The Idler, Friday, August 5, 2011

Technology steps back

IT SEEMS plans to broadcast the Rugby World Cup in 3-D television have been abandoned. The last few games were to have been filmed in the new medium, for which viewers have to wear special glasses. This has the action leaping out right into your living room as if you were there on the field in the midst of all the sweat and oof and grunt.

Apparently the abandonment is prompted by a lack of interest on the part of the viewing public. But is it lack of interest or a reluctance to invite 30 rugby players into one's own home?

I know these holographic 3-D images can't actually smash the bits of occasional china about the place, but a scrum on the hearthrug could nevertheless induce hysteria in the lady of the house. The All Blacks performing the Haka would certainly frighten the cat.

And who wants 15 Aussies rampaging about the place? You wouldn't know what to lock up first – the beer supplies or your daughters.

There are times when technology overreaches itself.

 Cop vacuum

 

THE COMMISSIONER and deputy commissioner of Scotland Yard have resigned over the phone hacking/police bribery scandal. Now the Chief Constable of the Cleveland police authority (also in England) and his deputy, have been suspended as corruption charges are investigated.

 

A vacuum has developed at the top in British policing. It's time this awkwardness over the police HQ leases in Pretoria and Durban got sorted out because the case for a secondment of Bheki Cele is becoming overwhelming.

Moral poser

· 

HERE'S a puzzle that apparently is used in America as a staff selection tool.   You are driving down the road in your two-seater sports car on a wild, stormy night. You pass by a bus stop where you see three people waiting.   One is an old lady who is showing signs of serious physical distress and clearly needs hospital, otherwise she might die.   Another is an old friend who once saved your life.   The other is the dream girl you have been waiting for as a life's partner.   You have only one seat available. Which would you offer a ride? It's a moral and ethical dilemma.   You could pick up the old lady and take her to hospital, saving her life. You could take the old friend because he once saved your life and this would be the chance to pay him back in part. However, you might then never again see your dream girl, the perfect mate you've been waiting for.   When the dilemma was put to 200 job applicants in the US, one of them sailed through. He said: "I'd give the car keys to my old friend and let him take the lady to the hospital. I would stay behind and wait for the bus with the partner of my dreams."   He got the job. Lesson: Always think outside the box.   Unfortunately, however, there is an alternative solution, the caddish one: Run the old lady over and put her out of her misery; make love to the girl of your dreams on the bonnet of the sportscar; then drive off with your old friend for a few beers.   This is totally reprehensible, of course. But, alas, the world is full of cads.

 

Fast talk

THERE was this 83-year-old woman who talked herself out of a speeding ticket by telling the young officer she had to get somewhere fast, before she forgot where she was going?
What could be more reasonable?

 

Tailpiece

THEY'VE been married 20 years. They're in bed one evening and he starts tickling at her neck with his fingers, then runs them down to the small of her back. He caresses her shoulders and neck, slowly rubs his hand down over her breasts, stopping just over her lower stomach.

Then he puts his hand on her left inner arm, caresses past the side of her breast again, works down her side, passes gently over her buttock and down her leg to her calf. Then he proceeds up her inner thigh, stopping just short of the uppermost portion of her leg. He does the same on the right side - then suddenly stops and starts to watch TV.

She: "Why did you stop?"

He: "I found the remote."

 

Last word

A jury consists of twelve persons chosen to decide who has the better lawyer.

Robert Frost

 

The Idler, Thursday, August 4, 2011

The stuff of nightmares

LAST month we had a flurry of information from readers about a mid-air collision over the Bluff in 1962 between a South African Airways Skymaster and an air force Harvard trainer. Incredibly, there were no casualties. The Harvard pilots parachuted to safety, the Skymaster made it to Louis Botha airport and the Harvard crashed into a vacant lot, hitting nobody.

Mike Rochfort, of Morningside, says it was during the Stone Age of air traffic control, when the Skymaster and the Harvard were on different radio frequencies and couldn't listen to what the other was saying. He has the verbatim record of the eight-second radio exchange between Captain Archie Nasmith, in command of the Skymaster, and an air traffic controller known as Mac.

Nasmith: "We are now 4 000 feet descending."

Mac: "Roger, you're still at 4 000 feet, over?"

Nasmith: "Ja, we are just getting our speed down."

Mac: "Roger, please reduce to three five now. We have other traffic above you."

