Fact or Crap - Nasa Finds New Moon Landing Footage

A few days ago my girlfriend and I made a small, but highly entertaining discovery at one of our favourite little restaurants in Linden.
Waiting for our order, we decided to play one of the old board games stacked up on a bookshelf near the till. I reached into the dusty pile and yanked out a small box with "Fact or Crap" written on the faded cardboard. No mystery about how the game works: you read out a list of statements and your opponent guesses whether they are true or false - fact or crap.
Within minutes we were lost in the game, working through the cards faster than the chef could sprinkle toppings onto our pizza. Fact, fact, crap, fact, crap, crap... and on it went until the food arrived.
Next month, Nasa will ask the entire world to play a big fat game of "Fact or Crap" when they unveil "new and amazingly clear" footage of the 1969 moon landing. Yes, the "one small step, one giant leap" one. THE moon landing. After 40 years of conspiracy theories about whether America made the whole thing up, Nasa will try convince us that somehow, the most important videotape in the world (not counting the Paris Hilton one) was "lost".
At this point I should reveal my bias. I am Russian and am therefore a little subjective on the space race issue. Although we sent the first man into space, we never attempted a single moon landing - never mind moon walk (Michael, may you rest in peace). But surely I can't be the only one who questions this incredible discovery.
* The Daily Express broke the story and has a fascinating article on it. Read it here (right-click and open new tab). And comment on whether you think it's for real.

Quiet Introspection

A week has passed since I launched An Unquiet Day and the time has come for some introspection. Normally, when I allow my mind to turn inwards I sink into the quick sands of melancholy, play out-of-character music and write short stories that frighten me a few days later. But this, I'm sure, will be nothing like that.
What have I learned since diving into the blogosphere?
a. It's a lot more difficult to attract attention in cyberspace than I ever imagined. According to Technorati, there are at least 184-million bloggers out there, some who have been doing it since before Google came to steal our souls and take over the world. So thank you to all of you who are supporting me. As I return to the newsroom tomorrow (from study leave) I hope I can start delivering some interesting posts from the battlefield.
b. Not nearly as many people as I thought spend their time wondering about the paradoxes of time travel. Especially when it comes to trashy movies like Terminator. Forgive me, I got a little carried away after watching Star Trek. According to our poll, almost 50% of people simply don't care. So I'll make the next one about sex or religion, or both.
c. While I've been in denial about the online world (assuring myself that when I'm old I'll still have a newspaper to spread over my lap as I sip my Earl Gray tea on the creaky rocking chair) a lot has happened. I'm now plugged into it again and will, without a doubt, see you there.
d. It's great to have guest posts on the blog. It adds new dimensions, fresh voices and opens up conversation. So if anyone would like to contribute, please let me know.
On another front, the "I Suck" revolution is picking up momentum. Out of all the names I received, the most obvious one (which I should have remembered) is Sarah Palin - the right-wing governor from Alaska. If there was ever one person who so beautifully personifies everything wrong with the conservative, intolerant and poorly-educated mind, it's her. As for the person I least expected to see on the list is Michael Buble. That's not to say he doesn't suck. Because he probably does. But he looked a little odd next to great architects of genocide like Omar Al-Bashir.
And finally, unlike the rest of the country (and especially our toyi-toying doctors - please god don't let me get sick in the next few days) I am not on strike and will continue to blog!

p.s: Interesting story on a new You Tube centre for citizen journalists and an investigation of whether vegan food served in restaurants is really vegan.

