Flu and False Predictions

Yesterday, I boldly announced that the flu had released me. I spent the day covering a court case in Alexandra, hunting for a semi-decent restaurant in Germiston CBD (which, believe me, is not as easy as it sounds), sitting in the public gallery of a long council meeting and finishing the day at the Civic Theatre, sniffling my way through the Cheap Show.
This morning I am in bed, swimming in a small ocean of soggy tissues and getting ready to go to good old Dr Shein - my family's GP. I should have known better than to speak on flu's behalf - damn hearsay evidence.
The good news is I managed to finish a book I'm reviewing: Happy Chappie. It's written by a man called Tony Katzew, who is dying of Motor Neuron Disease (MND). MND has got to be one of the cruellest diseases in the world - over several years it basically shuts down your entire body, muscle by muscle. Tony, who lives in Hospice, has been completely paralyzed for over six years but is one of the most inspirational people I have ever met. I interviewed him for my newspaper and later spent two days with him to put together a short story called Eight Winters (still to be published).
In his book, which he dictated to a friend and launched last weekend, he had a beautiful message inscribed to me and signed it with a fingerprint. I'll post the review soon.

From Dusk Till Dumb

Life is a never-ending lesson. Early on, we learn not to run into busy roads and are taught that heroin is not a sustainable hobby. Later we feel our way through love, sex, heartbreak and, ultimately, death. But at what point do we learn that just because a movie touches that special place in your soul - as movies do - doesn't mean you should tattoo its name (along with the names of the two lead actors) across your back. (Yes, it's real).
I write about this because, quite coincidentally, my girlfriend and I watched Twilight for the first time this weekend. We finally gave in. All our friends had read the books, seen the movie and bought the special 2-disk DVD sets. While it was beautifully filmed, and was very romantic (in the traditional forbidden-love way), it hardly pushed me to add to my tattoo collection. With the craze around it, it just feels too much like the vampire version of Hanna Montana (for teenagers as opposed to children and without the singing).
But, in my eternal quest to be an objective journalist, I am open to arguments against these sentiments and in defence of the "film name" tattoo. I am still deeply haunted by the movie Blindness - but that wouldn't make a great tattoo, now would it?
Here's a photograph I took a few weeks ago. Believe it or not, there were two fighters with the identical tattoo. Bad Boy must love them.


Moving on... check out this link. It's a brilliant story that appeared in the news today and is about how Mugabe's government got conned by a woman claiming she could magically extract diesel from a rock. Bob's ministers jumped at the opportunity, claiming the country's woes were over and paid her a hefty 500 billion Zim dollars (which, come to think of it, is probably a box of smokes in SA). But the con was priceless.

Caught red-feathered

Here he is. The culprit. The nemesis. The pigeon that keeps setting off the sensors on my balcony at 6 or 7am every Sunday morning.
Look closely at him. Or her. Perhaps you have seen this evil beak before. Those slimy feathers. Those cunning little eyes.
With this footage I can start investigating. Has this bird of doom been sent to haunt us by our neighbours as punishment for letting our plant water dribble down on their patio? Or is he (or she) a guardian from all the birds I rescued at work? Only time will tell...
In other news...
My video clip from Tokoza (below) was published on IOL (one of SA's biggest news website). My first little bit of multimedia journalism. Check it out.
And if you need something weird to celebrate... try Maybe Day.
Now, I am off to enjoy a free Friday.

Squatter camp or proud piece of history?

Well, I finally know what a true dilemma feels like: the university professor who holds the key to a BA degree you've slaved away at for two years insults your newspaper and calls its legendary Sauer Street offices a "squatter camp".
Talk about being caught in the middle.
Somewhere in my subconscious is buried a very vivid memory of traveling past 47 Sauer Street as a child and looking up at "The Star" sign on the wall - it's letters faded and proud. Something about that building always made me think of the romantic side of journalism: the smoke-filled offices, typewriters, giant presses and journalists in hats and rimmed glasses sneaking sips of whiskey between deadlines. When I joined The Star in 2005, I loved the old marble staircases, heavy iron furnishings in the toilets and the relics of an era vanishing into the quicksand of time. It was history - and it was beautiful.
But all indications are that by today, Independent News and Media (The Star's parent company in Ireland) will file for bankruptcy - like many proud newspapers have already done in the US. The future of the local operation - with its 14 titles - is uncertain, with questions over who will buy it.
In a column this week Wits professor Anton Harber, who heads up the journalism school in which I'm enrolled, wrote about the collapse of the Independent group and called it "the best news of the week". It's owner, Tony O'Reilly, has always been accused of using his friendship with Nelson Mandela to set up the media juggernaut and milk it to fund the overseas business. Last year, our hard work gave O'Reilly 26-million Euros but he has, Harber argues, failed to put money back into his most profitable operation.
"In this time, very little has been invested in infrastructure, with the result that the printing presses are decrepit and the Sauer Street headquarters are like an office squatter camp," Harber wrote.
47 Sauer Street is not a squatter camp. Yes it needs modernising. Yes the canteen may be a heath hazard. But a part of me cries out to defend some of the building's magical history. To blend the old with the new. To find a way to fight off the death of the newspaper. To slow the advance of the very technology that makes this blog possible...

