Scientist establish "scale of racism"

Scientists of the newly-formed Racial Affairs of South Africa: Investigatory Sciences Team have established a new scale of racism, to help guide South Africans through the difficult modern minefield that is racial affairs, says Thomas Blakanwite, head scientist for the project.

According to R.A.S:I.S.T's lead researcher, Callya Badwords, the scale operates on a 0-to-10 rating system, with South African examples alongside to give the reader some idea of how racist the action or person is. The scale ranges from Nelson Mandela (0), all the way to Jessica Leandra and Tshidi Thamana.
"We realise that those last two names bring a certain irony to the term 'model citizen'," said Badwords.

The ANC has reacted with mixed opinions to the findings. ANC head spokesperson, John Shimano, says that the report will be of great use. "It allows us to easily identify who is being a racist. You, for example, are a journalist. For us, that puts you at an automatic 8, unless you work for The New Age."

Another spokesperson, Igo Tistik, Chairman of the Chivas and Kick-backs Appropriations Committee, said that the findings were "an affront to the dignity of the South African people" and (by the usual arbitrary and strange reasoning) "an affront to the ANC." "We would take these so-called 'scientists' to Court, but we're just worried that, what with those other racists Brett Murray and Zapiro taking up our time, we'll forget which court case we are currently throwing taxpayers' hard-earned Rands at," he said.

When asked whether or not the new scaling system would work, ANCYL president Newlius Matema said, "Woodwork? Ha, don't ask me about woodwork, you racist!"

The decision, however, has been embraced by others.
"I think the list is great, because before it was published anything could have made me a racist. Now, I have an empirical way of telling people that they're wrong," said Tendai Sizwe.
"I think it's good," said suburb dweller Paran Noid, "because, although I did lock my doors when a beggar came to my window, I'm still a whole four points from hypothetically having my sponsors pull their funding for my modelling career."

Meanwhile, the Department of Education has reacted to the published findings with concern.
"With many of our politicians having been through the Matric system, we are worried that many will not be able to understand the greater implications of the scale, as it goes all the way up to the number 10," said Professor James Utitshala.

Rhodes food findings cause controversy

An uproar exploded across campus this week after a panel of leading scientists discovered trace elements of nutrients in Residence Food. Using advanced subatomic spectroscopy, extensive quantitative analysis and molecular electron microscopy, scientists have confirmed myths that Residence Food actually contains elements that are good for you.

"The findings have been incredible. We have found out that at least 1% of the Wednesday night porkchops contain real meat, and that the Friday grilled brisket is not, contrary to popular belief, dog meat," said lead scientist Ian Quisitive, of the Gearman Research Of Subatomic Spectroscopy.

Above: the research findings for eggs and meat.
The findings have been the subject of much criticism and attention.

"The process was quite intensive," said G.R.O.S.S. Research Assistant Petra Kews, "but definitely worthwhile. Many students had written to us with fears that the vegetables were bad for them, but we can now assuage their fears with empirical evidence showing that at least 43% of the vegetables are actually made from vegetables."

The report was originally called in after a student blew the whistle on seemingly poor standards of Health and Safety in the Hall Kitchens. "I was working in the kitchens after my subwarden gave me community service hours for downing a bottle of vodka, throwing up in the common-room and running around screaming "TO THE RAT" making noise in Residence, and after working hungover in the kitchen for three hours and thinking of a way to get revenge seeing the stuff they put in our food, I just knew that something had to be done," said 3rd-year BSA student Thomas Chundler, who asked to remain anonymous. After his story appeared in the local student newspaper, Cracked-of-late, G.R.O.S.S took Chundler's claims to the laboratory.

The findings, however, don't stop there. The panel also announced that the morning fried eggs are not, as the rumours say, 100% oil, but do, in fact, contain trace elements of chicken yolk and albumen.
"We have officially determined the oil-content to be about only 85% oil, but there definitely is egg somewhere in there. Those yellow-and-white lumps you get in the morning are not just foul, but also fowl," said Quisitive.

Since its release, the research report has sparked heated debate across campus.
"Just look at this," said Timothy Hunga, poking a brown mass with his fork. "I mean, we pay almost R15 to make the kitchen staff wake up at 5 in the morning to give us this and as much bread, jam, tea and coffee as we want, and they give us seconds for free. Why are they so cheap?" he asked.

Others have responded with apathy. "I'm vegan anyway," says UCT Classics and Photography exchange student Hugo Jobless. "I don't eat or use anything that's made of meat or from animal products, or undermines my retro dress sense," he said, putting his latest Apple products into his leather bag. When asked what/when he does eat, he just shrugged.
"I'll be fine: dying of starvation is too mainstream."

The International Office has, however, met the findings with grave concerns, in particular with the fired eggs.
"Having seen what has happened to places like Iraq and Afghanistan when scientists discover large oil deposits, we now face a valid fear that America is going to try and bring democracy to our kitchens," said Head of International Relations, Miss Ila Stark.

