Diplo vs. Bieber

Apparently this is just another one of his throw aways, but I like (read love) it too much.

Diplo made me a Belieber

Justin Bieber  - Baby Diplo Remix

http://www.mediafire.com/?n171ab1cjx5d52k

How To Avoid Appearing Sketchy In An Airport*

1. Do not approach women who appear to be traveling alone for favors in enclosed spaces that may cause them to feel cornered.
2. Do not touch women who appear to be travelling alone as a tactic to convince them of something.
3. Do not offer them half eaten biscuits as part of the persuassion.
4. Do not then get offended, and go on to verbally express how you think they are being rude if they reject said biscuit.
5. Do not then hang around and sing wierd a song about "Creeping on the down low/ Nobody would have to know" off key.
6. A head shake or other form of rejection should be respected.

*Based on my recent experience when using free internet in a sort of booth in the Dubai Airport. A young man approached me with "Hey sista, can we share systems?", to which I replied "Do you mean you want to use my computer?". Then he basically tried to convince me to let him use the computer, and I tried to make him go away.

The SPCA vs. The Human Rights Commission

This has been posted long after I originally wrote this entry (23 January 2007)

Over the weekend Tony Yengeni, former chief whip for the ANC, celebrated his release from prison on corruption charges. A major motivation for this party was thanking the ancestors for their intervention. The ancestors are an important part of African culture in South Africa, and are the reason why people slaughter -- to commune with the amadlozi (ancestors). An important part of slaughtering is that the animal bellows in a certain way. In order to achieve this bellow, according to Chief Holomisa, Chief of the Thembus, is what alerts the ancestors that the slaughtering is taking place. The media who had been invited to the ceremony/party got footage of Mr. Yengeni stabbing the bull. Others claimed that he pricked and did not stab what was an ox and not a bull. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SPCA), have demanded that Mr. Yengeni pay the fine that according to the constitution must be paid for acts of animal cruelty; however, many think that Mr. Yengeni has proved himself above the law in response to to the circumstances surrounding his premature release. What has caused the controversy is that slaughtering is an important part of African culture/spiritual beliefs, and forcing Mr. Yengeni to pay the fine would be a violation of his human rights according to the constitution. I would have to be in agreement with this opinion. My grandfather, adhered very strictly to this tradition, even as a minister and very deeply religious christian. On the two occasions that my family visited South Africa during apartheid, he slaughtered a sheep for each of us, as well as for other family members visiting from exile. All major events such as funerals, weddings and baptisms etc are marked by slaughtering. Even in America my parents slaughtered a sheep for my baptism and I still have the cured sheep skin.
This opened up a very interesting dialogue in the South Africa media, as it was not heavily tainted by political allegiances, and involved the voices of everyone from traditional leaders to irate callers. The Human Rights Commission has responded to the SPCA, claiming that their allegations were insensitive, as well as an attempt to "impose eurocentric morality". Traditional leaders such as Bantu Holomisa, have also been responding to the SPCA in news programs on radio and television, as well as in printed news, as experts on the tradition. They claim that animals are not supposed to be ill treated as according to the culture: "no ancestor would accept an animal that is being abuse". Many are also offended by the service provided the SPCA to tranquilize the animals before slaughterings, as this defeats the purpose by interfering with the animal's ability to bellow. In recent segments on SAFM, those in support of slaughtering sited examples of European hunters hunting game such as impala, as being just as cruel. They went on to compare these animals being primarily hunted for sport and not necessarily for food, to the stipulation in the tradition that the entire animal must be eaten when slaughtered. I have even been offered meat from the hoof of a cow on more than one occasion.
On female listener sent in an SMS that stated : "Black people [in South Africa] will always slaughter. They just need to get used to it, and leave us alone -- we just black like that". I think that rather than making people slaughter less it will make them do it more, as it will remind many of a cultural obligation that they may have been neglecting.

Thesis Statement

So my younger brother has encouraged me to choose a specific theme and focus for my blog, to make it better. He took a survey of all the blogs featured in awards recently given. They all had a theme in common.
Therefore, I intend to focus on my cross cultural experiences. Meaning, pretty much what I've been writing thus far, only I'm officiating it. It feels alot like my IBVA theme, which I decided on at the end, based on what I had done thus far. Not what you're supposed to do. You can only imagine how I write essays. Basically this is my blog's thesis statement.