Nasmith: "Hang on! We have hit something. Boy! Something has hit us ... something in the air ... do you know what it was?

Mac: "Well, there is traffic above at 4 000. That is why we asked you down to three five."

Nasmith: "Well, we have hit something now."

Mac: "Hit something? What is it?

Nasmith: "I don't know. Just hang on a sec, Mac, we're going to come down as soon as we can."

Mama mia! 'Tis the stuff of nightmares.

Ants in their pants

AT LAST there's a reaction, it seems, to those folk in society who seemingly have itchy powder in their underwear and are constantly chivvying us to get moving, get things done. Reader Eric Hodgson says procrastinators are getting organised. They have even developed a creed. Chant together now:

·         I believe that if anything is worth doing, it would have been done already.

·         I shall never move quickly, except to avoid more work or find excuses.

·         I firmly believe that tomorrow holds the possibility for new technologies, astounding discoveries, and a reprieve from my obligations.

·         I truly believe that all deadlines are unreasonable, regardless of the amount of time given.

·         I shall never forget that the probability of a miracle, though infinitesimally small, is not exactly zero.

·         If at first I don't succeed, there is always next year.

·         I shall always decide not to decide, unless of course I decide to change my mind.

·         I shall always begin, start, initiate, take the first step, and/or  write the first word when I get around to it.

·         I will never put off until tomorrow what I can forget about forever.

·         I will become a member of the ancient Order of Two-Headed Turtles (the Procrastinators' Society) if they ever get it organised.

Quite right. Let's not rush things.

Gone golfing

A DEFINITION of golf: An endless series of tragedies obscured by the occasional miracle, followed by a good bottle of beer.

Tailpiece

 

A FARMER'S truck is in for repairs in the village and he decides he will walk home. He stops at the hardware store to buy a bucket and a gallon of paint. Then at the market he buys a couple of chickens and a goose. He's trying to work out how he's going to carry it all when a little old lady approaches and says she's lost. She names an address.

"Oh, that's right near my farm. I'll walk you there just as soon as I work out how to carry this lot."

"Why don't you put the can of paint in the bucket? Carry the bucket in one hand, put a chicken under each arm and carry the goose in your other hand."

"Why, thank you." He does that and they start walking.

"Let's go down this alley. It's a short cut."

She looks at him dubiously. "I'm a lonely widow with no husband to defend me. How do I know you won't put me against the wall and have your way with me?"

"Holy smokes, lady! I'm carrying a bucket, a gallon of paint, two chickens, and a goose. How in the world could I possibly do that?"

"Set the goose down, cover him with the bucket, put the paint on top of the bucket, and I'll hold the chickens."

Last word

 

Art is making something out of nothing and selling it.

Frank Zappa

 

The Idler, Wednesday, ASugust 3, 2011

The lovely Mrs O'Toole

'TWAS a razzle-dazzle of note as we of the St Clement's literary/musical/artistic group wound up the season the other night with readings from Spike Milligan's Puckoon, one of the funniest books ever written.

I'd never before heard the thing presented this way and it worked well, Pieter Scholtz's stagecraft evident as he enacted the Milligan falling off his bicycle, the ground fortunately breaking his fall.

The place rocked with laughter. One of my favourite passages was read, the one where the Milligan attempts to wheedle out of "the lovely Mrs O'Toole", landlady of The Holy Drunkard, a cool libation for a weary traveller. Her riposte is a classic.

The St Clement's group now goes into six weeks' hibernation, except for a gathering next Thursday to launch Pieter Scholtz's new book, which I understand is about meerkats – though I could be misinformed, it might be about aardvarks or striptease artistes or just about anything.

Wince, wince!

THE EPISODE of Mrs O'Toole is a favourite, yet I could not help wincing. In years gone by I used to playfully call the Irish wife of a friend "the lovely Mrs O'Toole". Then she got round to reading Puckoon and found Milligan also referred to the lovely Mrs O'Toole as "a pig of a face."

I got a fearful scragging. Hell hath no fury ... She lives in the West Indies now but I still think it's not quite a safe distance.

Heresy

HERETICS' corner. Everywhere I hear discussion of the merits of Sharkie Mark II, the new King's Park mascot, as against Sharkie Mark I. Opinion seems to come down firmly for Mark I.

Yet some of us recall the way Manie Blom and his banana tree got a bigger roar from the crowd than Sharkie I or II ever have. Why not restore this tradition for the Currie Cup?

