid readers, this shall be her second offspring, her contribution to the world.

And once again, that question sneakily creeps in from my father: So son, when are you going to get married and give me grandchildren?

Well father, can I adopt them from some third world Asian country, as appears to be all the rage? Or perhaps a poor African child?

A puzzled look crawls all over his face. My father does not realize that I do not intend to work my skinny ass off so that I may be able to buy a small house somewhere and have some woman claim it as hers in an unfair divorce agreement.

Call me cynical (okay don’t, Cynical is not my real name), but I don’t believe in marriage – not when 50% of them end in divorce. And then the poor guy is forced to start all over again while his ex wife lives in the house that HE paid for, living with HIS dogs that HE raised. And all for what? No thanks. Give me the kids, sure. I’d like a kid. Maybe two. But not the hassle of a nagging wife.

But this posting has taken a rather sour turn. It started off happy and with much rejoicing for my sister was announcing to the world that she is with child. A boy child at that.

“If you look at the scan, you can see his willy,” she proclaimed.

“Where? I don’t see it. But holy crap he has a big head.” I replied.

“No man, down there. See it?”

“Um, no.”

Now I feel like a pervert. I need to go look at pictures of kittens and puppies on cake tin lids to purify my eyes.

Beware, for it is Tax Season

As the economically viable beings scurry, the citizens and residents start to panic for once a year, every year, a dark grey cloud covers the nation for an entire lunar month.

Behold, this month shall be hence forth known as March, a.k.a. Tax Month.

Forms to fill, lies to tell, Ts to cross and Is to dot. But beware, do not fool yourself my child, for Uncle Sam is watching you. He is watching each and every one of you. He is waiting for you to dutifully pay your annual dues. Because it is not enough that we, the mere peasants of the land, have to pay taxes on our monthly salaries, and general sales tax on each and every item we purchase.

No! Our pay slips are taken and rung out, much like a wet towel, to drain us of every spare penny we may be hoarding away for a rainy day. Uncle Sam sees them. And he wants them. By the end of the month.

St. Patty's *hic* Day

Ah yes, bless the Irish. Petrol Bombs and Blarney Stones, Four leaf clovers and Guinness. The only country in the world where only a minority speak the official first language.

The Irish Week:
Monday: It's the day after Sunday, you can't be expected to do much that day.

Tuesday: Bear in mind that doing nothing on Monday has got you out of the 'work groove' and you're pretty tried from waking up two days in a row.

Wednesday: It's nearly Thursday, there's not much point in starting something new.

Thursday: The real weekend. You will probably drink tonight , ergo it's the weekend.

Friday: Work? After all that drink last night? Are you mad?

Questions answered - well, sort of

So at the beginning of last week, I put forth several questions that have been puzzling me. I did some investigating, asked a few people, and finally have some answers. Here they are:

How does one boil an egg without it cracking when placed in the pot?
My friend, WRM, in Cape Town has the answer. "Put metal spoon in water before egg. Sprinkle salt in water before putting egg in. Put egg in metal spoon and lower slowly into boiling water."

Why does the price of gas/petrol keep increasing when it's widely known when you increase the price of gas, the price of EVERYTHING else increases as well?
That's an easy one. Because we're in the Middle East to instill democracy.

Why are there so many commercials on TV?

Because the TV networks are getting (even more) greedy and want more ad revenue.

Why does it take a letter mailed on the east coast destined for the west coast four days to reach its destination when I can fly to another continent in just six hours?
Because postal service employees only work for 2 hours a day. Duh!

Why are there only 2 sexes?
Well, according to the BBC, "Scientists in Britain believe that the reason there are only two sexes is due to a bacterial infection our ancestors caught about two billion years ago.

There is no end to the diversity of life on Earth, so why most species have only two sexes has been puzzling scientists around the world for many years.

Mushrooms have as many as 36,000 sexes, and a strange growth called slime mould has about thirteen. But these are rare exceptions to the almost universal rule that life on earth is divided into two sexes."

