Tall People Conspiracy and Cats

There are a lot of tall people in Johannesburg. And last night, I'm convinced, a good number of them conspired to gather in row "i" of Monte Casino's grand theatre.
I know this because I sat in row "j" of the same theatre, attending the glittering opening night of the Cats musical and shifting from butt cheek to butt cheek trying to see the stage.
I'm not sure why tall people would want to hold a secret conspiracy meeting in a theatre, where talking to each other would clearly be difficult. Between the flashing lights, awkward seating arrangement, short interval and the goose-bump-inducing voices of the actors belting out classics like "memories", what possible plotting could take place? But there they were anyway, whispering in each other's ears and chuckling silently at the suckers behind them.
On a serious note, Cats was sensational. The theatre was transformed into a shadowy rubbish dump with cats crawling from under every crack. Returning from the interval, the cats started from the back of the audience and climbed over the rows to make their way on stage. They stopped to purr up against people, claw at their bags or steal a sip from the drinks. I managed to pat one on the head, and feel the bristle-like wig. It's an amazing experience to see the costumes so close up.
What struck me the most was how beautifully and flawlessly the cats moved. They were like one organism but with so many individual personalities, like Rum Tum Tugger - the feline version of Mick Jagger meets Michael Jackson.
Sure some of the music was a little dated and sounded like that horrible jingle you hear as the credits roll on Bold and the Beautiful or Sunset Beach. And yes, one dance routine seemed to last longer than nine lives. And if you really pick at it, you can't but assume that old Lloyd Webber must have been on some serious Acid to conjure up that Mongolian / pirate scene...
But overall, if you throw in a dinner, you can't go wrong for a fantastic evening.

Pigeon VS Telkom

News just in: Winston the pigeon has just won a race to deliver 4GB of data - beating a painfully slow download on a Telkom line.
Winston, an 11-month-old bird, set out from Howick to Hillcrest (both in Kwazulu-Natal) with a memory stick containing 4GB of data. At the same time, the company organizing the race began downloading 4GB of information on an ADSL Telkom line.
When our feathery friend landed at his destination, the download was under 4% complete.
Winston Tweeted during his flight, chirping: "Flying weather cloudy and cool... feeling good... no major problems to report..."
Telkom has, so far, refused to comment.
It's unclear whether Winston will undergo gender testing after his lightning-fast finish of the 70km race.
Check out Winston's website here. Or see full story here.

The Chakra Challenge

Before I start, let the record show that I despise reality television. I think Big Brother was the first symptom of a terminal disease that threatens to kill global intellect. But if I were to flush my morals down the drain, and produce a reality show, I know exactly what it would be...
This morning I read a fascinating article in the LA Times about a group of Buddhists planning to live in the Arizona dessert for three years, three months and three days. The catch is: they will observe absolute silence for the entire 1190 days.
The group - most of whom gave up fancy jobs and six-figure salaries - will communicate through gestures and facial expressions. Even a pair of newly weds will have to abstain from any physical intimacy so as not to mess up their prana (inner energy).
Like in a Kibbutz, these enlightenment-seekers will grow veggies, meditate and do Yoga stretches. For three years.
Anyway, my idea is to do a reality show on this dessert retreat. Picture it: We have those well-edited inserts on their lives and what they are giving up. The parents sobbing, their poodles panting and their bosses wishing them well. Then they enter the new world - their wooden huts and wind-swept cacti.
Then... silence.
"Day 129... We are live now to the Buddhist retreat and things are exactly the way they were four months ago..."
"Day 473... the house mates are still meditating..."
"Day 864... was that a smile? No. No. That was just gas..."
"Day 990... Ooh... a new yoga position by Dreyfus..."
And so on.
Sad thing is, the world would probably lap it up.

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...