Blue Crane by Anastasya Eliseeva

You can be too rich, as our capitalist world often proves. You can be too thin, like Christian Bale in Machinist. But you can never have too many tattoos!
Look at those people hanging around tattoo shops, the way they roll up their sleeves and just seem to have an infinite amount of tattoos in a limited space. I've met a guy with a full body suit – head to toes – who's been working on it for 22 years, and he is still going for sessions. So when I get confronted by people saying ''slow down, or you'll be fully covered in 5 years'', I reply: “I wish”.
Let me start from the beginning. I decided on this particular topic because: My brother and I have always shared a passion for tattoos, as well as many long sessions of designing them; I myself have 14 pieces – so far (some are tiny): and my boyfriend recently got into tattooing, with me his most eager guinea pig.
We started modestly, him and I. The gun that he got from a friend came from an old shoebox and was really more of a tractor – sounded like one too. Nevertheless, we produced a couple of pieces on my skin, which I still adore. Once we acquired a real gun, it was clear he was a natural. It was a matter of time before all my getting semi-naked in public places, showing off to anyone that would look, paid off and people started wanting Sean tattoos. He now needed a way of taking this further, to a point where he could do it pro.
Then the fairy of luck smiled her sexiest smile - Sean was busy airbrushing a portrait at the auto expo when he met a tattoo artist who is seen as a god in my circles. One thing led to another and Sean was offered tuition. We were both overjoyed and I began to design my next piece: an origami crane.
After the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, a little girl lay in hospital dying. The doctors told her to fold origami cranes out of the papers from her medicine. If she folded a million, she would live. They did this to keep her occupied and give her hope. Hope is the greatest healing force. The girl didn't live, but her story inspired many. The origami crane became a symbol of hope and peace, and my personal obsession. If I were the Little Prince, I would have asked the pilot: “make me an origami crane”.
This one is blue because it refers back to a story I remember from when I was little, about people going around the world chasing the blue bird of happiness.
People often tell me to slow down. They point out that tattoos are permanent... but face it – nothing is. Life is a fleeting, beautiful experience, and we make our surroundings as pleasant as possible while we're here. I decorate my body in the same way one decorates any dwellings. I put down meaningful symbolism, trying to capture as much of my journey as possible. This vessel isn't sacred. It is dust. What is important to me is the fleeting thoughts, feelings and ideas dwelling inside it, which I attempt to represent on the outside in small colourful icons.

The "I Suck" Revolution

A surprise “I suck” confession by the chair of the SABC board has sparked a global rush as politicians and pop stars race to follow suit.

“I do agree, I suck as a leader…” Kanyisiwe Mkonza boldly declared at a hearing on Tuesday. (Yes, really.)

Her words thundered across the nation and inspired others – mostly civil servants – to admit what the public has known since… well, forever. With the sudden flood of interest, an underground, semi-secret society quickly surfaced to lead the “I suck” revolution.

First in line was Julius Malema. He wanted so desperately to be the leader of the secret society’s militant youth wing but could not spell “I suck” and was disqualified from the selection process. Storming off, he muttered something about killing for his right to suck.

Tony Yengeni led the older generation, offering the selection panel a great second-hand Mercedes-Benz for the honour of being the president of “I suck”. He claimed that having spent time in jail made him the perfect candidate.

Schabir Shaik was too frail to attend the interview, having been recently released from hospital. But he boasted about his contacts within government and his ability to “take one for the team”.

President Jacob Zuma sent his apologies, saying he would have applied but was too busy running the country.

Suspended police chief Jackie Selebi and axed metro police boss Robert McBride conducted a joint application. They promised to raise exorbitant amounts of cash for the movement as they had done for their criminal cases.

Ray McCauley pulled up to the secret head quarters on his Harley, opting not to fly in on the luxury jet his church usually hires for him. He said that God wanted him to lead “I suck” and that his parishioners had raised R100-million to support his bid. As a character reference, he provided an SMS line to Carl Niehaus.

The church of Scientology launched 749 individual court cases against the selectors in a bid to overwhelm them into looking further than just earth for a divine leader.

Bafana Bafana coach Joel Santana was about to make a presentation but was told the panel did not need to hear evidence. They knew he sucked.

All Idols winners (and runners up) were considered as a group application. After a brief audition, they were tranquilised and sent off to a remote part of Indonesia.

The “I suck” movement has also drawn mega international names: George Bush, Dr Phil, Jessica Simpson and Robert Mugabe, who will be sworn in as president (elected or not) within two weeks.

Who do you think should be a member of, or lead the “I suck” movement?

Conan The Barbarian and Other Existential Questions

There are a lot of things on my mind: Japan considering doing away with cash currency; the looming remake of Conan the Barbarian (which, you'll agree, is a matter of global concern); the Natural Born Killers soundtrack I've rediscovered after more than a decade; the brilliant Scientology expose series I finished reading last night (see previous post); the 27 kind people (so far) who have joined this blog; my hands stinging from the freeze; and other such thoughts.