"Third Culture": Blessing? Curse? Myth?

People are supposed to reflect on things at the end of the year. It's a way to put things together, figure out if over the duration of the year you moved in the right direct, strayed minimally as possible from the path, met goals and overcame failures. I don't really want to look back over 2006. So instead I'll focus on the parts of the present I feel (more)comfortable with. Namely a little self discovery.
My cousin complained to me this afternoon that I always refer to "South Africans", as though there is a separation between myself and other South Africans. Well I'm South African, but I can't help referring to people that way. I refer to people as a national entity regardless of where I am and who I'm with. The Austrains were Austrians, Americans are Americans, and South Africans will be South Africans. My room mates and friends sometimes get frustrated at how I ask the dumbest things about American culture. For example, my first night at a fast food joint I couldn't even order a cup of coffee. I tried to order milk with my coffee (a perfectly reasonable request everywhere else I've been), but all they had was 'half-and-half'. I had not idea what a hipster was, even though they are probably one of the most visible sub-cultures are New College, and I always complain about food, which they consider rude, etc. The thing is, I had to ask the same questions when I lived in Austria about the Viennese and Austrian culture and slang. Like how I, quite chuffed with myself, asked my German teacher if Austria was like Germany's little brother. She set me straight in so far as I was never too make that comparison again. And I can't say I was a huge fan of the local cuisine, but at least it was organic for the most part. In SA I'm constantly needing to ask my brother to translate SA slang, my mom to translate words in Zulu or Sotho. I came back one visit only to find out that my favorite store was no longer "in". And had been "out" for sometime. I don't understand crude nuances. Everytime I open my mouth people ask me where I got my accent from. I religiously buy a local youth culture magazine in order to keep up with what's going among people my own age. However, this is like being fed with an RV, rather than via mastication. My understanding of up to the minute pop-culture is like a field of study.
It seems like every where I live, or go I'm asking the same dumb questions, and making the same mistakes about social norms. Even at home. Every experience, even if I don't enjoy, like the first time I went to a club in America, is some anthropological discovery: "Why are all the gilrs dressed the same?"
My younger brother has been attending school in South Africa for the past year and a half. He mentioned to me the other day how surprised he was to find how much he had in common with his old friends in Vienna when he went back to visit in May for my graduation. His view is basically: once you leave a place, move on; sever all ties. I promptly pointed out "well of course you feel that way around them, you're all TCKs". He went on to adamantly deny his TCK status, but I can't find any other explanation. Maybe the thing about all this is that I'm so busy holding onto /being caught up in/exploring/expanding my third culture, that I can't assimilate into my second one (the one I'm living in).

I'd like to thank Floetry for providing a soundtrack for me to write too.

Homesickness isn't like the Measles

I always expected that I wouldn't get that homesick once I went off too college. I'd been homesick on and off for SA and my family my last year of high school, and considered myself having enough practice with it. But homesickness isn't like the measles. Once one gets it, they are not then inoculated against it.

I was looking at pictures of people from Vienna, out in the first district (the old city). That was my favorite part of the city. Where I'd roam weekend nights invariably cold, in noisy shoes, reeking of cigerretes, with the smell of cold and horse shit in my noise. Looking for fun I guess. Something memorable. The familiar. I also miss kissing people on the cheek in greeting (once on each cheek), not being sure if I'll get past the bouncer, the territorial nature of people in clubs, the cold politeness, the type of rudeness. I miss chatting to taxi drivers on my way home, avoiding eye contact with other passengers on trams, barely making the last bus home, sending and receiving SMSs as I drift into sleep. "Where were you tonight?" Alot of my experiences I feel I can't communicate to anyone, other than via e-mail (they were there). I doubt anyone here cares to hear about how the stars looked in the box created by the platz you got to when you walked from Waxies to Schottentor via Judenplatz. My favorite ice cream place on Schwedenplatz, where the service was terrible, but the chocolate ice cream made me feel like heaven was in my mouth. And rightly so. There's nothing more annoying than people going on about their high school (so I'm told). Though sometimes I wish my friends would tell me more about their high school experience, because in many ways it was so different from mine.