Trouble in Tokoza

I spent today running around the Tokoza township, covering a violent service delivery protest.
It was a rush to be back in the thick of things after the two weeks we spent reporting on the xenophobic mayhem last year.
It was also a poignant assignment because Tokoza was where Ken Oosterbroek (the Bang Bang club) was slain in the 1990s and Khumalo Street (where we were today) was where a lot of our history was recorded by Oosterbroek and his friends. Greg Marinovich (who was wounded in Tokoza) was there today, shooting video footage. I wondered how it felt for him to walk those streets again and see the community swell in anger, threatening to explode.
It seems like we are in for a wave of these protests and I will bring you more on this as they develop. But in the meantime, I wanted to share something a little more light-hearted. China had their "tank man": the brave (unidentified) man who stood alone in front of a row of tanks during the protests. The Gaza strip had that incredible woman who pushed back a row of soldiers demolishing houses. Throughout history there have been images capturing incredible resistance to military and police force. Here, for your viewing pleasure, is South Africa's very own:

A Year of Driving Dangerously

In the end, we went with "Top 10 Excuses". We had to, we're a family newspaper. But if I had my way, I would have called them the: "What the hell were you thinking Awards"... or something a little punchier: "The McBride Awards", "for the policeman who really, really shouldn't be behind the wheel of a car".
But let me start at the beginning...
Sunday shifts are tedious. All your friends are picnicking, watching movies, eating long lunches and, well, not working. You, on the other hand, are stuck writing about traffic accidents, following up stories published in the weeklies and attending press conferences that are so insignificant the organisers were too embarrassed to schedule them on a real day.
Add a migraine "aura" (blind spots followed by nausea and a pounding headache), plus a looming university deadline on the effects of new media on journalism, and you'll understand how I felt this Sunday morning.
There was, however, one silver lining: a great story I was working on about how many cars the Ekurhuleni Metro Police officers (Robert McBride's former minions) have wrecked in a year. A source of mine had slipped me a list of each accident - all 225 of them - and a detailed breakdown of what happened. And, I should add, this was during a year when taxpayers dished out R88-million for a new fleet of 500 cars for the EMPD. The excuses and explanations are priceless. Here are the top 10 as recorded in the EMPD books:
1. “Officer shot himself accidentally and the projectile entered the fuel tank of the vehicle”
2. “Officer not on duty, misuse council vehicle, officer under the influence, transported civilians in vehicle”
3. “Officer (from the K9 dog unit) collided with a dog and failed to stop after accident, action caused extra damage to vehicle”
4. “Umbrella came loose of pole in windstorm and landed on windscreen and bonnet – loose object (nature)”
5. “Officer ignored red robot and collided with lamp pole – had no permission to use patrol vehicle”
6. “Officer start vehicle in gear and drove into wall at house”
7. “Vehicle parts of new car was removed (and replaced) with old parts – undisclosed damage on vehicle
8. “Officer responded to assist his pregnant wife who went into labour and drove into pillar at his gate”
9. “Officer drove into tree and left vehicle on the scene”
10. “Bird flew into vehicle damaging the light of the vehicle”
You can't make this stuff up.
What I want to know is: how much this costs council in civil claims, how Joburg's metro cops compare (or are they too busy trapping motorists to do any actual driving) and why, oh why, were these guys ever allowed to get into a car?
You can read the full story here. I'd love to hear your metro police story / story suggestions.
p.s: Out of 184 officers involved in accidents, 110 were at fault. They have just made the "I Suck" list.

