Actually, I went to him.
Pre-story:
I had an interview for an interview in Sandton, so I took the Gautrain instead of driving.
Woolworths had a sale and I bought shoes.
When I got home, I had two shoes for my right foot. Highly impractical.
Today, I took the train again to get a left shoe for my right, but the ride was more expensive than the silly pair of pumps, so I tried to justify the entire trip by making it into a shopping spree, except that I have no money. Yay me. After exchanging the shoes, I went past Häagen Dazs (don't go to their website, the flavours are too enticing) for ice cream that I couldn't really afford either, but my very flawed reasoning told me that spending R30 on one scoop is better than, well, not buying anything at all.
Ja. I gawked at all the flavours and couldn't decide for a long while because I WANTED THEM ALL, NOW. Then the guy behind the counter noticed I was there, took my order, handed me my cone and turned around again. No one wanted my money. I waved it around for a bit but got no attention, so I walked away.
Thank you, Häagen Dazs, for giving me free ice cream today, even if it wasn't really your intention. It made my day.
Showing posts with label free. Show all posts
Showing posts with label free. Show all posts
Wednesday, 6 March 2013
Tuesday, 12 February 2013
Vicious Traditions
At the end of Mr Brooks, Vicious Traditions by The Veils plays as the main character dreams of being killed by his daughter. Or is it not a dream? I can't remember. But the song stayed with me, and the band has remained one of my favourites.
In April they are releasing their 4th album, click the image below if you fancy a free download of their first single.
In April they are releasing their 4th album, click the image below if you fancy a free download of their first single.
Sunday, 9 December 2012
We'll be fine
This song plays at the end of an episode of Elementary. If you like The National, get No's free EP. (Yes. Free.)
Wednesday, 1 August 2012
Je me lâche
We went to a Caribbean/Spanish film festival once, but the only screening we could attend was entitled Miranda. Not really knowing what it was about, we spent three hours watching some obscure Venezuelan general recount from prison his rise and fall from greatness. It seemed like a South American version of Napoleon, mixed in with a bit of The Count of Monte Cristo. When we left it had not nearly finished and we felt like we deserved three hours of our lives back.
Another time we (haha, a different we) went to see Ping Pong Bath Station at the 2010 Japanese Film Festival, and it was a great night. The film is about a Japanese housewife who feels ignored by her husband and teenage son and returns to the hot-spring resort where they spent their honeymoon. She finds it neglected and creates a ping-pong event to attract new visitors to the area.
The next year we went to see Kamome Diner about a Japanese lady that opens a traditional diner in Finland and her encounters with two other Japanese ladies and the Finns who don't enter her diner. After the film ended, employees from the embassy handed out these enormous rice balls with salmon at the centre, which the ladies in the film make constantly. I'm not very much into fish but it was cool walking out and smelling what one had seen being made in the film.
Another time we went to a Canadian screening of Saint Ralph about a boy who believes that if he can win the Boston marathon his mother will awaken from her coma and he won't have to become an orphan. I appreciated the not-so-seriousness and lack of grand effects because the films we have to watch at university are [intense] and often uncomfortable. Those being screened at cinemas are usually blockbusters laden with all sorts of crash/boom/bang additions.
Now, the opportunity presents itself to visit another, this time in French.
French films will be screened at Brooklyn's Nouveau from the 10-12 August, but there are sessions in Cape Town, Joburg, P.E. and Durban as well.
Here is the link to the program. I've read and seen Love lasts three years, by Frédéric Beigbeder, about how after three years your wife leaves you and you start writing a book about it. It is an easy-watching rom-com type of movie.
I'm thinking The Intruder, 35 shots of rum, Declaration of War... Well, all of them, really. One shouldn't say no to free cinema.
Another time we (haha, a different we) went to see Ping Pong Bath Station at the 2010 Japanese Film Festival, and it was a great night. The film is about a Japanese housewife who feels ignored by her husband and teenage son and returns to the hot-spring resort where they spent their honeymoon. She finds it neglected and creates a ping-pong event to attract new visitors to the area.
The next year we went to see Kamome Diner about a Japanese lady that opens a traditional diner in Finland and her encounters with two other Japanese ladies and the Finns who don't enter her diner. After the film ended, employees from the embassy handed out these enormous rice balls with salmon at the centre, which the ladies in the film make constantly. I'm not very much into fish but it was cool walking out and smelling what one had seen being made in the film.
Another time we went to a Canadian screening of Saint Ralph about a boy who believes that if he can win the Boston marathon his mother will awaken from her coma and he won't have to become an orphan. I appreciated the not-so-seriousness and lack of grand effects because the films we have to watch at university are [intense] and often uncomfortable. Those being screened at cinemas are usually blockbusters laden with all sorts of crash/boom/bang additions.