I am certainly infatuated with New College, but still in love with Vienna I guess. If that makes sense without coming out too trite (emotions are cliché anyway).

Sunday Afternoon Sail

This afternoon I didn't want to go sailing, but Nina made me. I was tired, and still am. I had a lot of work to do, and I still do. But I went. We hustled a bike for Katie to borrow and set off to find someone to take us sailing. All Nina's usual sail buddies were away or occupied with parents. So, I suggested we go down to Sail Club anyway and maybe we'd find someone to take us, which just so happened to be the case.
At sail club we found three second-years that were kind enough to agree to take us out with them. They had the disclaimer that there were holes in their sail boat they were supposed to use plugs to close, but they were using duct tape instead. My companions at this point started to mumble the "I don't know"s, but I was all for going, the idea of having to bail water at the time didn't seem... not alright to me for some reason. Water was actually bailed using a pudding cup.
Initially being out in the boat was very chill. It was pretty, but it was mostly just pretty, and my panorama was also being blocked by the smaller sail. It also looked to be a very short trip, and not much worth mentioning was going to happen. That was until somehow the wind wasn't letting us get back to Sail Club. Then a small storm moved over where we were trying to go (Sail Club, John Ringling building, New College), so the plan was to wait it out on the bay. While all this was happening a couple of fast loud boats passed us, and the Coast Guard yelled at us over their mega-phone to put on our life jackets, as the waters to the North (incidently we had to go that way to get back) were rough. At the time I was thinking, "don't they have anything better to do?", but it turned out just as well. The water to the North was pretty choppy, we hit a couple of waves, and we almost capsized a few of times. That's about when the storm we had been trying to wait out, decided to pass over us. The water got very choppy, more almost capsizing, and girlish screams and yelps (not necessarily from the girls on board) eminated from some of the less experienced members of the expedition.
Finally the storm stopped, the bay calmed, and sopping wet from rain and sea water we made our slow meandering way back to Sail Club. The wind decided to play games, and not only be slow, but once we got the closest we'd got to getting back that afternoon it was either barely there or blowing the wrong way. It seemed intent on blowing us off course. The people on shore later told us we looked funny struggling back to the Sail Club beach, which I doubt any of us found funny.
Basically we made it back alive thanks to the competence of our primary sailor. There were six of us in the boat, but he was pretty much the only one who knew what he was doing. We got worried sometimes about being dumped in the sea, and miserable with the wind keeping us from getting back, but over all it was quite the Sunday afternoon adventure. However, I don't know when next I'll voluntarily get into a sail boat. I doubt unless something seriously goes wrong next time it will match up to this first time of mine in a little boat with a sail.

PCP Review

So what is PCP? The letters P-C-P are a bit of a pun, as PCP is a drug (which people often use at PCPs) or can be an acronym for "Palm Court Party". There are usually 3 PCPs per year (though this is now being contested), one in October to celebrate Halloween, in February for Valentines Day, and one at the end of the acedemic year to celebrate graduation.

The Halloween one is supposed to be the biggest and best of the three. This year the theme was Dr. Seuss, which was a sterling idea. There were a number of Sneeches, Daisy-Head Mayzies, Whos, ect. I went as Sally from Cat in the Hat, if she had ever left her house. 'If she had left her house' because I wore a hat, which I am sure she would have worn when she left the house (you don't really need to wear a hat at home). Other costumes were the usual lewd business that seems to be a pandemic. Some people got creative though, for example there was Birdflu (grim reaper robe, with little kid ducky costumes stuck to it), Little Pete from Pete and Pete and Arny the Strongest Man in the World, und so weit. There were some scary costumes, the creepiest I found to be was the Panda suit. Who was it behind that mask?

But in the end what did I think? The decorations were certainly an accomplishment, palm court was transformed into a Seussian cloudland. However, other than the set up, and a few more people (I was told there are usually more people at PCP), as well as all the other PCP paraphernalia (people tripping left right and center, security checks, police everywhere you turn and knowing the chillout room is there), it was ok. I guess an alright first PCP. I had a decent enough time. The organizers did a brilliant job, I had good company for the most part, and other than a couple of scratches nothing too bad happened to me (I didn't even get a run in my stockings).