The Curious Incident of Two Funerals on One Day

We were having breakfast at this little bistro under the escalators at Cresta when my friend Kenneth asked us whether we knew where the Fourways Memorial Park is. His grandmother (96) died recently and the funeral is due to take place on Monday.
"That's strange, I've also got a funeral there on Monday," my girlfriend said, rather surprised.
The father of one of her best friends died recently after loosing his battle against lung cancer. His funeral is due to take place at the same place, but a little later in the day.
I took a break from my scrambled eggs (perched on a warm croissant) to ponder the unusual coincidence.
Going down on holiday to the same spot, watching the same movie, buying the same T-shirt, phoning a friend at the exact moment they phone you... the world is full of weird coincidences and serendipitous surprises. But two funerals, on the same day, at the same place?
It made me think about death and how even a funeral - such a personal and emotional affair - is placed on a conveyor belt and ushered through our busy world.
And speaking of funerals, I learned today that Walter Cronkite has died. Cronkite was the super-anchorman, the Voice of America, the legend who narrated everything from the Kennedy assassination to the Vietnam War. And each time he finished a broadcast, he gave us the beautiful benediction: "And that's the way it is".
There is a great piece on Cronkite on the NY Times website. The video is worth watching - it's like a mini (5-minute) documentary. Click here to check it out.
And finally, I was having a haircut on Friday when I caught a contagious question. Some kid had asked my hairdresser why sideburns are called sideburns. Sure they are on the side, but they don't burn, he reasoned. She didn't know and, in telling me the story, passed the question onto me. I had to research it and discovered that the answer is nothing like I expected...

Thank you (muchas gracias)

Like an army of cyberspace Zorros - without the Antonio Banderas accent or cheesy one-liners - you have come to my rescue. Thank you. An Unquiet Day is now the proud home of 55 members. I'm not sure how I can repay you, but if you have any questions about the media world or story ideas, I will be glad to try and help.
Oh, I know. Perhaps I should share out the 1 316 463, 00 UK Pounds I won today. That's... let me do the calculation... R18-something million... divided by 55... R335 000 each... not bad... and who says the Internet is only for porn.
Of course, we have to verify the winnings. I have my suspicions... and they all lead to Nigeria. You see, I received an email today that announced:
"Dear winner
Please find the attachment and send your information to your claims agent immediately
Thank you,
Uk NATIONAL LOTTERT"
Attached was a fairly nice looking Word document with a fancy background. Apparently all valid email addresses in the world were chosen for the draw and I was the lucky winner. "Congratulations! Congratulations!" the letter shouted.
There were a whole bunch of codes, to make it look official, and some telephone numbers to call to claim your prize. I wondered how many poor old people across the world were busy dialling...
"LOTTERT"? Seriously? Can't they at least get 4 lines right? Can they spell "419 scam"? Do they know how Caps Lock works?
Anyway, it's not like we don't have stupid fraudsters in SA. I am busy investigating a KZN businessman on trial for defrauding the Department of Education of R200-million. He allegedly had an insider, got a huge tender and was hired to buy textbooks and stationery for distribution to schools. He promptly opened another company and used one business to sell to the other business and sent the invoices to the government. What was he thinking? That no one would make the connection? Eish.