Who killed JFK?
According to friend, Wikipedia, there are several assassination theories: "There exist a vast array of conspiracy theories regarding the assassination of U.S. President John F. Kennedy. Such theories began to be generated soon after his death and continue to be proposed today. Many of these theories propose a criminal conspiracy involving parties such as the Federal Reserve, the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), the KGB, the Mafia, Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) director J. Edgar Hoover, Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson, Richard Nixon, Fidel Castro, Cuban exile groups opposed to the Castro government and the military and/or government interests of the United States." So I guess we don't really know.

February trivia

Why did the month of February get the not-so-royal treatment?

When Julius Caesar reformed the calendar in 45 B.C., the months alternated between 30 and 31 days, with the exception of February which had 29 days and 30 in a leap year.

To honor our boy Julius, the Roman Senate named the month of July after him. Later, Julius's grandnephew Augustus came to power, and the Roman senate also wanted to honor him with his own month.

However, due to the alternating calendar system, the month of August would only have 30 days.

To prevent any argument that Emperor Augustus had an inferior month, August was lengthened to 31 days. The extra day needed to inflate the importance of August was taken from February.

You may now consider yourselves enlightened.

Questions that need answering

The week ahead shall be a contemplative one for I have been thinking and I need some answers.

For example: how does one boil an egg without it cracking when placed in the pot?

Why does the price of gas/petrol keep increasing when it's widely known when you increase the price of gas, the price of EVERYTHING else increases as well?

Biologically, why are there only two sexes?

Why are there so many commercials on TV?

Why does it take a letter mailed on the east coast destined for the west coast four days to reach its destination when I can fly to another continent in just six hours?

And finally, who REALLY killed JFK?

I hope to have these answers by the end of the week.

Ooh, it's shiny

Yes, it’s true. People are like magpies. Why? Because they are attracted to shiny things. And ad folk are no different. If anything, they tend to be even more like magpies at a certain time during the year.

The ADDYS have rolled around. Now for those of you who don’t know what the ADDYS are, they’re like the Oscars of the American ad industry. And it works a little something like this. Each decent-sized city with a decent-sized ad community hosts the local ADDYS. And rumor has it these are rigged by that city’s biggest agency.

Then, if you win at the local level, you move on to the regional level, and if you win I those, then it’s on to the national ADDYS.

It’s incredible though because folks here treat the local ADDYS and the awards like something shiny from, oh I don’t know, Cannes or the One Show. Seriously though, it’s not like we’re curing cancer or ending war and famine. But I guess whatever makes you happy, right?

So tonight will be a night of schmoozing and hand shaking, business card swapping and fake smiling. And of course copious amounts of beverages of the alcoholic nature.

She got me into trouble this morning

With her Mona Lisa smirk and mermaid webbed hands, this green minx single-handedly got me into trouble this morning.

“But how can the caffeine chick get you into trouble?” I hear you innocently ask.

Easily, actually.

I was accosted by an anti-capitalist this morning on my way to work. I walked out of Starbucks with my Grande vanilla latte and this little old man in an apron walked up and started scolding me. “How dare you walk around with that in your hand, you should be ashamed. And you look educated so you should know better. It’s Americans like you that are the downfall of this country.”

I didn’t catch the first bit because had my earphones in and music was blaring through my frontal lobe.

Nonetheless, I caught the rest of it and responded, “No sir, it’s uneducated Americans like YOU who are the downfall of this country, and for the record I’m foreign. And educated. Furthermore, sir, how dare YOU speak to me in that tone and manner. Good day.” And I strolled off. Rather shaken I might add.

Thanks green lady for giving me caffeine and an argument in the morning.

My Old Man

(just for clarification, this is NOT my old man)

Today, my old man (or "Dad" as I call him) turned 60. That's six decades. A decade more than half a century. When I pointed this out to him in my 12:30am call this morning (because remember, he lives in South Africa, so there's a 7-hour time difference), he laughed and stipulated that he still feels as though he's 20. Fair enough.

In his life time, my old man has seen an apartheid regime rule South Africa, he has seen a democratic government elected to office, he used to spend the night around a bonfire with friends on the beaches, he's played provincial-level soccer, and some upper level cricket. He's been married. Divorced. And has two kids.

My old man and I are as different as chalk and cheese. But I still love the ballie.

Happy Birthday Dad.