The Rhodes Officer for Resident Operations, Mr Orga Naais, said that the University has, "embrace[d] the findings, which debunk so many hurtful rumours." In celebration, they have added a new option to the menu, "At least 10% chicken and (something that passes for) beans with rice".

"We are just glad that these horrible rumours have been put to rest."

Rhode University cancels construction of pools

Rhodes University has today announced its decision to cancel the construction of three new swimming pools, says Head of Campus Constructions, Buildmore Stuuf.

“You see, we noticed that all along Prince Alfred street there were these spots already cleared and excavated, some of them with water already in them. We figured these would be prime spots for new pools, and had gotten well into construction when the Department of Roadworks called us and asked to leave their potholes alone.”

Stuuf says that relationships between Rhodes and the DoR have since turned into to a “holey mess”.
“Not unlike half the roads in South Africa,” he added.

The decision has left many students and local residence disappointed.
“It would have been great,” said Fine Arts student Havno Realjob. “There is a lot of parking there, and it’s very easy access.”

Another student, Vuyo Ristic, who asked not to be named, said that the new pools would have allowed more opportunities to visit the “meat-market”. “Now I have to creep on facebook, just like every other normal human being,” he said.

Marion Nomajor Riteoff, a BSC student, said that the call to stop construction was saddening. “The new development would have been perfect for late-returning party-goers, journalism students, and those sad fools living up the hill. Sometimes I get sweaty and tired on the way back up the hill from lectures, so having not one but three swimming pools would have made perfect sense.”

The first of the three pools, The Nelson Mandela honourary swimming pool, had almost neared completion.

Construction of the other pools was well ahead of schedule before its sudden termination.

However, the call has been met with support by the Hellenic Society. “With so many of our toga-clad members going home late at night having  drank themselves almost to death attended our society's events that support a strong heritage of Hellenic culture, the three pools may have caused many accidents. We simply can’t have so many members of our club accidently drowning on their way home,” said the society's media representative, Agnes Bailout Maralous.

The proposed pools had originally made headlines, and were lauded by the Dean of Water Studies, Mr John Steenkamp, as one of the first systems to utilise entirely natural methods in its filling and maintenance. “Since these roads have no drainage capabilities anyway and become massive rivers each time it rains, we thought we might as well take advantage of the situation. We don’t even need chlorine: the water is already full of aluminium and arsenic, so there is no danger of germs. Also, the pools fill through natural rainfall, meaning that wastage is minimised. This really could have made waves in the modern architectural community”, he said.

The Students Representative Council has also expressed its disappointment, saying that the decision was a step back for both students and transformation. “This is another missed opportunity to have another thing in the world named after Nelson Mandela,“ said SRC Transformation Representative, Givita Newname.

The proposed pool sites have since been filled in and reconstructed to look kind of like a shitty road.

Spear painting "a sick misrepresentation"

The South African National Congressional Peoples' Party Movement Party for the Furtherance of People's Power Association of South Africa... Party, said today that Brett Murray's infamous painting entitled "The Spear" was a "misleading" representation of our president, and an affront to his dignity.

In a press conference this morning, Jones Sensor Shipindwe, president of the SANCPPMPoFPPASAP, told gathered journalists that the painting was no true indickation, sorry, indication of Zuma.

"Just look at that silly picture. There's no way it's that small. If you're going to be racist and stereotypical, at least follow the normal stereotypes," he said, sipping a crystal tumbler of Chivas Regal. "As a president with so many wives and children, it offends me for someone to think that someone that small could get so many wives."

When asked whether it might be the government kickbacks, spending allowance, pension, medical and schooling benefits, transport allowances, free trips to Morroco and rare Siberian White Tiger pet allowances that were the main reason for so much love-interest, he scoffed.

"You racists, you think that just because a man is in government he has so much money," he said, wiping cocaine and truffle stains off his Georgi Armani custom-tailored suit with a gold-and-diamond-fringed rare albino pandaskin handkerchief. "We are rooted in the power of the masses, and we serve their interests loyally." He could not make further comment, as his personal chauffeur came in telling him that his gold-plated limousine was waiting to take him to the airport, where a private G7 jet would take him to a "people's empowerment conference" in the Bahamas.

Meanwhile, professors of Manhood and Sexual studies have debunked Shipindwe's claims with empirical evidence. "It's very easy for someone to think that such a powerful figure would pack more meat, but studies suggest that the usual, fully-dressed, no-junk-hanging-out bulge we see, is in fact his wallet packed with our taxpayers' hard-earned dollars," said Richard Hungli Keamouse, Dean of the Sex Studies school at Boston College. "Historical evidence has shown that big pricks usually tend to come with small ones."

Since the painting's release, there has been a massive outcry and debate about it.

"How can I focus on issues like rape, theft, corruption, embezzlement, xenophobia and gay-hate when that painting is still hanging up?" said Thomas Apatheticos.

Others still have questioned the arrest and treatment of the two men charged with defacing the painting.

"Why did they only beat the black guy? Police brutality should affect us all equally!" said James Msimba.