Painting for Madiba, burger thieves and R Kelly

Since there was no mad rush for the 50th membership spot on this blog I am resorting to bribery. Whoever puts me out of my misery (of watching and waiting) will receive a free Mercedes-Benz ML 63 AMG (kindly sponsored by the Gauteng Department of Agriculture and Rural Development) and five bottles of Johnnie Walker Blue Label.*
I had a rather unusual morning yesterday. I spent it painting the walls of a building that was once the headquarters of "Non-White Affairs", where the notorious passes were issued to black workers. The building, 80 Albert Street, downtown Joburg, is now the home of a ministry housing teenagers, mothers and their children. As a newspaper, we are doing some volunteering there for the 67 Minutes for Mandela initiative. Our work includes repainting the television room on the floor where the teenage girls live and revamping a small outside yard.
My team was in charge of finishing the first coat of paint, doing some wall repairs and messing paint on every inch of the floor and every fibre of clothing (including my Levis). But what a soul soothing experience...
When I got back to the office, I was reminded how crazy the crime and courts beat can be. There were three stories that caught my eye:
The first was about seven men arrested "for failure to pay Wimpy". As the headline suggested, the seven guys ate up a storm (R890) but came up with a feast of excuses when it was time to pay. They said one of their friends had run away, leaving them to wash dishes. The owners of the Soweto-based Wimpy were not exactly interested and called the cops, who promptly arrested the lot for theft. At least they won't go hungry in the holding cells.
The second was about a waiter from Kauai Juice (that healthy place we all look at while lining up at Steers) who was arrested for scanning credit cards. The 31-year-old failed to rock up at court, claiming "an inflamed throat and diarrhoea". An arrest warrant was issued. I wonder what gave him the diarrhoea? Too much Super Green smoothies?
And finally, during some absolutely random court case in Durban, it was announced that R Kelly will not be called in to testify. Apparently the accused, a woman arrested for defrauding pensioners, implicated R Kelly (yes, that Michael Jackson wanna-be) as an accomplice. And our brave prosecutors actually managed to get a statement from him and decided not to summon him to court.
I wonder how much play these stories will get today in the shadow of the 2010 World Cup strike agreement and other important global events.
On a serious note, a story worth reading is the one about the couple who committed suicide at a clinic in Switzerland. As a journalist, not much penetrates my skin, but this story did. It's tragic, beautiful and perfect.
* A small problem with the Merc AMG is that it was stolen and is currently missing in action. It was spotted in Swaziland, but remains illusive. If you can find it, maybe you can keep it. And, since it belonged to a politician, it probably had the Johnnie Walker in the boot. (A bit of trivia: A few weeks ago I actually got an MEC fired for splashing out R920 000 for a Merc but not bothering to insure it. It was hijacked from her husband less than 24 hours after it left the showroom).

Almost There

I thought today was going to be the day. Now and again, I peeked at my blog hoping to find that some kind person out there had become the 50th member of An Unquiet Day. But as I prepare to call it in for the day, the count stands frozen at 49.
Don't get me wrong, 49 is fantastic. For a blog that was started just several weeks ago, I'm excited to have an opportunity to interact with this many people (and all those who keep an anonymous eye on things here). So far, I have had just under 500 visits.
But 49 is so damn close to 50 that the numbers are starting to haunt me. It's like driving somewhere, waiting for the car's odometer to click over onto some nice round figure like 70 000km. You dare not concentrate on the road for fear of missing the crucial moment. What if the next time you look down you see 70 002km? Could you forgive yourself?
So, if you are the 50th member, please announce yourself so I can dedicate a post to you. I would offer you a prize, but I best leave the bribery to the politicians.
Today also marked the start of my part-time photojournalism course at Wits. We were lucky to have Shahidul Alam as a guest speaker. Listening to his stories, and looking at his photographs, was spellbinding. Expect to see more photography on this blog in the weeks to come.
And finally, if you ever need an excuse to be struck by lightning... check this out.

Pigeon Peril

In a bid to protect the humming air-conditioner fans outside the window at my office, the men in blue (overalls) created a death-trap for pigeons. The chicken wire they wrapped the fans in allowed the birds to sneak through onto the ledge, but made it impossible to escape. After the slow death of two pigeons, I took matters into my own hands.
With some effort, I managed to pull open the wire and made it possible for the pigeons to fly away. And, since then, I have fought a long battle to get a permanent solution to the pigeon problem. Which is not an easy crusade when your newspaper faces a global recession and a battle to stay alive in the Internet era.
News that I was a pigeon-protector must have spread across the bird world and a small splinter group has taken to sitting inside a small empty flowerpot on my balcony at home. I cannot say whether these pigeons are related to the ones at my office in Joburg CBD - but they could be.
Anyway, the ones at my home have taken on a new hobby, flying across the security sensor on my balcony at the break of dawn. This sets off the alarm, forcing me to leap out of bed naked, run through the house, open a security door and silence the siren. Yesterday (Saturday) the alarm began to scream at 7.30am - five hours after we crawled into bed after a comedy night at Montecasino. And today (a warm sunny Sunday) the birds arrived at 8am.
On weekdays, this doesn't trouble me because we are awake and getting ready for work by the time they swoop down. But on a Sunday? Have they no shame? Do they not realise I have taken down the pot and hidden it? Do they not know that you should not bite (err... peck) the hand that feeds? Do they not want a protector?

