Sometimes a t-shirt says it all

Being part of an email network has as its bonuses. I do find myself sifting through lame jokes and endless repeated chain mail rubbish but every so often I get something that I really identify with and makes me laugh. The first is my absolute favourite. (Sorry Haley Joel!) I am definitely going to get a T-shirt printed and wear it whenever I move house and some daft neighbour comes up to me and asks, "Are you moving?" No you idiot, every now and then I just like to pack all my stuff into boxes to see how many I can fill!"

Toyota vs Porsche

I had one of the most exhilarating experience last week. I was stopped at a traffic light in my sensibly rebellious dirty white Toyota when a sexy silver grey Porsche pulled up next to me. Like most red blooded males, I looked across in admiration and took in the sleek lines, the low profile and the gleam off the chrome mags. I listened as the engine purred like a hungry feline watching gazelles drinking at a watering hole. Shielding my eyes from the brilliance of this machine I peered at the drivers seat and smiled appreciatively as the gorgeous blond driver applied some lipstick in the review mirror. The caveman in me suddenly had to defend its territory. I slid down low in my seat and brought my elbow in from the window in order to maximise my aerodynamics. I carefully revved the engine as I pulled my sunglasses off of the top of my head and expertly placed them over my eyes. I slowly glanced across at this vixen who had the audacity to challenge my manliness. Keeping my sun shielded eyes on this temptress I put my car into first gear and then with a determined turn of the head fixed my eye on the traffic light. The light suddenly flicked to green, I dropped the clutch and layed down half a months salary worth of rubber on the road leaving the Porsche to cough and splutter embarrassingly in my smoke. My heart was racing as the adrenaline coursed through my body in victorious defiance. I must be humble though and admit that it was not a fair fight! If only the driver of the Porsche knew we we racing!!!!!

Ops us a section!

Driving along one of Cape Town’s life threateningly clogged arteries last week I noticed a factory or warehouse for a local company called “Pozzi.” Now while I have no idea what it is that “Pozzi” are responsible for, the name reminded me of some of the horrendous, yet warmly accepted and veraciously used slang that was rampant during my high school years. Here follows a conversation that would typically have taken place during register period every morning. Obviously a fair amount of expletives have been removed, not that it helps in the understanding of what was said!

Scott: Howzit bru!
Greg: Howzit! I’m hungry. Whats on today?
Scott: Naught bru, leave my samies alone!
Greg: Aag come on man! Ops us one!
Scott: Naught bru! I’ve got a long trap home today.
Greg: Chill bru, just asking. Score us a section of your naartjie then!
Scott: Aah shot hey, now you wanna score my fruit too?
Greg: Naught! Score me a samie and I’ll score you a durry at break!
Scott: Kif, check you then!

Joey: Hey Shel, you’re in my posi!
Sheldon: Don’t be a chop! This is my posi I got here first!
Joey: You think you lank cool parking in posi hey?
Sheldon: So what you gonna do about it? You wanna wrought?
Joey: I’ll rumble anytime.
Greg: Chill okes!

I don't know if the quality of high school conversations have improved with time, but my guess is that while the choice of colloquialisms have changed, the absurdity of it all hasn't.

Spiderman and the Environment

As far back as I can remember I have always been a fan of DC and Marvel superheroes. In my formative years of the late 1970’s, and those fashion disaster years of the 1980’s, I remember being fascinated by the superhero collectable trading cards that you could buy and then swap amongst you your mates. I would save all my pocket money (or alternatively nag my mother for the duration of an entire shopping expedition, that it was imperative that I get a pack of these cards as everyone else would have them and I didn’t want to be left out!) and at the first available opportunity head on down to the nearest CNA to buy a little pack of cards. There was always much nervous excitement involved in doing this as you would never know which cards you would be getting. Would you get repeats of the minor heroes such as Robin, Dare Devil or Supergirl, or would it be a rare valued commodity of the likes of Captain America, Spiderman or Thor? I have one particularly fond memory of trying to convince one of my erstwhile Std 2 peers that it would be to his advantage to swap his Thor card for my Robin card. To sweeten the deal I would also give him my really valuable, and extremely rare Green Lantern card (of which I had two, but business is business.) He must have thought the deal lucrative as I ended up with the much treasured Thor card.

As a youngster these super strong, ultra quick, sharp witted and very often bullet proof beings provided a shining example of choosing sides in the fight between right and wrong, the battle between good and evil, and the desperate need of many superheroes to get a fashion consultant. Men in tights? Often with their underpants on the outside? What were they thinking?

Which brings me to my point. Spiderman has always been amongst my preferred superheroes. I have no idea why I took a liking to him, but his wall-crawling, web throwing, agile abilities mesmerised me. However as an adult, with images from the Toby Maguire Spiderman films, and a matured sense of environmentalism, I came to ask myself the following; whatever happens to the webs that are left hanging from lamp posts and windowsills as Spidey makes his way hastily across town to aid some damsel in distress, or battle some incarnation of The Goblin? Do they simply disintegrate? Or would we find that if the camera was to pan back as he swung by, that some innocent bystanders simply going about htheir daily business, were caught up in the trails of his extra sticky string? I am not sure of the chemical make-up of the arachnid-like man's webs but do they present an environmental threat? Do the mini fibres that may come loose from his web-sprays affect the lungs of developing children? Are they flammable? What would the consequences of a carelessly discarded cigarette butt landing on a forgotten spider-strand be?

Maybe its just me, but this Spiderman adoring boy believes that Marvel Comics need to consider the environmentally damaging actions one of their prime heroes.
;-)

Aaarrrgggghhhhh!!!!!!!!!!