Now, the opportunity presents itself to visit another, this time in French.
French films will be screened at Brooklyn's Nouveau from the 10-12 August, but there are sessions in Cape Town, Joburg, P.E. and Durban as well.
Here is the link to the program. I've read and seen Love lasts three years, by Frédéric Beigbeder, about how after three years your wife leaves you and you start writing a book about it. It is an easy-watching rom-com type of movie.
I'm thinking The Intruder, 35 shots of rum, Declaration of War... Well, all of them, really. One shouldn't say no to free cinema.
Sunday, 29 April 2012
Clap your hands say yeah
The whole weekend I was thinking that I had so many interesting topics to blog about, but now everything escapes me. On Friday, the 27 April, South Africa had a public holiday ( Freedom Day) to commemorate the first democratic elections held on on that date in 1994. I went to the festivities held at the Union Buildings, which is where the president does his leading-the-country-thing. Well, when he is in Pretoria, at least.
The building is situated on top of a hill that overlooks Pretoria, so it has a very nice view of the city and vast gardens where one can have a pick-nick and just chill on the lawns. The gardens go down in various levels, like steps, and at the bottom they set up a stage for the celebrations. I was waiting for my friend at the top, enjoying the view, but it was a bit awkward because 100% of people who go are black ( the percentage of white people that go is so small that I am guessing it would't even figure into a count). I felt a bit like a zoo animal. Young girls asked if they could take a photograph with me. It was weird.
As I was waiting, this group of young men walked past, and I must have looked like a welcome challenge because one of them came and sat next to me, while the other five squeezed onto another bench to watch what would happen next. The "I-live-in-SA-and-I-am-a-lone-female" in me a bit like "Ja, you will get robbed in a few minutes", but the optimist in me decided that they were probably nice and I should just have a little chat. Shame, the boy did not expect that.
He told me they had come in a bus from Vereeniging, a city ( town rather) south of Johannesburg, for the day's festivities. They were all still at school and he enjoyed accounting the most. Our conversation was going well, although his English was not brilliant and my Sotho is non-existent. My grandmother can speak Sotho, but all I remember is something that sounds like hutla? It means you aren't listening? Or something. My grandmother says it a lot. The boy just laughed at my bad pronunciation and asked who I had voted for. BAM. There it was. Politics. Fuck.
I hate talking about politics. It is like religion: everyone refuses to change their view while still trying to convince the other person to do exactly that. It is pointless. I wanted to talk about Freedom and how it feels like to be a post-Apartheid youth, not about how I think the ruling party's majority is to big, and that all the parties engage is stupid little squabbles over nothing instead of effecting positive change where it matters. All these parties create division, not unity.
So I said I did not vote and avoided the subject. Luckily my friend phoned, he was already at the bottom, so I said my goodbyes, wished them good luck at school and walked away.
I was barely three meters away when the other boys, who had been watching the interaction intently, started cheering and clapping. What for, I don't know. Perhaps my conversation skills have dramatically improved. Or it was just another weird thing on Freedom Day.
 |
| I took these photographs last year. |
As I was waiting, this group of young men walked past, and I must have looked like a welcome challenge because one of them came and sat next to me, while the other five squeezed onto another bench to watch what would happen next. The "I-live-in-SA-and-I-am-a-lone-female" in me a bit like "Ja, you will get robbed in a few minutes", but the optimist in me decided that they were probably nice and I should just have a little chat. Shame, the boy did not expect that.
He told me they had come in a bus from Vereeniging, a city ( town rather) south of Johannesburg, for the day's festivities. They were all still at school and he enjoyed accounting the most. Our conversation was going well, although his English was not brilliant and my Sotho is non-existent. My grandmother can speak Sotho, but all I remember is something that sounds like hutla? It means you aren't listening? Or something. My grandmother says it a lot. The boy just laughed at my bad pronunciation and asked who I had voted for. BAM. There it was. Politics. Fuck.
I hate talking about politics. It is like religion: everyone refuses to change their view while still trying to convince the other person to do exactly that. It is pointless. I wanted to talk about Freedom and how it feels like to be a post-Apartheid youth, not about how I think the ruling party's majority is to big, and that all the parties engage is stupid little squabbles over nothing instead of effecting positive change where it matters. All these parties create division, not unity.
So I said I did not vote and avoided the subject. Luckily my friend phoned, he was already at the bottom, so I said my goodbyes, wished them good luck at school and walked away.
I was barely three meters away when the other boys, who had been watching the interaction intently, started cheering and clapping. What for, I don't know. Perhaps my conversation skills have dramatically improved. Or it was just another weird thing on Freedom Day.
Wednesday, 15 February 2012
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