Sentience in a seed-pod

Beware the dangers of pork! No I haven't contracted a brain parasite (that I know of). But I did break a tooth on a pork chippolata. And now, due to my location, I am forced to wait until I return on Wednesday to have (HORROR!) my dentist's appointment. Erg! Perhaps my overuse of emphatic punctuation will illustrate my abject fear of any in the dental profession.

I'm starting to think this is Kathy Reimers doing. She had a dental appointment just the other day! Coincidence? You decide.

Sons of motherfucking bitches!

Alright, now I've got it out of my system. Due to some confusion, which is partially my half-arsed fault, I have to stay over here for the weekend. For a number of reasons, I particularly would like to get home tomorrow as scheduled. Now is the time to be philosophical Geoff. Perhaps something eminently cool will happen this weekend that will change your life forever. Still. I've run out of clean clothes and I'm grumpy.

At the place where I'm staying, many of the regulars are the wives or girlfriends of some seventy mercenaries held captive at Chinubi prison. Apparently there was some shenanigan with Mark Thatcher involving a possible attempted coup of Equatorial Guinea. Bear in mind that I never watch the news, so this is all hearsay. So there they are, in prison, in a foreign country. Tough break. Can't go home, and rat poo in their porridge. So others have it worse than I. Meanwhile, the wives chief activity, apart from fortnightly ten minute visits, appears to center around bitching about the other wives: how they dress when they visit, how they talk to the guards. I guess it lets off some steam. I wonder how I'd handle the same situation.

Anyway, I hope I can find something to entertain me over the weekend. I have a reputation to uphold. Adjusted date of arrival: Tuesday, 32nd of January. I couldn't bear it if they kept me here till next month.

And now an entry in tribute to Kathy Reimers:

Yesterday I installed all the software on six computers for the training, but only four people turned up today. I need to investigate an issue with different versions of SQL server that prevents me from restoring a database. I also cannot connect to my remote mailbox, so if you have been trying to get hold of me that way think again. I asked Mark to get Reuben to send the IP address, but that didn't work either.

So, I'm off to Harare for a week. The land of the much maligned once great agent of freedom in Zimbabwe beckons like a piss-pot at a piss-up. Or something. Anyway, who knows the connectivity issues I may have to deal with? Report backs periodically or on my return. Peace out. I am so eighties Woodstock revival.

Ok, I think I understand myself pretty well. I know what I'm about most of the time. But sometimes I throw myself a curve ball (this is a baseball analogy for any American readers. Love me!). Take this open source thing. Now, I'm not a political man. I don't watch the news. I don't care about a long list of issues other people care about. I should give a flying flatbread about an open source debate. But I do. I get mad at these open source people always pushing their Linux and their GPL. And I don't know why. I don't know the issues or the arguments for or against. I just don't know, people!

In the absence of knowledge of any kind, I'm going to make a few unfounded pragmatic judgments, which may or may not be accurate, but upon which I nonetheless will base an entire hate campaign:

• It's hypocritical to work for a software company and earn a salary but support open source.
• If companies don't pay oodles of cash for software licenses they'll just use the cash to buy themselves caviar and limos instead of pay your salary.
• If you sold your software instead of giving it away, you'd have enough money to pay for software from Microsoft.
• Stop trying to make out like open source software is better. Microsoft products rock, and are often out before open source replacements.
• Microsoft wants to make their products better because they'll earn more money that way.
• Open source people only want to make a product they'd like to use.
• Open source people start out because they are too cheap to pay for their operating system in the first place.
• Open source evangelists pick their noses in public.
• Bill Gates singlehandedly invented an industry - what have you done today?

Note: None of these are the reasons why I'm pissed off about it. I'm just mad. Irrationally, completely mad!

