Attraction

So a lot of people have asked me what attracts me to a girl. Okay…not that many. Okay…none. But I’ma tell you anyway!

1. Mute

Haha, just kidding. I don’t mean that. She’d still be able to sign and that incessant flapping would drive me mad! (How do you shout in sign language, by the way?)

So here’s the real list.

1. Funny

Very important! My sense of humour is, well, unorthodox, to say the least. Drier than the Gobi on occasion. What I need is someone who will not only get it but be able to keep up with me and make chuckle, nay rofl. Is there such a girl? Perhaps. Outside of a mental institution? Let’s not push it…

2. Compassion

Ah, that most underrated of emotions! I met a girl who had as much compassion as a ball of string. Uncompassionate string. Attractive? Nay! How can you expect someone to care for you when you can’t care for others?

3. Tolerance

This may need a bit of explaining. Tolerance of me and my habits is what I mean. I’m a nerd. I enjoy manga. I enjoy playing on my DS. I like surfing and not getting shouted at when I get out. See what I’m saying?

4. Mutual Attraction

Yeah, that’s pretty important 🙂

5. Balanced

A decent blend of indoorsy and outdoorsy. I like being on the couch with a DVD but I enjoy a good game of tennis. *ahem*

6. Physical aspects?

Well, yeah, of course. I do enjoy a good pair of…eyes.

7. Not Crazy

This one’s pretty crucial. I seem to attract real nut jobs. There’ve been some nice girls, sure, but there’ve been just as many crazies, psychos and stalkers.

Yeah, I guess that’s kinda it. There’s probably more to it but I’m tired so maybe some other time.

And Craig, I know you fulfill all of the above but, well, you’re a boy.

The Great Debate

There’s a great debate that’s been raging for many years, a topic that is never brought up in polite conversation for fear offending people. Tempers flare, comments get heated, arguments rage in circles and fights break out.

What is the debate? Star Wars versus Star Trek, of course.

To be a nerd, it’s one or the other. You can’t be like certain athletes and have the best of both worlds. I won’t say which one I choose but Star Wars is obviously better.

I think I’ve worked it out though. You’re either an action nerd or a technical nerd. Would you rather slice up a bantha or discuss photon acceleration? Some nerds design things, some nerds build things and then ramp them off of stuff. I’m trying very hard to be unbiased here, for a fair impartial blog, but it’s hard. I’m an action nerd. I want to slice things up with a lightsaber! I’d be a superdangerous Jedi because I’d wanna use it for everything! Opening cans, cutting paper, opening doors…I mean gosh, it’s a laser sword! As opposed to a weapon that looks like a barcode scanner and stuns people…no wonder the dudes in the red jerseys keep dying.

I’m starting to wonder when I’m going to get to the point. SURPRISE! There isn’t one! Star Wars is better. I win.

Sorry. You can never have that time back.

Fathers Day

Fathers Day is approaching and as a father I am slightly peeved. When Mothers day rolls around, there is much trumpeting and fanfare. Sales everywhere, specials on every corner and a general sense of joviality. For Fathers Day socks are slightly cheaper. Okay okay, so mothers do a lot more work, I’ll admit, but really. So far all I’ve seen is an atrocious informercial claming that if you buy your dad one of these products he will be ‘cool’. A waterproof razor? “Now he can shave in the shower!” it proclaims! Stuff that, I once cut myself 32 times just shaving in front of a mirror, you think I’m gonna chance it in the shower? A blanket with sleeves? A bullet to the head rather, please. An energy-saving light bulb?! Oh hosanna, just what I always wanted!

As a child Fathers Day was never much of an event for me. Probably because I never saw my dad. So I never had to worry. And I guess that carried through to the present. But strangely, I’m not alone. It’s not about the meaning anymore. Although, was it ever? You got your dad a present and he was then more inclined to give you money. As a rule, that present was socks.

I’m starting to think that the whole tradition was started because men got all sulky that women had a day and they never (although chauvinists will argue that every day is a man’s day). Scary thing is, I don’t even know the exact date of Fathers Day. Does anyone? Does anyone think “Oh crumbs, it’s Fathers Day soon!” without being prompted by the ol’ idiot box? If it weren’t for commercialism it would slip away. Argue if you will, you know it to be true.

Ah well, it matters not anyway. My daughter is only 2 and a half so it makes no difference to her. She’ll probably choose that day to ignore completely, as she likes to do periodically.

So this Fathers Day, sit back and think about all the things that your father has done for you. He’s done a lot! Well, most fathers. I’m not speaking from experience, just vaguely generalizing. Just ponder what he’s done and be thankful. And choose the socks carefully. A man can have only so many pairs of novelty socks.

Top 5 _ Bands To Listen To When You’re Depressed (or Cheer Up Kid, It Ain’t That Bad)

Sometimes, when you’re depressed you need songs that make you think ‘At least my life isn’t THAT bad’. These are my choices.

