A Maths Equation on a Zombie Outbreak

Four crazy Canadians have used complex mathematical equations (real Beautiful Mind stuff) to calculate just how screwed the world would be if an outbreak of the undead occurred.
Simpler put, how quickly would an army of zombies munch their way through the entire human population?
The equations look like that cheesy cyberspace screen from the movie Hackers, where a whole bunch of figures and "@" signs float around in a hypnotic whirlwind while the kids "hack the planet".
But the conclusion of the zombie study, done by university students, is fairly straight forward: unless we hit them, and hit them hard, we're toast. Check it out here and download their report.
No surprise then that:
"In summary, a zombie outbreak is likely to lead to the collapse of civilisation, unless it is dealt with quickly. While aggressive quarantine may contain the epidemic, or a cure may lead to coexistence of humans and zombies, the most effective way to contain the rise of the undead is to hit hard and hit often. As seen in the movies, it is imperative that zombies are dealt with quickly, or else we are all in a great deal of trouble."

Police Sell Weapons to Criminals

police scandal

Eight Winters (The Star: Aug 5, 2009)

8 Winters

Dead Man On The Highway

I was driving to cover a court case in Germiston this morning when I spotted a dead man lying in a flowerbed next to the M2 highway.
There were a few police vans around the body but nobody had put that tinfoil stuff over it to prevent motorists from seeing his pale stomach and rigid neck.
The photographer I was with pulled the car over (cnr M2 and Refinery Road) and we went to investigate - like the curious journalists we are.
The first man I spoke to was from the Albany factory across the road. He had been called to the scene, searched through the man's pockets and found a piece of paper with telephone numbers on it. He dialled some of the numbers and reached the man's son.
As we stood chatting there, the son arrived with a work colleague and was asked to identify the body. As a uniformed cop lifted the white material that had - in the meantime - been placed over the old man, he recognized his father. It took a spit second for his head to collapse into his hands. And there we stood, caught in this surreal moment that we now shared.
A maintenance worker at the scene told us the old man - "madala" as he called him - had been wandering the scene since yesterday, searching for water. The garden worker shared his bread with him and said he had a crazed, stressed look in his eyes. He didn't know where he was going or what happened to his car. The last thing he remembers was the old man sitting by a statue. This morning, he was dead.
I tried all day to speak to the family, hoping for them to shine some light on the mystery, but got nowhere.
What a crazy town we live in.

The House of Flu

When I was a kid, and watched ninja movies, I usually raided my mother's kitchen for jam tin tops to transform into ninja stars, which I flung (with great enthusiasm) at cardboard boxes. Later in life, when I watched movies with car chases, I couldn't help drive a little faster. So it was of little surprise that after reading way too much about the fabulous Drum magazine era, I got inspired to name our apartment and give it some arty, hippie, super-cool name. It was going to be the House of (whatever name I came up with). Like Can Themba's House of Truth.
My girlfriend didn't quite see the appeal. Neither did my friends, who were very firmly in the 21st century. But I kept the dream alive, the cinders flickering weakly in the back of my mind.
If I was to give our flat a name this weekend, I would call it: The House of Bronchial Infection, Inner-Ear Inflammation, Antibiotics and Endless TV Watching that Results in Frightening Mess of Tea Cups. The House of Flu, in other words.
It's been one of those weekends... We've been passing the infection around, snapping at each other through our headaches and trying to get better while being forced to leave the warmth and happiness of the home. Yesterday, to complete the picture of the miserable weekend, it hailed.
So forgive me if I have little to write about. But as I return to work tomorrow, I'm sure things will pick up again...