But the most interesting idea popped into my head yesterday, as I walked from my car to my flat, doing my best to avoid our nosy caretaker with that weird Eastern-European accent and my lesbian, parrot-on-shoulder neighbour Dolly. I thought about the two weeks of study leave I'm busy with and how strange it feels to step away from your job and look upon it from a distance and with fresh perspective. It's like unplugging from the Matrix. Sitting up on Northcliff Hill, looking down at your world and the tiny people and cars that run around in it like anxious insects.

I've been in journalism for seven years. And it occurred to me that I have spent those years fighting in the trenches. Covering the mayhem of the xenophobic attacks, getting inside the world of an Austrian father who kept his son locked up for four years or getting our MEC fired for splashing out on a R900 000 Merc without bothering to so much as insure it.

This morning I read my own newspaper with a front-page story which - because of the university course I am doing - I had to pass on to a colleague. I was happy to have someone else investigate it, to avoid the risk of getting scooped by another newspaper. It was done really well and was a welcome break from the violence and despair the front pages scream way too often. A part of me wanted to rush back to the newsroom and get stuck into the thrill of breaking a big story, while another calmed me, telling me to savor the chance to look over the battlefield without being a soldier. I wonder how many people feel the same way about their worlds?

Links:

Conan reboot (God help us)

Japan and their cash

Scientology series (read it, it's fascinating - especially the part about the cult / church's battle against the taxman)

Scientology Expose

Who could ever forget Tom Cruise jumping around Oprah's couch like the king of the apes, preaching scientology. Or all the South Park episodes devoted to exposing the funny side of a cult (please hold off the hate mail, death threats and Jihads) that's spreading across the globe.

But there is a very serious side to the effects of scientology. In France, there is currently a court case underway to ban scientology. In other parts of the world, there have been several attempts to sue the "church" for fraud. But what is really worth reading is a fascinating 3-part series just published by the St Petersburg Times, exposing the inside of scientology. With four senior defectors, the newspaper's journalists have put together an amazing peek behind the church's walls, media machines and brainwashed followers. Here are the links to the articles (right click them and open in new windows / tabs):

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

The website also has some really interesting background information, videos, etc on scientology. Definitely worth a read.

Picasso Summer

It’s not quite Pablo Picasso at the Hermitage State Museum, but this masterpiece caught my eye this weekend as I stood in a toilet cubicle at the Wits theatre.

I was attending the annual production of the Johannesburg Youth Ballet (my best friend’s sister being one of the organizers) and could not resist taking a photo of our president dancing his heart out next to a roll of toilet paper, which was flapping around like a national flag. It made me think of several things: isn’t it wonderful that we live in a country where students take the time to draw political satire on walls where the norm is naked women, disproportionate penises and badly spelt invitations to sexual acts you pray your children will never find out about. I also thought about how ridiculous it is to have a president whose trademark is a shower head (relating to his rape trial) and an outdated revolutionary dance calling for a machine gun. And I thought about Zapiro – the creator of the shower head – and the effect one man can have on a nation. Remembering just how much contempt I have for politicians, I strolled off to the ballet to get lost in the uncontaminated smile of one of the young dancers.

Speaking of Picasso, I read a magnificent story this weekend by Ray Bradbury. On one of my shopping sprees to the Exclusive Books in Hyde Park, my favorite place in which to disappear for a few hours, I picked up a collection of Bradbury’s short stories. The author has been in my family for as long as I can remember and my parents read his stories (translated into Russian) while we still lived in Moscow. Picasso Summer is a story about a man on holiday with his family at the same resort as Pablo Picasso. When the man looks at the sky, the sea and the beach, he sees Picasso’s paintings and their brilliant reds, blues, yellows… He is obsessed with Picasso but can’t afford to buy his paintings. And then, one evening, he comes across Picasso drawing in the sand with an old ice cream stick. He freezes as he watches the artist create a string of breathtaking works in the sand. He panics, wondering if he has time to run to the hotel to fetch his camera, or hire a builder to excavate the sand or fill it with concrete to capture the images. As Picasso strolls off, the man realizes he cannot own the images and walks up and down looking at them until the sun sets. At dinner that night, he asks his wife: “Can you hear that?” “Hear what?” she replies.
“The tide coming in.”