Discovery Health: 3 - Alex Eliseev: 0

To avoid paying me R4 600, Discovery Health convened a "dispute hearing" last night for which they hired a 3-member panel of medical experts to, basically, tell me to go to hell. The hearing, which included the panel, snacks, coffee, two Discovery legal and medical experts (to fight off my claim), a friendly convener and even an intern which came to listen, must have cost them a fortune. At the end, my only victory was taking home a bottle of still water (paid for by Discovery) and letting my friends sip away a tiny fraction of the company's profits. "Evil capitalists!" I mumbled as each friend took a turn. But let me explain...
After three months of fighting over the R4 600 I needed for a couple of CT scans (headache related) I had reached the final frontier: the dispute hearing. My gripe was that Discovery wanted me to pay R3 600 of the amount while they would pick up the balance. This would bankrupt my savings for the entire year and force me to pay in money - which I considered to be grossly unjust. Yes, I knew that my policy had limitations. But, I figured, after being a loyal client for five years and having paid them over R70 000 in premiums, surely they could make an exception.
I waited to call their bluff, thinking they would decide it was not worth the fight. They waited for me to fold, reckoning I would get tired of the battle. Last night we finally met, in conference room 8 at the Discovery head quarters in Sandton.
The hearing was very much like a court case. I stated my case and told them that my health should trump their fine print. I went in to try and appeal to their common sense and humanity. They hit back. "With all due respect... blah... blah... the rules state... blah... the member signed this... blah... blah... he is bound to it... blah... technicality... technicality... technicality..."
There was cross-examination, discussion and then we were sent out of the room while the panel deliberated. The "independent" panel consisted of: an advanced-life-support paramedic, a lawyer and a trauma doctor. Each one had to be "remunerated" and the Discovery staff were also probably paid overtime. And there we were, waiting for the verdict. As we chatted, I was told about another dispute where a man wanted Discovery to pay R350 000 worth of dental work. Now there was a real dispute, I thought.
About 10 minutes later, we were called in and I was told that rules were rules. Sorry. We had a brief off-the-record chat and I was sent to do the walk of shame through the now-empty Discovery building. The tribe had spoken. Goliath had won. But even so, I felt pretty good about having stood my ground...

Horned Terror and Discovery D-Day

"Sibongile Mnisi was sitting in front of her house, eating pap and meat. Then a goat came out of the bush... Some who were there say the crazy creature charged up to Sibongile - and plunged its horns into her chest! Screaming children threw rocks at the horned terror and it ran off... but it was much too late for Sibongile."
Yes, this is from the latest Daily Sun. Yes, I promise I won't make this a habit. But "horned terror"... how could I resist?
Hell of a day yesterday. The Hawks (our new crime-busters) bungled the announcement of their first breakthrough and have now been credited with the arrest of two low-life robbers and their sangoma (witch doctor) down in Kwazulu-Natal. Some spokesperson got a little too enthusiastic about the foiled jewellery store hit... but forgot to give the Hawks a heads up.
I also covered the start of the Razor Gang trial in Alexandra. The actual trial was postponed to today but it was fun watching some other suspect being carried up to court from the cells by four policemen. Apparently the magistrate has such a fierce reputation in the township that the suspected robber didn't want to face him in court. (The same magistrate who sent the leader of the Knife Gang to jail for 40 years.) This guy kicked and screamed all the way up to the dock and had to be held down like a wild animal while the magistrate read him his rights.
Today is D-Day for the matter of Alex Eliseev VS Discovery Health. For most of this year I have been fighting for them to pay for a set of scans I need to have done. They have, so far, politely told me to go to hell. The irony is that if I check into hospital (which costs them R20 000 / R30 000?) they will cover the scans. If I do it out of hospital, it costs them R4 600. And this is the amount they are refusing to pay. So this evening I have a dispute hearing where I will state my case to a panel of three of their doctors. The medical aid will respond and there will be a ruling.
My consumer battles have included: a fight to get my cellphone provider to pay me back for a string of calls made by the burglar who cleaned out our house a few years ago (to his friends in Nigeria); to challenge the hike in insurance premiums on my car; and to make my bank sorry for freezing all my accounts (leaving me with R5) because of their own bungles. All of these I have won, but this one is definitely my longest and most complex battle. Just as well I have the energy of 70 000 toyi-toying construction workers!