Many more still have spear-headed, I mean "lead" a campaign to ban the painting.

"We will not go back to our crime-ridden and poverty-stricken towns until this horrible image is removed!" said Tim Johnson.

Meanwhile, the painting has spawned millions of copies and tongue-in-cheek copies, one of which shows Nelson Mandela laughing whilst inferring with a small pinch of the fingers that the member on display is, in fact puny.

Mandela could not be reached for comment, because, even at his age, he was too busy heading several massive charities that deal with the real problems in South Africa, like HIV and the thousands of orphans.

Les memoires d'un tel vieil homme

"Le Temps court et s'écoule et notre mort seule arrive à le rattraper. La Photographie est un couperet qui dans l'éternité saisit l'instant qui l'a éblouie." - Henri Cartier-Bresson

Viens, mon ami. Assises-toi  près du feu ; reste pour une seconde. Il y a du temps ; quand on  vieillit, on a du temps. Moi, je suis vieux ; j’ ai vu plus de cinquante hivers froids et des printemps parfumés. Regarde ces trois photos ! Ouais, bien sûr j’en ai des dizaines d’autres, mais ces trois  incarnent mes souvenirs sans pareils ! Chaque photo raconte une histoire tout en montrant un moment qui m’a changé . Va ! Touche-les, je t’en prie ! Laisse-moi te raconter mon histoire…

De la violence et de la haine inutiles

Voyons la première photo! Ah, je me souviens comme c’était hier! C’est une image assez violente, non ? Cet homme, c’était un ancien combattant. C’est quoi,  me demanderais-tu ?  Eh bien, au Zimbabwe, cela veut dire « quelqu’un qui n’est pas assez âgé pour avoir combattu dans une  guerre, mais qui aimerait bien ce titre pour profiter des avantages ». C’est l’un des visages innombrables qui  ont pillé le Zimbabwe : l’un des multiples visages qui ont tué des innocents,  haï des paisibles citoyens, et volé des terres et divisé des milliers de familles. C’est une image qui me remplit d’amertume, penserais-tu ? Non, mon ami, j’ai fait ma paix. Quand j’étais plus jeune, peut-être cette image inspirait l’amertume dans mon âme, mais avec du temps  elle m’invite au pardon. Le pardon de tous les crimes commis contre moi. La vie est trop courte pour être rancunier !

Le début d'une passion

La deuxième photo ! Ah, regardes, c’est moi, dix-neuf ans, guitare à la main. Je suis si jeune : un corps musclé, les cheveux à l’état sauvage, rempli de jeunesse et l’arrogance qui l’accompagne toujours. C’était min premier concert. C’était dans un petit bar qui s’appelle Pirates. Je l’avais joué (elle s’est appelé Layla) depuis ma seizième anniversaire, mais ici, dans cette photo, c’est la première fois que je joue et chante en publique. Ah, je souviens la foule, dans ce bar plein à craquer. Ces gens ont crié, et m'accompagnaient en chantant. Mon ami, tu n’as pointe vécu jusqu’à t’as sentir la clameur de la foule contre ta peau, si vive qu’elle remplit tes poumons et ta cœur. C’est la raison pourquoi j’adore la musique et la guitare en particulière : le caractère léger de ses accords doux retentit partout dans mon cœur  comme des ondes qui se brisent contre mon âme.

Le travail acharné et des sacrifices apportent la gloire  

Et  voilà enfin, la dernière photo ! À vingt ans, je venais de remporter la plus grande régate de l’Afrique du Sud – le fameux Boatrace. Regarde-moi, un sourire charmant aux lèvres illuminait un visage joyeux, le bras  aux épaules de mes camarades, une médaille prestigieuse pend autour de mon cou. Je m’étais entrainé depuis sept mois ; j’avais parcouru presque 1 900 kilomètres de course à pied et à l’aviron. Chaque matin je me levais à cinq heures et demie, bien avant le lever du soleil. Moi,  j’adorais vraiment la rivière de Port Alfred : la beauté naturelle de ses hauts arbres dégarnis qui  dépassaient le buisson vert comme des doigts squelettiques. Cette beauté est pareille au songe qui se garde longtemps au réveil.  Mes mains étaient couvertes d’ampoules profondes et douloureuses, et mon dos accablé de douleurs atroces. Et c'était la période décisive de ma vie. Je venais de me rendre compte qu’avec plus de travail et de persévérance plus rien ne me serait impossible.

Mon ami, je te demande: qu'est-ce que tu ferras dans ta vie? Des grandes choses? Ton present, deveindras-t-il un belle passé que tu peux cherir dans ta viellesse? Moi, je reponds « oui ». Un jour, j'espere que tu reponderas du même facon.

Brace yourself

As Lord Eddard Stark warned us.

"Winter is coming."

After the bone-biting chill of today frostily and unnecessary-adverb-ly swept across Grahamstown, I fear that the sweet warmth of summer has seen its heyday, and is on its swift way out.