The Enigma of Santana

There’s a strange question on my mind: why did Joel Santana ditch his translator? Is it the recession? Have things got so bad that from his monthly R1.8-million salary he could no longer afford to dish out a few bucks for her? Did they have a fall out? Or did someone at the training camp pub tell the Bafana Bafana coach a tragic lie about his abilities to speak English?
This is a strange question because I am the absolute opposite of a sports fan. In school, I played second team everything – and only because it was compulsory. In my adult life, I never owned a rugby jersey, never watched sport on television and didn’t invest any emotion into something I considered to be a waste of humanity’s collective time.
But this weekend I couldn’t help get sucked into some of the sporting action. I caught a bit of the rugby and then watched almost the entire match between Bafana Bafana and Spain.
The game was great, we only lost by two goals and I was very impressed with our goalkeeper. But the real action only began after the match – in those dreadful, rehearsed post-match interviews with a colourful kaleidoscope of brands in the background.
With microphone in hand, some former soccer star stumbled over his words and smiled stupidly for the SABC camera. Enter our captain, who told us that although “no one gave us any chances” they got through to the semis. What was he expecting? Is it not all about creating your own chances? Did he want to pull a Hansie on us?
Then came Santana, looking at us over his giant soggy potato of a nose. Asked about the match and the journey ahead, his answers went something like this: Yes… very happy…. Bafana Bafana… Brazil… play… Brazil… excited… challenge… Tshabalala… goals… happy… err… excited… Brazil… score… play… Bafana Bafana… chance… err… match… Bafana Bafana… goal…
By this point, my girlfriend, four of our friends and I were falling off the couch laughing. No amount of money could have bought this kind of entertainment. It was such a wonderful screw-up that we just had to keep watching.
The cameras went to some Spanish player, who praised Bafana Bafana for a game well played and then took us inside the SABC studio. At this point, some presenter with a shiny black suit and rimmed glasses, decided to end his career and went on a giant rave about how Santana should be fired and that he should take his captain with him. “I’m angry!” he kept chanting. “Like the rest of South Africa!” Speak for yourself Mr anger management.
And so came to an end our soccer bonanza and we switched over to watching an art film. And the universe slid back into orbit.

Wake Up

You’re inside a silver rocket that has just landed on the surface of Mars. With a hydraulic huff, and a hiss of smoke, the door pops open and a narrow ladder flops down like a stiff tongue. You step out, looking at the desert landscape and sucking in the thin air. The dark nothingness, pierced by an eternity of sparkling stars, hangs above you as you prepare to step onto the alien soil. Your heart pounds inside your spacesuit.
Welcome to An Unquiet Day – a blog that has absolutely nothing to do with science-fiction and everything to do with the excitement of exploration.
Before we get to the introductions, allow me to explain the name. An Unquiet Day is the title of a chapter in The Master and Margarita, the brilliant novel by Russian author Mikhail Bulgakov. I read this book in the cabin of the Trans-Siberian Express in February 2006, during one of the greatest adventures of my life. The Master and Margarita was banned for almost 30 years in the Soviet Union and is about the devil arriving in Moscow, disguised as a foreign professor.
The author of this blog is Alex Eliseev, a journalist working on a daily newspaper in one of the most exciting cities in the world. Johannesburg is never still. It is a restless beast filled with beauty and tragedy, hope and hopelessness, golden wealth and soul-smashing poverty.
An Unquiet Day will chronicle adventures and misadventures, large and small. Some will relate to work, others not. Some will be actual journeys, others interesting thoughts and discoveries. They will be mixed in with my interests: current affairs, photography, film, art, documentaries, literature, travel, counter-cultures and quirky facts about life that don’t mean a hell of a lot.
Importantly, this blog is a tool for you to connect with me. If you have stories you think should be covered by mainstream media, send them. If you have questions, maybe I can help. And, if we manage to build a small, like-minded community, perhaps you’ll help me if I’m stranded.
Thank you for taking the first step and please sign up as a member.