What I want to know is, where are they running the courses for the cashier handing you your change? Is it just me, or do they have the technique for maximum irritation down pat? There's this magical ability to cause maximum inconvenience. You've got your bag in one hand, your wallet in your other, and then they hand you this Hanoi tower of coinage on top of notes and your invoice. I can't imagine any configuration of wallet where that's a useful arrangement. Now you have to use the underlying notes as a funnel to get the change in, then stuff the rest in the notes compartment. It's like the legacy of the Nazis or something. Do we really have to go through this day after day?

And the most scary thing is, everyone does this in exactly the same way. It's like a command disseminated by the mothership to all the cashiers in the world. It's a staggeringly successful meme more powerful than nods meaning yes, and smiles meaning joy. If you're a cashier, for the love of mike do something different. Hand me the notes first, for example. Put the coins on the counter. Dance naked in a circle. I don't care, just don't perpetuate the madness!

You know, a while back I saw a blog billed as the most mundane blog ever. I read an entry and found it to be somewhat dull. Then I continued with my activities. However, that blog didn't come anywhere near in shear homogeny to this blog. And yet, I'm hooked. It's not so much what she says, but what she doesn't say. Why is she having teeth pulled (the irony does not elude me)? Does she really exist outside of work? Who is the real Kathy Reimers? Is she a superhero, like me? Does she fight crime with her superpowers of emotional containment? I for one will be sticking around to find out.

Since my blog is looking a little texty, here are a couple pictures I like from the weekend (click thumbnails for larger versions):



Tracy is captivated by Tash's shoes, but is about to lose her wine.



M-Jay's parties are agony...



and ecstacy.



Tom does his imitation of the "I own you and I don't care" look from Get Shorty.



Wonder if I smile when I'm sleeping?

American smalltalk moment:

Chip: Hey what are you doing on Saturday?
Hal: I'm going to the mall in the morning. I need new sneakers - my old ones are trashed.
Chip: Well, if you're free after that a couple of friends are coming around for a crawfish barbecue and some sixers.
Hal: Awesome. How about afterwards we hop in my truck and go down to the strip? We can chill on the hood and eat jerky as we watch the girls go by.
Chip: Cool, dude. Remember to bring a sweater - it's cooler in the Fall.
Hal: Will do. Hey, I gotta go. Shall we get the check?
Chip and Hal: Check, please!

Ya know what really gets my panties in a twist? When people throw out the last bit of the coke because it's flat. It even kinda gets on my tits when people do this at their own house, but I can understand. No-one's really gonna drink it, so you can't leave it forever cluttering the fridge. But what about communal coke? I love flat coke. Run at me with that stuff. Don't discard that dark ambrosia because you don't like it. Do I toss your crayfish leftovers? Sure. A little double standard never hurt anyone.

I am so ridiculously tired today. Imagine that you have just been talking your best friend's mom through installing Windows XP on her toaster over the phone while lying stretched out on the couch. Imagine that you've had a hard night of drinking and are only just able to keep water down now. A pounding headache, tunnel vision and massive ennui. Well, I'm not that bad, but I'm the daytime TV version. And what's more, I didn't do anything remotely dodgy last night.

My weekend, which technically started on Thursday:

M-Jay's birthday party, which was supposed to be a quiet fish braai and turned out in inimitable M-Jay style to be a thirty people debauch which led to Oblivion and back. I went home before it really got out of hand, and so was not one of the littered bodies at her house like a scene from Wonderland. I made a papaya, mushroom and pecan nut salad (my invention and speciality in salads), which was gone in seconds. I'm hungry.

Tracy's sushi evening followed, in which I believe I was successful in inventing two new ingestibles - the sushi burrito, which in literal translation means vinegared rice wrapped around a small, possibly raw, donkey; and the snapdragon, a sipping shooter. A snapdragon is yum. Try it at home - take a 1 1/2 ounce shot glass and fill half of it with triple sec, then fill to the brim with freshly squeezed lemon juice. There was much drinking and madness and I slept over for fear of perishing on De Waal drive. I won a bet at some point in the evening.