The last week has been very enjoyable, and not just primarily because of the weather. Sure, the sun has been shining beautifully, and some days have been unseasonably warm to the point that the air becomes a hot honey against your skin, cloying sweet and sticky, but the people at Rhodes itself have been... well, they look pretty good.

Now, blog posts about the weather aren't exactly what you'd call riveting, nail-biting prose, and so I come to the secondary point of this post: fashion. Now, I'm no Gucci or Gaultier, but I've grown up around two sisters and a my mom (they used to watch a HELL of a lot of Style Network channel, a testament to their lack of cupboard space), and so I pride myself on knowing at least a little bit about fashion and how to look good. This past week, I've thought exactly that about the Rhodents I've seen across campus and in the various local haunts at night. This I can attribute to one sole reason: home.

We were in that most wonderful of times: the first week of term. Freed from the stresses and strains of university, students went home to relax and unwind. Upon their return (I know this is an assumption, but I can only base it on what I've seen) most got new clothes, had their hair cut, coloured, Brazillian deep-conditioned, straightened and god-knows-what-else-ed. Also, being home, they probably decided to wear their nicer clothes (and here by "nicer" I mean "anything that WASN'T flip-flops, teesavs, beaters, hippy pants, hoodies, terribly-motto'ed printed tees, and the innumerable other things that encompass the "student too lazy to even put on shoes let alone drag a comb through their greasy, matted locks" look). And so, lulled into this sense of home (and in some cases, the fashion prerequisites of big-city life), most came back still lost in the heady mists of home-hood. As a friend eloquently noted, "Bro, these chicks are, like, at least one point hotter than I remember". Sexist shallowness aside, I couldn't help but agree.

Alas, let me reiterate: winter is coming. That first blast of freezing cold not only make students shiver and bitch and moan at supper, but it dealt a potentially fatal wound to fashion prospects. I've been here for two years now. Do you want to know what a cold, like, really cold, winter does to dress sense? It alters it utterly.

So, what have we to look forward to on campus? Well, for one, we can applaud winter's kiss in rendering the barefoot look a thing of the summery past. No one is so lazy that they'd freeze their pink little phalanges off. However, that is not enough of a saving grace. Hoodies are coming. Lots of them. Some with terrible res/matric slogans embossing/adorning/ruining them. And not those cute hoodies, either. The puffy, pouffy, "fuck you, winter" marshmellow ones so thick they'd make the girl who invented pouty ducklips look like Einstein. Hoodies of this caliber are utterly devoid of any shade or suggestion of sexiness; if anything, they remind of that last boss battle in Ghostbusters.

You see my point?

It's not just the hoodies, either. similarly puffy and pouffy hippy quasi-pyjama pants will make their usual appearance, accompanied by those ever-godawful Ugg boots. Or, (fucking)Ugg(ly) boots, as I prefer to call them. The only thing worse would be slippers: oh yes, you'll see plenty of those, too.

Kate put on her new hoody and went to lectures.

Or maybe I'm being defeatist: there are some who met the cold with valiant fashionable resilience: black coats, jeans, boots, scarves. I can just hope the wintry wind fills the sails of this revolution.

Or, maybe even worse, I'm being shallow. "There's more than meets the eye," I hear you cry. "Beauty is but skin deep!" Well, maybe. And maybe not. No one loved the Mona Lisa because the canvas and wood underneath its paint was. Let's be serious: you can't judge a personality from across the quad, and so you might have the most wonderful, striking, charmingly charismatic personality in the world, but it won't count for much if you dress like (for want of a better word) a lazy moron. And don't say "oh, but just talk to them".  What, every person I ever see? Yeah. Not likely.

All in all, I love winter. Yup, it's definitely tie-collared-shirt-and-jeans weather, a look which is just painful  under the the burning eye of the summer sun.
Except when I have to row. Then winter is a bitch. A hand-biting, bone-chilling bitch.

RyG goes Cuban

Ever since that fateful day that my now-defunct iPod played their speed-of-insanity “Diablo Rojo”, I have been deeply in love with the musical style of the brilliant, unique guitar duo that is Rodrigo y Gabriella. Comprising of Rodrigo Sánchez on lead guitar and  Gabriella  Quintero on lightspeed, percussive rhythmic guitar, the duo kicked off their notoriety by playing their heavymetal-esque acoustic flamenco style in bars across Dublin.

So you can imagine my excitement when my mom pointed out an album in a music store we happened to be passing. “Oh look, don’t you like them?”, she asked, pointing to the red and blue cover of El Rodi y La Gabi’s new album Area 52. I could barely contain myself: I didn’t just like them, I practically worshiped them – their previous albums have accompanied almost every shower I have taken since discovering them (the acoustics of tiled rooms are magnificent, aren’t they?), and their flamenco, triplet- and riff-driven guitar is half the reason I keep playing and practising, whittling my thumb away to nothing.