1. Travis. This Scottish quartet sure know how to set the mood. Why does it always rain on me?

2. Interpol. Another quartet, this time from New York, they play like the band closing for The End Of The World. Great stuff. I particularly enjoy ‘There’s No I In Threesome’.

3. Norah Jones. Need I say more? Great for sobering a room full of lively people or ending a party that has gone on way too long.

4. Frank Black And The Catholics. In particular the album ‘Black Letter Days’. Written in response to therapy after a messy breakup it’s no wonder that is a good’un. ‘Winter blows through my coat, it’s chilling my bones, but nothing compares, to your cold heart of stone’.

5. Thrice. The Alchemy Index, Earth. Really sombre heartfelt songs that make you feel like there is hope in any situation.

Haircuts

I used to hate haircuts. I was violently against them, simply because when I was younger my haircutting experiences were often less than pleasant. When I was but a wee nipper my mother thought it was a good idea to save money by cutting my lovely locks herself. Anyone who’s had their hair cut by their mother knows that this is seldom a good thing. A bowl on someones head does not equate to a good hairstyle in ANY culture. As a result I spent a large portion of my school years looking like a mushroom. And not even a cool Super Mario one.

Eventually I convinced her to take me to a proper barber, which turned out to be even worse than her cuts. She took me to a guy located on Fish Hoek Main Road. Anyone who has driven that stretch knows who I’m talking about, that greasy guy who always stands outside smoking as if he has no business. The guy who shares his shop space with the dog groomers. I think my mom had words with him because he asked me what I wanted and then promptly ignored everything I told him and gave me a bowl cut. Thanks, Greasy Guy! That was the start of my anti-barber movement and I spent the rest of my school years hidden behind a large mop of hair. Mop is honestly the only way i could describe it. My fringe was down to my chin and the back was long enough to make a 4cm ponytail. Yeah, I looked like a girl. I used to get around hair checks by combing the fringe to the side, tucking it behind my ears and, beacuse I kept putting it in a ponytail at home to stuff around, it started curling up and never touched my collar. The teachers hated me as they could only ‘suggest’ I got a haircut. My ‘rebellious’ phase at school…

Then some friends on a youth camp thought they would do me a favour and cut my hair for me by way of electric razor. There were a few delays as the machine overheated due to the thickness of my mop. The final result surprised me, I had forgotten I had eyes! Made me think maybe these weren’t so bad. After that there were no hair styles, only a number two.

Unfortunately, laziness and an alarming ability to grow my hair back faster than the speed of sound meant it soon grew back with a vengeance. By Matric I had a mop again. Not as bad as before but pretty bad. After my Matric dance I decided to slice it off again. Number two it was… Three months later, it was back, but I was out of school and working where they didn’t care what you looked like so I left it. I”m a bodyboarder so the long hair kinda suited the lifestyle until I almost killed myself during a surf when my hair got into my eyes and got me into a spot of bother. I gave it some thought and decided I would risk the barber once more…

Luckily, now that I was living the high-rolling life of a waiter, I reckoned I could afford to choose my own barber. I decided to try the hairsalon run by my friend’s mom. As I walked in, I immediately felt at eaze. No greasy blade-wielding weirdos, no smell of dog shampoo, all good. They offered me coffee and I knew I was home. And then, they washed my hair. I now realised why people paid so much to get their haircut, I woulda paid double just for that head massage! And by that, I mean she massaged my scalp…sicko. When she was done I realised that I bore a striking resemblance to Matt Damon (if everyone around me closed their eyes and pretended) and decided that I would keep my hair at this length to enhance what little natural beauty I may have. They would be my salon of choice.

Unfortunately, the life of a waiter meant that I seldom had time to just nip to the barber. Then someone gave me a ray of hope. “There’s a guy here that cuts hair for only R30,” he said. “Just up that alley.” R30?! That was like paying half-price! I decided to give it a go. I’ve never been so scared. It was my first experience with one of those cutthroat razors and the fact that he was cutting my hair with it while smoking and watching Oprah didn’t put me at ease. But he pulled it off and I walked out happy. One of the best cuts ever. Sadly, when I went back, he was busy so his son helped me. Turns out Junior is not as proficient at the Oprah-smoking Style and cut me quite badly. I only realised once I had left and someone asked if I knew that I was bleeding profusely from behind my ear. But, R30 is R30 so I continued to support them with no further incident.

After moving, I realised that I would have to find a barber near me. Luckily, there’s one just across from me and they were having a special! Yeah, I’m cheap, so? I sat down and she asked how I liked it. I froze. I’ve always been at a loss when describing it because they always interpret it differently so my eyes darted around until I found a picture that accurately summed up what wanted… “Ricky Martin, please…” Yeah, yeah, I got my hair cut like Ricky. I’m not proud of it but there you go. Perhaps I was hoping that it would infuse this poor whiteboy body with his crazy Latino rhythm. Did it? No…But it seemed to affect the stylist in some small way as she cut my hair to the tune of “You’ve lost that loving feeling”.

Perhaps I should save time and money and just go for something simple next time. Perhaps a Telly Savalas…