People, let me help you out here: never bet with me. It's not that I'm always right (but I am). It's that if I make a bet at all I'm so sure you might as well bet about the spelling of my own name. Just don't do it unless you're trying to lose.

So Saturday was pretty slow. Tried to convince Mark to go see a movie, but he has trouble keeping a lot of stories in his head or something. I don't get it. Anyway, he wouldn't see Closer and he never lets me watch things I've seen already, so we couldn't see Garden State. So we just went home and watched Ripley's Game on DVD. I love John Malkovich.

I did see Garden State on Sunday though. M-Jay and I went out for (real) sushi and then caught this fabulous movie. Yay!

M-Jay thinks that the love story portion of the movie is a little far fetched. Maybe - I won't say any more about that here because I want you to go out and see the movie yourself. And don't wait for DVD, beotches! What I will say is that it doesn't matter. The movie's worth rests on more than its story - it rests on re-educating you to be honest to yourself if not to others. You know, it's not a groundbreaking message, but we forget, we forget, and the new format, especially wacky-shaped for easier swallowing, just drives it home.

Norman is not a polarbear, by Mark:

• Norman's the thinnest man I know, but polar bears are big and have lots of insulating fat.
  
• Norman is not furry and he doesn't live in ice.
  
• Norman only eats raw fish when it comes with wasabi and he doesn't go green in zoos.
  
• Norman has never seen an eskimo, nor has he seen the northern lights.
  
• Norman makes sounds with his mouth that humans can understand.
  
• Norman has his own IT company -- a provider of custom-made Linux software -- and no polar bear ever had that.
  
• Well, anyway, Norman is not a polar bear and you just have to trust me on that.

Dudes, I hope you are all sitting down. Last night, I was bitten by what we believe to be a spider. It bit me next to my neck on my trapezius muscle. A thin red line snakes away to my interclavicular lymph node. Another meanders up my throat. The venim seeths. Once again I saw my old friends at the emergency hospital, where they calmly told me that my flesh will blacken and fall away as the venom takes hold.

What they did not tell me is that I will probably now be able to climb walls and buildings, shoot webs from my wrists (or, more probably, my bum) and become incredibly strong. I was disappointed to find that none of this has kicked in by this morning, but maybe tomorrow...

Handy FAQ

It's come to my attention that some misunderstandings about the nature of the Geoff may arise from time to time. Please refer to this handy FAQ, and address any further questions to the man himself:

Q: I've noticed that you've been spending a lot of time in your office with the lights off and the aircon on high. Is this because you are depressed, saddened or subdued? Teddy, from Derry, North Carolina, USA

A: It's because I'm hot. And not just in the way you're thinking.

Q: I can't remember the last time you flick-flacked your way down the corridor with your shirt off, whooping "where's the cantaloupe, people, seriously?" What gives? Louise, from Escamillo, Argentina

A: That's so last season. Some of the more pret a porter houses still run a catwalk like that, but the avant-garde is going with cadaverous models in whiteface tigercrawling slowly to the omnichord version of "Clubbed to death".

Q: I've heard that you are able to party non-stop for 40 days and nights, never developing a hangover or a cracked smile. Is it really true? Billy, from Mirik, Bhutan

A: It sure is Billy, but with great power comes great responsibility. You never know when I might have to save Texas by going on a marathon session of debauchery not seen since the times of lots of people dying from marathon sessions of debauchery.

Q: How big is your penis? Tiffany, from Tashi Tashi, Borneo.

A: Propriety prohibits me from being fully candid, Tiffer, but let's just say if I lost a leg I'd still have a pretty serviceable kick-stand.

Q: Has your spirit been broken by forces of evil who seek to enslave thousands? Dodi, from Erini-Jesha, Oshu State, Nigeria

A: I don't believe in spirits as do you primitives, but if I did, I believe my spirit would be a government employee named Norman. He would never do a day's work - not even cumulatively over several years. But you could never get rid of him.