Daily Sun Bliss

I have always been an evangelical defender of the broadsheet newspaper and all that is sacred about dignified, well-researched and informative news. But sometimes I can’t help falling in love with a story in the tabloid Daily Sun. This is why:
“A co-driver of a giant 20-wheeler (truck) found a magosha (prostitute) at a truck stop on a cold, bitter night. The two had sex on a blanket underneath the warm truck and fell asleep… the other driver slept in the cab above their heads… In the morning he started the mighty engine – and squashed the still-sleeping magosha under a massive wheel! He drove right over her head! She died at once. Her sex-partner – the co-driver – was injured… The terrible accident took place at a petrol station south of Bloemfontein, the Free State capital. The big truck was traveling between Koffiefontein and Wepener. The guy behind the wheel had no clue his friend the co-driver and the woman who sold sex were still sleeping on the ground below… He had a shower after he awoke and went looking for his partner – with no success. So he started up – and reversed… he drove right over the magosha’s head! Cop superintendent Annelie Wrensch, told Daily Sun: “The driver said it felt to him as if he was driving over a brick, but it made him feel uneasy… and he climbed out the cab to have a look. “He was shocked to find his friend moaning in pain and the woman with her skull squashed!”
This story appeared today on their front page. Add the headline: “They picked the wrong place for sex!”, an inappropriate photograph of the body being loaded into a mortuary van and sprinkle half a dozen exclamation marks, and you have Daily Sun magic. I’ve always said that if I was ever to leave South Africa I would take a Daily Sun poster and frame it for a lifetime of happy memories...

Another Take on the Hawks

"Eyes of the hawk, hawk, hawk..."

This one goes out to Marshall Bravestarr and his talking, shooting, half-robotic, 100% ass-kicking horse called Thirty/Thirty. I was thinking about you guys today, as I sat through a fancy but frustrating launch of the new crime busting unit: the Hawks.
Background: the Scorpions were launched in 1999 to crack the big cases. They went after the big guns, got caught up in too much politics and died a tragic death. Now, the Hawks (let the Bravestarr music play in your mind) have come to take over.
The whole event - held at Gallagher Estate - was more like a Hollywood glamour party than the launch of a crime unit. There was saxophone music, martini glasses filled with curious yellow liquid, cheese and strawberries skewered through pineapples, a little jazz band (made up of police officers), orange roses, a dim ballroom, top brass cops in mafia-style Fedora hats, heart-shaped waffles and an endless supply of cheesy metaphors. In fact, when we stood for the national anthem I was quite relieved because it let the feast of promises (about how the Hawks were going to clean up South Africa) sink to the bottom of my stomach.
But what really made me angry was the worshiping that went on around our Minister of Police, Nathi Mthethwa. He was like one of those cult leaders with dreamy-eyed followers flocking to shake his hand, touch him or hear a few words of wisdom. (From a man who says things like: "Some of this knowledge and experience can only be acquired through concerted and focused knowledge.") Anyway, he may as well have been handing out autographs. Once everyone was seated in the ballroom, the MC asked everyone to stand so Mthethwa (and his cling-ons) could snake their way to the main table. I waited for the room to take a long bow, but luckily that didn't happen. The whole thing smacked of the monarchy and I, in my own little protest, stayed seated and continued to tap away at the keyboard of my computer.
But enough about that. Here's a list of my favourite quotes from the function, uttered by various fearless leaders:
"The Hawks will keep their eye on the ball and we are determined to track you (the criminal) down," the new Hawks boss.
"The unit must zoom into syndicates from afar and destroy their evil networks," the minister.
"To seek, to find and to succeed," the Hawks' motto.
I just wonder if, when the new unit heads out on a raid, they'll shout things like: "Eyes of the hawk... hawk... hawk. Strength of the bear... bear... bear. Speed of a brand new Jeep we took away from those Scorpions... Scorpions... Scorpions."