But I'd better not continue with these heresies. Brian van Zyl will have me burned at the stake.

Purple prose

LET'S have a look at some more of the top entries to the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest where the English Department of the University of San Jose, California, adjudge the most prolix, cliché–ridden introductory paragraphs to imaginary novels.

·         "The executioner sneered as the young queen ascended the stairs to the guillotine; in the old days, he thought, at least there was some build-up, a little time on the rack or some disembowelling, but nowadays everyone wants instant gratification."

·         "As his small boat scudded before a brisk breeze under a sapphire sky dappled with cerulean clouds with indigo bases, through cobalt seas that deepened to navy nearer the boat and faded to azure at the horizon, Ian was at a loss as to why he felt blue."

·         "Within the smoking ruins of Keister Castle, Princess Gwendolyn stared in horror at the limp form of the loyal Centaur who died defending her very honour; 'You may force me to wed,' she cried at the leering and victorious Goblin King, 'but you'll never be half the man he was.'"

Lovely stuff!

Fat fish

THE BRITS are known to be nuttily indulgent of their pets. There is also a great national concern about obesity in children. But obesity in fish?

Staff at a London aquarium were baffled when they were presented with an overweight gourami – a bream-like fish – which had been privately owned. Yet the obviously well-fed 4kg fish refused to eat in its new environment.

It then transpired that its previous owners had raised it on nothing but chocolate – Kit-Kat bars.

Gouramis usually eat fruit. The aquarium staff had to gradually wean the gourami off chocolate by feeding him grapes with bits of Kit-Kat inside.

Rationing the chocolate! What kind of aquarium is this?

Tailpiece

HARD work never killed anybody. But it does keep you off Twitter.

 

 

 

Last word

 

I can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible.

Oscar Wilde

The Idler, Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Ministry of fun and games

WHY DOES any country need a minister of sport? This should surely be the ultimate in unregulated free association. People decide for themselves what games they want to play and then they get on with organising it.

Some stay amateur. Others go professional and organise their game in conjunction with sponsors, advertisers and TV networks. It's difficult to see any need for government intervention.

In his latest grumpy newsletter, investment analyst James Greener takes up the case. He says he was a student in England when the first minister of sport was appointed.

"Would it be unfair to point out that since then England has yet to win another soccer world cup? Naturally here in South Africa we also have a department and minister to look after sport, recreation and culture with a budget this year of R6.4 billion."

He notes that the department has plunged into the murky world of SA Boxing, promising taxpayers' money for pugilists who claim that their own governing body has cheated them.

"The story is extremely muddled with tales of cancelled bouts, withdrawn boxing licences and stripped titles ... SARS are in the mix ... This could develop into a wonderful drama."

 

Puzzled panhandlers?

 

STILL with James Greener, he speculates on the reason for the long dragged-out process of the government making up its mind on the Wallmart/Massmart merger.

"Presumably it is simply because no palms have been greased and no relatives have been promised mispriced contracts. In the US they have a piece of legislation that forbids any of their companies from paying backhanders, and corporate suits are fearful of being caught because the law is enforced and penalties are severe. Local panhandlers have yet to grasp this concept."

Oh boy!

Cairns croc

A CROCODILE caused consternation in Cairns, Queensland, when it slithered out of a sewer onto a busy street. It was a small specimen – only 1.5m in length – of saltwater crocodile, which can grow to 7m and weigh a ton.

Police and street sweepers kept the croc away from the crowds with brooms, and eventually he was bundled away into the care of the Queensland Parks and Wildlife agency.

Saltwater crocodiles – known as "salties" – kill an average of two people a year in Australia.

Salty? This one emerged from a sewer. The name is surely a euphemism.

 

 

Budding poet

 

POETRY corner. Reader Ray Gorven (who I understand is in his nineties) continues striving to emulate William McGonagall and wrest from him the title of the worst poet ever.

 

It's winter in Durban in two thousand one, one

And it's freezing outside so it sure ain't much fun.

The sky opened up and the rain pelted down

And if you weren't on some high ground, you could very well drown.

 

The TV guy who promised us hard rain

Has done so once more with wind just the same.

It was gale force before when it touched forty knots,

So get out your jerseys and put on warm socks.

 

There's snow on the 'Berg where the icy wind blows,

So when will it warm up? Only Heaven knows!

 

Ray also submits a couplet written by a pal.

 

Ag, ple-e-e-e-eze Idler, you've never been rash,

So don't ever print any more of Ray's trash.