Q: How can I be more like you? George, from Washington, District of Columbia, USA

A: Sadly, you cannot. In the early eighties I attempted to take over the world by making everyone just like me, but found that the forces of contradiction tore apart lesser humans, rendering them a grab-bag of medical refuse.

Ok, people. Let's get serious here. Can I get a motherfucking clapper switch here or what? You guys are my friends, right? How long have I be hinting, cajoling or just plain begging for this one goddamn teeny tiny thing. It's all I want, seriously. What would vastly improve the quality of Geoff's life? A clapper! Yes, that's right: the same thing I've been asking for for the last twenty-five motherfucking centuries, people. Sheesh!

Someone told me I should talk about camels. they didn't mean here because they don't know here exists. But it does so I can. Talk about camels. The thing about camels is that they're not terribly interesting. They are ugly in a fairly humourous way, but that's where it ends. And ripping off camels because of the way they look is shallow, callous and unfair, unless they are FAT in which case they are fair game.

So instead, here are some camel jokes:

Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Camel.
Camel who?
Camels provide food, transport and a living to more than a quarter of the world's inhabitants.

A camel walks into a bar. The bartender says: Hey you can't hump in here!

George W. Bush, Bin Laden and a camel get on a plane. Just as they attain cruising altitude, the pilot comes on the PA to say: "Um, the engine has died... somehow, and now so will all of you!" Seconds later they notice the pilot opening his parachute far below them. Bin Laden says, I am happy to die because now I will have 70 virgins and I'm horny as a viking hat! George W. says, I am happy to die because I've kicked some serious sandnigger ass and my God hates gay people, spending money on education and loves me. The camel says, oy, my back is killing me! Why was I born a bactrian?

Ok, so some of you may be aware that I was stabbed but not to death on the 16th of December. That I am still here is a tribute to the greatness that is the Geoff.

Here is what happened in precise: This guy came to my car late at night after I had watched a crappy Disney movie. Don't get me started on Disney, people. Anyway, this guy is about 7 feet tall and looks like he eats thumbtacks with whiskey for breakfast. Seriously, his fist was about the size of my head.

Anyway, I was with my friend Gary who is a huge wuss. I can say this about him because I am not scared and also he is in Australia. Gary loves Disney movies and plays with dolls. The dolls may be a fabrication, but I'll let YOU decide. So this huge monsterous guy asks me for a lift to some place up the road.

Geoff: That's cool wit me, yo.

And he gets in. I'm driving and at the same time working out nucular physics in my head, so understandably I'm a little distracted. Oh, and I'm telling Gary that Disney sucks! So the manmountain in the back tells me that I had reached his destination.

Geoff: That's cool wit me, yo.

When the car stops, the dude turns out to be a dastardly thief! He dastardly stole my lanyard which contained my least valuable possession in the world, my virginity. Or maybe it was a memory stick I CAN'T REMEMBER PEOPLE. There were all kinds of stress bouncing about my vehicle and I blanked out a lot of it. Hypnotherapy has revealed that what happened next was I kicked his ass and he ran away crying like a little girl and also that I was Abraham Lincoln in a previous life.

It seems as if during the scuffle he managed to stab me with a two-handed sword of the type used by medieval mounted warriors known as "knights".

Now I'm sure there are those of you out there going, that is bollocks Geoff, you are so full of shit. But I have pictures biatches:

Now don't you go rubbing one out to these pictures of my body. They are for medical purposes only!

Daring lyric of the day

So I'm driving to work this morning and on pops this song (don't ask me which station I was listening to) Gary Taylor's Time's Run Out Of Time. Time's run out of time? Seriously? Your time had time in the first place? Unless you mean prison time, which you may be facing for even trying this lyric. Extra points are earned for making essentially the worst line in your song, the title of your song. Well done, Gary!