However, after giving this CD a few (dozen) listens, I was quite surprised. Much like the vegetarian lasagne they serve on Thursdays in the Dining Hall, I had to take quite a couple of bites just to decide whether I liked the new offering or not.

The crazy flamenco style of RyG joins C.U.B.A to produce some wonderful and sometimes curious results

Area 52, the band’s fifth studio album, showcases a musical collaboration with C.U.B.A, a 13-piece Cuban Orchestra and various other guest musicians playing a variety of instruments, from sitars to rock drums. Some critics have said that the duo lack depth, and so perhaps a foray into a more encompassing style is a good one...

...or perhaps not.

Let me break down the CD into a track-by-track breakdown as they appear on the album.

“Santo Domingo” kicks off the album with a extraordinary intro that grabs you by the balls and gets you listening immediately. You can almost instantly feel the new edge to their sound: trumpets blast and interject to create a rich, exotic sound, and an added ‘wah’ effect to the guitar work makes the riff at once familiar and brand new. They stay true to much of their old style, with centrality being lent predominantly to the ever-inventive guitarists. However, the song quickly loses its flame to an unnecessarily long jazz piano solo piece, followed by… what the f-? Flutes? Really? Flutes. In a Rodrigo y Gabriella song? One simple question: why, God, why?

After the first song fades away, we are given a beautifully sculpted rendition of “Hanuman”. The song swells and resounds with a great Cuban interlude, and the electric guitar work and solos are nothing short of the fantastic Mexicano stylings that I fell in love with. My only critique would be that, apart from the solo, the guitar pieces are lost in the sounds of all the other instruments.

"Ixtapa" , the next track, is fantastically remastered. Their new rendition is absolutely tranquil, seeping a calmness that grows and swells with their amazing building progression. With the great guitar work that resonates so deeply within my heart, I just can’t help but scrunch up my eyes in utter incredulity. Their old style is mixed with new influences, fusing with definite Cuban styles to produce a wonderful achievement; and besides, just listen to the sitar work done by Anoushka Shankar – it’s damn near enough to make you cry, and it adds a poignant and wonderful dimension that I never thought the band could have.

Originally a tribute to Pink Floyd, “11:11” is probably the centrepiece of the CD. The guitar screams with reinvention, accompanied by a new, heavier beat. The piano and great drum work works in tandem with punchy horns to build up and accentuate the guitar work. The solo… God, the solo… I have never heard a guitar scream “FLOYD!” more loudly: the unmistakeable wailing, bending sound of the electric guitar in this song is nothing short of genius, and it captures the Floyd sound brilliantly. Syd Barrett would be very, very proud. However, the song goes a little “full retard” (to quote Robert Downey Junior) and suddenly ends with weird tribal-esque drums and singing. To finish so fantastic a song is almost blasphemy. My advice: skip the last 40 seconds or so.

“Master Maqui”, the next track, continues the guitar work nicely: again, it’s very good, even if it is at times lost to the other instruments. I constantly feel like the two primary guitarists are Jack Dawson, being forced to drown in the freezing Atlantic whilst that bitch Rose (in the form of trumpets, drums and those damned flutes) hogs the whole wooden float. At times, this song feels a little bit like a Broadway show-chorus tune, and at times it shows definite Arabian Nights influences. It’s… well, sometimes it’s nice, and sometimes I just have to ask “WTF?”.

Next is “Diablo Rogo”, the piece that captivated and awed me all those months ago. This track is one hell of a mean one: the old song is still definitely there, recapturing the heart-racing incessant awesomeness of their Spanish speed, driven even more crazy by ‘wah’-effect guitar, light piano and great drumming.

“Logos” was another one of my old favourites, simply because of it’s sheer foot-stomping addictiveness. Though this track is a slightly altered portrayal of the guitar in the original, it is by no means a bad song. In fact, it’s a whole different kind of addictive: it is unbelievably calm and yet at the same time driven, making your foot stomp all over again, and for much of it the accompanying orchestra is absent, which can be a good thing. All in all, this is a great reinvention that still stays true to the original.

“Juan Loco” is no different: though a very different feel to the original, the playful beat and melange of instruments and sounds make this song one that stays true to its roots whilst exploring other influences. The build in this song verges on sheer sonic mastery.

“Tamacun” is an all-time favourite of mine: after I practiced (for six long and arduous months) the insane, lightning-fast triplets Gabriella had shown in one of her tutorial videos, this is always a song I like to mess around with when I play live. This is a wonderful track to end this relatively short CD with: the song comes reinvented, bursting with a Cuban playfulness – saucy and spicy, with a lighter, jazzier sound that drives right to the heart of why I love this band so much. Like some of the other tracks the guitar is sometimes lost to other instruments: there is, for example, too much trumpet, I think, and you don’t get quite so much the palm slapping and percussive elements for which the virtuoso Gabriella is so well known. However, it’s still an awesome track.