 

Nosiree! Not only do I refuse to contemplate censorship, I am not prepared to hinder the development of a 96-year-old budding poet.

 

Established poet

Meanwhile, Ian Gilmour, poet Laureate of Hillcrest, castigates Ray's bowling club for its refusal to display his verse in the bar – but is not surprised. "My club thought a limerick was a kind of Irish stew!"

He pens some lines composed during a blizzard in the northern Drakensberg. They might or might not be influenced by the decanter moving about the table during lunch at The Cavern.

 

 

 

Hillaire Belloc' s verse is light and airy,

But deep down it's quite synoptic;

What one might get from a fairy,

Subliminal, and surely psychtropic.

 

 

 

Tailpiece

 

THE OTHER night I was out for a few drinks with my mates – had far too many Red Squares and shooters. Then I took a bus home.   I got home safely and without incident – and I've never driven a bus before.

 

Last word

I don't know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.

JRR Tolkien

 

The Idler, Monday, August 1, 2011

Dark and stormy night

IT'S THAT time of year for the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest – also known as the Dark and Stormy Night Awards – when mainly American and Canadian writers compete to produce the most overblown introduction to an imaginary novel.

Grand prize winner this year is (flourish of trumpets) Professor Sue Fondrie, of the University of Wisconsin, who has managed to condense her bad introduction into 26 words, which is of record brevity in this competition which has been organised by the English Department at San Jose State University, California, for the past 29 years.

Her winning introduction: "Cheryl's mind turned like the vanes of a wind-powered turbine, chopping her sparrow-like thoughts into bloody pieces that fell onto a growing pile of forgotten memories."

The contest takes its name from the Victorian novelist Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, who began his book, Paul Clifford, with: "It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents - except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness."

Overall runner-up is Rodney Reed: "As I stood among the ransacked ruin that had been my home, surveying the aftermath of the senseless horrors and atrocities that had been perpetrated on my family and everything I hold dear, I swore to myself that no matter where I had to go, no matter what I had to do or endure, I would find the man who did this ... and when I did, when I did, oh, there would be words."

In the Adventure category, Jack Barry: "From the limbs of ancient live oaks moccasins hung like fat black sausages - which are sometimes called poudin noir, black pudding or blood pudding, though why anyone would refer to a sausage as pudding is hard to understand and it is even more difficult to divine why a person would knowingly eat something made from dried blood in the first place - but be that as it may, our tale is of voodoo and foul murder, not disgusting food."

It grabs you, makes you want to read on. Some more humdingers:

·         "Wearily approaching the murder scene of Jeannie and Quentin Rose and needing to determine if this was the handiwork of the Scented Strangler - who had a twisted affinity for spraying his victims with his signature raspberry cologne - or that of a copycat, burnt-out insomniac detective Sonny Kirkland was sure of one thing: he'd have to stop and smell the Roses."

·         "The victim was a short man, with a face full of contradictions: amalgam, composite, dental porcelain, with both precious and non-precious metals all competing for space in a mouth that was open, bloody, terrifying, gaping, exposing a clean set of asymptomatic impacted wisdom teeth, but clearly the object of some very comprehensive dental care, thought Dirk Graply, world-famous womaniser, tough guy, detective, and former dentist."

·         "As the dark and mysterious stranger approached, Angela bit her lip anxiously, hoping with every nerve, cell, and fibre of her being that this would be the one man who would understand—who would take her away from all this—and who would not just squeeze her boob and make a loud honking noise, as all the others had."

·         "Dawn crept up like the panther on the gazelle, except it was light, not dark like a panther, and a panther, though quiet, could never be as silent as the light of dawn, so really the analogy doesn't hold up well, as cool as it sounds, but it still is a great way to begin a story; just not necessarily this particular one."

Oh, great stuff! Literature is alive and well in North America.

Tailpiece

 

A DOCTOR is testing the mental agility of three elderly men at a retirement centre.

He says to the first: "What's three times three?"

"Two hundred and seventy-four."

To the second: "It's your turn. What's three times three?"

"Tuesday.".

The doctor, sadly to the third: "Okay, your turn. What's three times three"?

"Nine."

"Splendid! How did you get that?"

"I just subtracted 274 from Tuesday."

 

 

Last word

 

There are two ways to slide easily through life; to believe everything or to doubt everything. Both ways save us from thinking.

Alfred Korzybski