Buzz, Palin and the Beauty of Absolute Randomness

The CD had been in my car since May. Since the day I decided, very suddenly, that I hated all my car music and needed a fresh collection. So I burned a stack of new CDs - including Desmond and The Tutus.
This week I started listening to them and discovered the beauty of absolute randomness. One song is about a girl named Peter, another about a crazy rebel, a soggy bottom Speedo swimmer and a high five which is just too damn hard. So today, I will scatter my topics like a pensioner feeding pigeons in the park.
News just in: Sarah Palin (the neo-Nazi governor of Alaska and top candidate of the "I Suck" revolution) has resigned. On Independence Day. Perhaps it was her gift to the liberals and free-thinkers of the world.
Reports suggest she is planning to run for president of the US in 2012. If she succeeds, I am leaving earth and starting a colony on Mars.
Speaking of which, Buzz Aldrin (the real moon walker) has said that the time is right for mankind to start colonising other planets, and especially Mars.
"I feel that at this juncture in time that a leader of the world of some nation has the opportunity to initiate a clear pathway that can result in creatures from the Earth beginning to settle on another planet in this solar system," he told the BBC.
Adding to the Nasa moon landing topic, which has been going for a few days, I found a great gallery of photographs which show controversial aspects of the moon missions. Check them out.
What also caught my attention is a business merger between a huge Russian oil company (Gazprom) and its Nigerian counterpart (NNPC). The merger will generate billions of dollars and milk Africa for a bit more of its precious resources. But the best part of this is the name chosen for the new company, a mixture of Nigeria and Gazprom: "Nigaz". I can just hear the "African American" gangster teenagers in the Bronx...
The conclusion of the quantum physics poll: It's been up for a couple of weeks and asked whether there was a paradox in the plot of the new Terminator movie (with the son sending his father back in time). 50 percent of the 20 voters just didn't care enough to vote either yes or no. Those who had an opinion, were evenly split - but remained a majority. The time has come for me to admit that I am alone in these ponderings and will post a new poll today.
And finally, if you want to watch the funniest video created by mankind, click this link. It's a rip-off of "Total Eclipse Of The Heart" and is a masterpiece.

Unquiet Day speaks to Nasa

I have made one small step towards the truth about the Nasa moon landing debate. Here is the outcome of a media enquiry I sent to Nasa to try and answer the question: "New footage of the 1969 moon landing discovered - fact or crap?"
After posting the Nasa piece on Tuesday (see below), I received a few reader comments. One of which was a link to a blog claiming the whole thing was a hoax. So, in response, I did what any self-respecting journalist would do: find the right people and ask my own questions.
Last night I sent an email to three spokespeople at Nasa in the US. It was morning for them so, while I slept, they compiled a response. I asked them whether there was any truth to the Daily Express article claiming that, after 40 years, new footage of the first landing has been discovered. This is what Robert Jacobs (office of public affairs, national aeronautics and space administration, Nasa, Washington) had to say:
"Hi Alex. NASA is completing a final report on the search for the telemetry tapes that we believe could contain the SSTV data stream. The agency has not indicated what was or was not found as a result of the search, which was started in 2006. Once the report is complete, we'll make the findings public."
I'm no expert on telemetry tapes or SSTV data streams (just fancy terms for the footage) - but this says to me that there is something there. What do you think?

Back To The Office

Returning to work yesterday, after two weeks of study leave and full-time classes, was like walking onto a railway line and getting smacked by a speeding train. Within minutes, I was fighting with the Department of Health, begging the police to provide information, shouting at our IT guys for more bandwidth, calling off-the-record sources, getting comment from controversial lawyers and trying to track down the businessman at the centre of the Oilgate scandal. It was a wild day at the office.
The leave I had just finished was the first time in my life I had experienced "student life" and, if truth be told, I rather enjoyed it. Not forever, but it made for a great break from the day-to-day. Long tea breaks, late mornings and fun little outings where you get led around like a family of ducks through some random places where people stare at you like a parade of lepers.
In the real world, the never-ending strikes were ongoing, there was still mystery about whether we have a police commissioner or not and another plane had nosedived into the ocean. The strikes, in fact, have got so bad that workers were striking to show solidarity (yes, comrades) with metro police officers who were being disciplined for striking illegally on the M2 highway and shooting live ammunition at the other cops sent to disperse them. Let that sink in. Uniformed metro cops go on the rampage, bring the city to a halt, clash with the riot squads, shoot at them on the highway (bullets whizzing past motorists), get pushed back into their compound and throw rocks at the negotiation team succeeding only in hitting and denting their own cars. I know, I was there covering the story.
Now, when the time comes to stand up to a disciplinary hearing and take the rap for your actions - which some cops have described as treason - you get your mates at the licensing stations to down tools in protest. And why not, the doctors are striking, the nurses are striking, the firefighters are striking, the construction workers building our stadiums are striking, the teachers are kind-of striking and the taxi drivers are threatening to strike.
Let's see what today brings...