So, my feelings at the end of it all are a bit mixed. Sure, as a localised Afro-Cuban experiment, the album works very, very well. However, I can’t help but feel that the very definite, unmistakable Rodrigo-y-Gabriella-ness of the band has taken a back seat in this experimental drive. Sure, their songs appear in some tangible form of their old glorious selves, but much of the sheer jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring guitar insanity for which they became so well-known has lost its centrality to a backdrop of trumpets, piano and (God help us) flutes. I really do get what they were trying to do with this album: to experiment and get a more localised flavour, to see what kind of a spin they could season their old favourites with, and to a certain extent it does work – the sitar, piano, drums and trumpets add a whole new dimension of sound. However, I must say that if I had wanted to buy a Cuban instrumental orchestra CD, I would have done so. At R150, I wanted the ear-pounding, soul-smashing heavy-metal-on-nylon duel fury that these two magnificent artists so expertly and easily dish out. This album, though it is a fantastic one, just fails to deliver the sheer guitar dexterity and mastership for which this duo has become famous. Where is the double, palm-muted body tapping of the old “Diablo Rojo”? Where is the simple ingenuity of the original “Ixtapa”? Alas, if you’re looking for a sound more reminiscent of their older eponymous album Rodrigo y Gabriella, or the unstoppable heart-racers of their Live albums (Manchester and Tokyo respectively), then perhaps Area 52 is just a time-killer until the next time they make an unbelievable amount of awesomeness out of two simple guitars.

Books, covers and everything in between

I’ve been in Cape Town on holiday for almost a week now. It’s nice, being back home and seeing the family, taking a break from university work and the daily worries that come with it. However, outside of the “vegetarian – default” meal system at Rhodes, trying to get by outside of the great RU walls has been nutritionally challenging. Now, Cape Town has a certain image. I’m not one to judge a book by its cover (or a city by its hipsters) but I must admit that I’ve been quite… well, disappointed.

My family have been awesome in meeting this whole vegetarian lifestyle that I’ve got going on. Family meals have taken on a more vege-centred, meatless form, even though they still have yet to give up the red and white entirely. Apparently sushi is just too awesome to never eat again.

However, the first few problems arise as soon as I step foot out my door (which is a new door: we’ve moved house, and when I say “moved” I mean something more like “took our stuff about a hundred metres down the road to a new complex”). I went to Long street with my family to eat out. We sat down in a nice little café, and everything was just perfect. Perfect, that is, until I opened the menu.

No vegetarian option in sight. Well, there was salad (a range of salads), but salad is nowhere near a main course. Hell, salad is a side-option to a main course. So we decided to get up and try another place.

And another.

And another.

And another.

I found it hard to believe that so many places in Long street had nothing to offer green-crunchers other than salad; these placed offered about as much choice as a Zimbabwean presidential election. I eventually had to ask the chef of one establishment to make me a cheeseburger, minus burger, plus fried onion and egg. Now, I’m not saying that Cape Town doesn’t cater for vegetarians: there are lots of places that do do it, and well (Kauai comes to mind), but they are just too few and far in between. Even the high-end places like Harbour House, Sevruga’s and Willoughby’s have nothing really aside from a soya dish and vegetarian maki. It’s almost insulting. I’ve almost, almost, rescinded on my ideals and partaken of chicken just so that I don’t have to eat another salad or choke down another vegetarian pasta. I mean, there are literally thousands of different vegetarian meals that can be made. The other night I made a vegetarian ratatouille with pasta; is it too much to ask a master chef to make something similar, if not better? I cannot imagine what it would be like being a vegan: cutting egg, milk and other animal products entirely from my diet would in effect guarantee my starvation.

However, investigating what I could eat without betraying my new ideals has been interesting. A few pertinent questions have arisen: if I eat eggs, doesn’t that mean eating caviar is okay? (some sushi is quasi-vegetarian, but topped with caviar and mayo); and what about prawns? I mean, I gave up fish, but prawns aren’t exactly fish, are they? Sigh, categories and labels are such confusing things (does eating one prawn mean that I failed to stay the course? Oh well: that tempura was well worth it, if it does).

Anyway, I’m back in Rhodes as I add to this post, which has been sitting around partially edited for the last few days. It’s gonna be interesting to see what this next term brings. My first guess? Work: it isn’t even the first day of term yet and already I have several Word documents sitting on my desktop waiting to be finished by Friday… C’est la vie d’un étudiant, non?

My other guesses? Well, for the most part, two: firstly, I got a Kindle, so I'm probably gonna read a lot more than I used to; and secondly, I've been practising guitar a lot (played two gigs - open mic nights, really - in Cape Town) and so I think that George and I (George is another great guitarist at Rhodes, and he plays a style that really gels with mine) will make some serious music this term and in the others to follow. Working name? El Toro. The Bull.

Innovations: behind the guitar and curtain

I sit in the dressing room backstage. My guitar is in hand, my throat burning a bit from the Fisherman's Friend I just sucked (a throat lozenge, not a sexual innuendo, har har). My voice is fine, but as the seconds tick by, the shakes start to pop into the lower notes. I hum the tune of the song I wrote, "You", and idly pluck the 3/4 melody. A head pops around the door.
"Five minutes."