I really don’t mean to use this blog as an outlet for my workday frustrations but the core of what is annoying me is something worth talking about.

I am one of a rare species. I am a male teacher, teaching in a primary school. While I don’t know the exact stats on these things, I would hazard an educated (excuse the pun) guess that there are approximately 2 male teachers for every 20 female teachers in primary schools in South Africa. For a long time teaching was seen as a profession suitable for a woman as it was (like nursing) an opportunity to apply their inherent nurturing skills, didn’t involve having to make important decisions, other than imparting the ability to read, write and do sums correctly. It also provided women with something to keep themselves busy during the day while their husbands went out and worked hard in order to support the family. (I can feel the feminists cringing, but this is simply a personal reflection on the history of the profession.)

As times have changed, so has the structure of society. The rate of divorce has rocketed around the world. Family values have taken a nose dive and with the ever increasing pressures of the unscrupulous marketing world telling us that we simply cannot survive if we don’t wear the correct outfits, listen to the correct music, drive the correct cars and drive ourselves into debt buying useless kitchen gadgets off of ridiculous television infomercials, we are raising children that need more than just the ability to read, write and do their sums. We need to be educating children with ability to think independently, have enough self-confidence to stand up to peer pressure, and the ability to make healthy daily decisions about their lives. I am not saying that women teachers cannot meet these needs. In fact I know many women teachers who have had the most remarkable, profound and lasting affect on children. I am suggesting though that many women who ended up in the teaching profession for reasons as mentioned above may have found themselves unable to make a positive difference on the child of today. An even more serious concern is that there are many teachers (men and woman alike) who are simply out of touch with what it is that we need to be doing for the children of today in order for them to be successful in the world of tomorrow.

This brings me to my current frustration. Through a series of events I found myself teaching at a relatively new private school in Cape Town. The school markets itself at face value. Therefore we spend many hours making sure that the pin boards and display areas have sufficient “wow” factor so that any prospective parent entering the school premises is suitably impressed. Similarly, the academic results of the school are often touted as a reason to enrol at the school. But given the newly developing education system in South Africa I would be wary of using paper bound statistics as a measure of a child’s competence. In fact we should never judge a child’s worth based on a subjective report analysis with no bearing on real life. Don’t get me wrong though, there is much good in the new and developing education system, I just don’t believe that we are doing it justice just yet.

I am not a teacher who sticks to routine and convention but do understand the institutional policy that in order to regulate achievement (there’s an oxymoron of note, and an all too frequently used term that makes my balls itch!) and to monitor success we do need certain structures and systems in place. However when it comes to education I do not believe in doing things simply for the sake of doing them, or because they will make us appear to be doing marvellous things on the education front. I would much rather spend my time with enthusiastic teachers, brainstorming new and innovative ways of reaching and affecting children’s lives. I believe that if we had less policy and more freedom to experiment and play with new ideas we would achieve far greater things. Rather than debating the colour of mapping pins for our displays let us be creative in making the best predictions of the skills and knowledge that a child will need in twelve years time when he or she leaves school and enters the real world. Let us find ways to bolster self worth, to instil morals and tolerance and to maximise understanding in a world that has gone mad!

Here endeth the lesson!

The Tower of Babble

I sat with a huge grin on my face watching the Brits stick it to the general Hollywood population at last weeks Golden Globe awards. At last count, well before I fell asleep to the sound of some self loving starlet thanking some even more unknown crew members of an equally unknown show ( I do live in South Africa where we generally only get the new shows about six months after everyone else has forgotten them already), the Poms had managed to bag at least five of the strangely desired iconic paper weights.

Hugh Laurie and Jeremy Irons also managed to give the pompous audience a lesson in “thank you” speeches and how not to bore the world to tears. A well timed politically incorrect joke and a not too subtle stab at the dress designers who cue up to woo the beauties of the red rug into wearing whatever monstrosity it is they deem to call fashion this year added a level of humour that was clearly lost on most of the onlookers in the room.

I do have a couple of questions though. How did Eddie Murphy beat out actors of the calibre of Jack Nicholson and Leonardo Di Caprio. Now don’t get me wrong. I am a big fan of 80’s films like Beverly Hills Cop and I was well impressed with Eddie’s voice over technique in the “Shrek” films, but let’s be honest here. The 80’s didn’t exactly produce a plethora of memorable let alone classic films, so how did he ever manage to beat out the previously mentioned masters of the craft? Perhaps I don’t have a clear understanding of what exactly the Hollywood Foreign Press Association is, or what it is that they are responsible for adding to this world, but would I be far wrong in suggesting it is a bunch of decrepit old farts with bad taste in films?

My second guffaw of the evening was aimed at the numerous category and award presenters who consistently managed to screw up the pronunciation of the title of Brad Pitt’s new film “Babel.” Now if I have got this correct, the title of the film refers to The Tower of Babel, which according to the Book of Genesis, was an overambitious tower that people on earth started to build, causing God to show his anger by making them speak different languages, which led to the collapse of the project and ultimately to the scattering of people across the world. Now, to everyone who was unfortunate enough to have to make a comment on this film during the course of the evening, (Yeah right, like they would be reading my blog) I would like to point out that it is pronounced with a long “a” sound at the first vowel, and not ‘babble’ as in the gibberish utterings of an infant. I would hate to think what the producers and directors of this film would think if they knew that the title of a film that makes definite comment on world issues is being reduced (in name anyway) to the utterances of a baby.