So I finally phoned those Theatresports people. They run this course which purports to strip your inhibitions and allow you to bare your soul on stage in a funny way. That's nice. Since I have a stage shaped hole and a comedy shaped hole in the plastic shape-posting toy that is my psyche, it might be cool. They have put my name on a "list" which means that they already love me and will want to have my babies by the time they actually start their rigorous course of Geoff humiliation.

So it may have come to your attention that I haven't been posting much over the last while. There's no explanation. I haven't been busy, or tired. Swedish sailors have not kidnapped me and placed me in their glory box for a month feeding me only with their genetically superior semen. Aliens had not put things in my bottom. I have not put things in my bottom. I was not appointed Prime Minister of Djibouti. I do not have anthrax (to my knowledge). I did not accept Jesus as my personal saviour, nor did I read the Vedas in the original Sanskrit. I have not swum the Aegean, nor climbed the Caucasus. I can not peel a grape with my tongue (though I can can knot a cherry stalk. TIP: Use your teeth). I have not taken a lover. I have not learned to make buttered icing. I was not involved in the Tsunami incident. On that night I was not sober. I have not invaded Lesotho, nor invented chewing gum that disintegrates when the taste does. I am still not dead. Not undead either. I smell faintly, but that's it.

Herewith droll correspondence from last week:

-----

From Geoff Jamieson
Sent: 30 December 2004 17:03
To: Brett FISH Anderson
Subject: Life choices

Dear Brett,

Why is there no colour in your internet website?

Geoff

-----

From: Brett FISH Anderson
Sent: 30 December 2004 18:04
To: Geoff Jamieson
Subject: Um...because it's done in black and white?

Dear Geoff

Thankx for the email - actually that particular choice was made by my web designer guy who I rely on to do all my page designing for me - we had a page in colour that was stunning for a couple of months and this is the updated look for the next few months - just trying something different and black and white is apparently last year's peach...

So ja, no special reason altho I could have said that it was symbolic of the fact that God is all about black and white in a world of grey... but it's not really that... but it could be if you want it to be....

What is your opinion on the lack of colour? You not digging? Or you just curious?
In a few more months or when my inet buddy has more time on my hands I'm sure we'll do another update with colour... for me the page is a base for the weekly messages I send out mainly and now it is the base for the J1 youth resource site as well (Jesus First) and it is going to have some of my better messages and some of my God-focused poetry added as well plus my testimony about life to the full with God... so lots of ways for people to hopefully be exposed to God and lead into a relationship with Him... so yay for that!

God bless you
love brett

-----

From: Geoff Jamieson
Sent: 31 December 2004 10:11
To: Brett FISH Anderson
Subject: It's done in black and white

Dear Brett,

That answers my question comprehensively, thanks. My friend told me that sometimes when you transfer a photograph to a computer it loses its colour. But maybe you have good film. I don't know. It looks fine, though.

Geoff

Stop reading ladies. The following is not designed for the fairer sex because it's about boys bits. And the pants that frame them. Specifically, this post celebrates the happy accident (or purposeful design by a loving creator, depending on your perspective) that renders boys capable of peeing while standing upright. The same blind luck (or careful forethought) allows boys to keep their pants on while peeing and, in some cases, pee around corners. It's not particularly useful to pee around a corner, but nor is it particularly useful to be able to yodel or gargle. We do these things for fun. That's what separates us from animals. That and a restraining order.

Stop trying to distract me! What I wanted to say was, guys, is it not just the best feeling in the world when you get to the urinal and you think you're wearing your button-fly jeans (no free marketing here Levis!) and you suddenly realise you're actually wearing a zipper? HOORAY! Instant gratification. Golden showers got my belly goin' oh yes yes! None of that poking about trying to undo the buttons. Just zip and go. Fwoah! And then, afterwards, no standing about looking like a tool trying to button up again in that awkward space between the basin and the bowl while other guys clear their throats uncomfortably. Am I right guys? Am I right?

Answer: I'm right.