It's Friday night, and Innovations 2012 is finally upon us. All those long hours of practising, missing dinner, and having to do Journ assignments at 1 in the morning were finally over. The days when this performance was just a Facebook message between Robynne and me are long since over. My stomach grumbles. I should've had something to eat. Then again, it probably would've been pizza, and cheese and vocals don't exactly get along.

I walk out of the dressing room, closely shadowed by the other dancers. I sat on my amp, turn it on. The red light stares at me. The video overhead (a noir-parody by the comedy improv group, NaturallyCaffeinated) plays, and as the seconds pass my heart beats faster and faster. Soon, the lights drop, the crowd cheers, and it's our turn. The dim blue stage lights come on, and I grab my amp. I walk on stage, amp and guitar in hand. Suddenly, there's a tug as an unseen foot steps on my power cord, and the amp falls dead.
Tragedy. 
I put it down and go back into the stage wing, frantically checking the plugs and wiring, but in the blackness of the wing, I can barely see my own hand. Nothing. I turn back on stage, realising that I'm gonna have to do this unplugged...

I walk off stage in anger. I almost dropped my goddamn guitar in that last bit where I walk off, and the crowd actually fucking laughed. I'm beyond mad; I'm absolutely seething. I grab my stuff and go back upstairs. I don't talk to anyone; I don't feel like. Khanyi tries to cheer me up, but I'm beyond even her infectious smile. The final piece comes and goes; I don't really care. Later, when I go downstairs to put my amp away, a couple of the committee members and tech people try to blame me for the projector not working. In effect, they try to blame me for screwing up the show. I didn't say anything: I don't always explode at people, but when I do, I tend to go over-the-top. I decided that it was best to hold my tongue and not have a mushroom-cloud hanging over the second showing.
I grab my case and go to the Guitar Society function.

Guitar has a very soothing effect on me. On that tiny stage, with George on lead, and Luke on bass, and me doing that Spanish flamenco percussive thing I love so much, I'm in my element. Guitar, especially that violently expressive Rodrigo y Gabriella style, is such a great way to vent; I just wish more people had come down to see some of the more hidden musical talents at Rhodes.
The punch helps too.

I go out. I meet a girl called (Jess? Roz? Does it matter?) and I tell her about the show. In my drunken faux-profundity, I tell her that the song is about trying to win someone over and failing in the process, and so on a philosophical level, perhaps performing it badly and failing to win the crowd over is just as good as playing it badly. I remember laughing afterwards: after all, what kind of bullshit is that?
The rest of the night is sort of lost in a blur, but when I wake up the next morning, I'm back in good spirits (even if I feel as sick as dog; "malaria" my mom would call it)
Tonight will be better.
I can feel it.

Photo: Robynne Peatfield
The Philophobia group doing what we do best...

And it was. Yes, my heart still hammered in my chest as hard as ever, and yes, I was as nervous as hell, but all-in-all, I walked on stage and my amp was on. Robynne sang really well, I didn't really screw up royally, and the dancers were amazing. We had pulled it off, as had the rest of the performers: in front of a full house, we had shone and excelled.

Performing in Innovations has been a mixed bag. There were many positives to it: the opportunity to go and stage and play for a much wider, more appreciative crowd than the drunken masses at Pirates Pizza, and a great chance to meet wonderful new people. Hell, I've always loved the drama department: they're a great crowd, so fun-loving and free-spirited. Kin and kind, per se. Also, the leaflet called me a "guitar virtuoso". I would never claim to be one, but it is nice to read a compliment like that...

However, there are many things that were challenging at times. First of all was the fact that the performance  date fell on the same weekend as the USSA rowing regatta, which was heartbreaking. More than that, though, was the atmosphere of the show itself. First of all, we as the performers all got called "divas", which was kind of insulting. I mean, divas tend to stay in fancy dressing rooms and have people at their beck and call: we had neither. Then, there was just this massive blame-game going on all the time. I just feel like maybe if we focused our energies on the right kind of drama (i.e. on stage, and not backstage), things would be a lot smoother. Also, I felt as if a lot of the people in charge were very, very condescending. When we were packing up all the props and stage equipment after the final showing, I felt like the higher-ups thought me to be some kind of moronic child. It's just utterly unnecessary. I try to be understanding and kind to everyone in the show, be they a performer or a stagehand -  is it too much to expect the same treatment in return?

All in all, Innovations 2012 was a fantastic experience. Sure, there were hiccups, but aren't there always? I try not to let a few niggles stand between me and the utterly awesome feeling of being on stage and sharing my art with the audience. The feeling of sitting there, and having the applause crash over you like an intoxicating wave is so magnificent is verges on just plain indescribable. Sometimes I wonder why I even do Journalism at all...

My beef with beef

Today, I have been a vegetarian for 75 days.

Well, Pesca Vegetarian, I suppose (I eat fish VERY rarely), but you get the idea.

Having eaten meat for all of my life, many have asked my why (the hell) I had chosen such a path. "Never eat meat?!" they cried. "Impossible! Unthinkable! It can't be done!" they shout, their beloved bacon clutched desperately to their chests. I used to be one of those people, you know? Ask my friend, Dale. I used to give her every excuse in the book: "You're crazy!", "Meat is too tasty", "I'm a rower and I need the real protein", "I'm not a left-wing tree-hugger or animal rights activist", blah blah blah ad infinitum, ad naseum.


Then one day (December 31st, making it a New Year's resolution - the first I've ever been faithful to) I just decided "to hell with it". And so here I am.

There are a few reasons one would become a vege-muncher. 

1) Ecology


"Earth and Water", as the Persian messenger famously said to King Leonidas, and the meat industry takes far too much of both.

According to some of the statistics that I have read (and the many that were blasted everywhere by my friend and chief inspiration for going vegetarian, Kayla), it takes a ridiculous amount of water to get meat on your plate. it takes a startling 50 times more water to produce one calorie of energy from beef as it does from potatoes. Since the water is vastly subsidised by the government, and with things like public land grazing and low water costs, the meat industry is still a viable one, but you have to ask yourself "for how long?". Meat may still be relatively cheap, but we are paying a price above and beyond the Rands and cents listed on the packaging: we are paying with our planet. When I think about how precious water is (especially living here in Grahamstown, land of the brown water that may or may not give you Alzheimer's one day), I just cannot, as a rational and logical man, justify this wastage. Vast swathes of forest and land are being cleared to keep up with demand, with beef imports from Central and South America (the so-called "lungs of the planet") on the rise. A World Rainforest Movement report found that 90% of deforestation occurs as a result of unsustainable agricultural practices. Beef farming itself is destructive to top-soil, and degrades land and aquatic systems, causing eutrophication. Beef production also uses up far too much fossil fuels.

Logical?

2) Health

Since processed meat is basically doused in antibiotics and boiled in ammonia (and then reflavoured), meat has been shown to reduce the efficacy of antibiotics. Simply by eating meat, we are risking new strains of diseases that are immune to our medicines. Meat is linked to certain kinds of cancer (of the colon, for example), and has a lot of cholesterol in it. Besides, watch the video below, which basically summarises points 1(wastefulness) and 2 (health) of this post. Personally, I was disgusted.

I can personally vouch for the health side of things: since becoming vegetarian, I've lost 11kg and a belt size. I've never felt better. I would love to tell you how difficult it has been - to say that it has been an endless struggle, that I've starved, and so on - but that would be untrue. For me, it was as easy as clicking "Vegetarian" on the Meal Server. The hardest part has been remembering to not buy meat pies at the BP convenience store after a particularly big night out.


3) Humanitarianism

Personally, I'm not taken by the animal cruelty argument. I can see the sense and reasoning behind it, and agree that many abattoirs and slaughterhouses are needlessly cruel, but hey, I grew up on a farm. From a young age I became desensitised to animal slaughter. My cousins and I hunted animals and birds, and at my grandparents' house, there was always dead sheep hanging from a hook behind the old tree in the corner of the garden, just waiting for the Sunday braai. My sisters and I would always dare each other to touch its protruding severed windpipe or bulging eyes. I'll never forget the harsh, cloying metallic smell of blood, like copper and dirt mixed together. An earthly smell.
We were never under any illusions as kids as to where our food came from. I saw the death; the meat we ate was never disguised by distance and plastic wrapping and cleanliness. It was brutal, and noisy. I think now that I'm old enough to think critically and for myself , and make my own grand life decisions, I can see the complicity in a meat diet. Just because we don't see the dying, it doesn't mean that it doesn't happen.

4) People

Now, I hate to be shallow, but when you see the list of notable vegetarians who have come before us, then maybe you start to think that we meat-eaters are perhaps doing something wrong. Sir Paul McCartney, Christian Bale, George Bernard Shaw, J.M. Coetzee and Xavier Rudd are on that list. But let's ignore the current, modern faces, and look back (oh, let's also ignore that Pamela Anderson is on that list. Ignore Hitler as well - it's disputed anyway).

Confucius. Byron. Voltaire. Einstein. Aristotle. Plato. Pythagoras. Socrates. Da Vinci. Virgil. Gandhi.

Much closer to home (Gtown) I can easily admit that meeting the other vegetarians (who seem to excel in whatever they do) are an inspiration in themselves. And, if you're religious (I'm not), the list even notes Jesus, John the Baptist, and Saint Matthew. It goes on and on, naming sports personalities, artists, writers and spiritual figures.
Being a vegetarian won't make you these people, but hell, it can't hurt your chances either.

Now, don't take this as a tirade against meat-eaters. I think we should have the freedom to choose for ourselves what kinds of lifestyles we lead. However, my advice is this: think critically about the impact your decisions make. As my dad always told me, "every action has a consequence, even if you can't see it". Think about these things, and try to think beyond the immediate selfishness of a carnivorous diet.