Why your midlife crisis rocks

Ah, the midlife crisis. Always entertaining. 

But necessary. And crucial. In my mind, the midlife crises is that moment in your life when you grow a brain. A real brain. Up until the point of the midlife crisis, you have been doing what you thought you should. You have been living the life of the brain-dead. You have been pleasing everyone but yourself.

Now it is your turn. It is time to show your natural colours. To show the world who you really are, what you are made of and how you see yourself. 

This can be either good or bad. 

In my case, it was good. My midlife crises happened when I was 33. And single. And thin. And cruel. A nasty piece of work I was. Deeply unhappy, I hated everything and everyone. I had a temper. A tongue. And logic. Together they made people cry continuously. 

And then it hit me. I wasn't happy making other people unhappy. So I made the conscious decision to change. Within a week my life turned around. I met my darling wife, fell in love, shunted everything that didn't contribute to my happiness and figured out who I was. 

Some people get struck with their midlife crisis at 42. They get tattoos, decide to become what they've always wanted to be and go at it alone. This is fine. They have shown us their true colours. This is who they are and what they want out of life. The only sad part is that it took them this long to grow a brain. Because almost always they end up hurting someone. This is not good. 

What is good, Rilette, is that they are out of your life. They have taken their time to be happy, at your expense, but out they go. Let them be happy. Spare no other thought for them. And move forward. Just be glad there are no children involved. Because that is collateral damage. 

Having said that, it has come to my attention that this blog is an embarrassment. So this is the last post. It was fun while it lasted. But it is time to act like a grownup and get on with life. 

Cheers.  

The Bar-One Manhunt

The Bar-One Manhunt

Is it just me or are the men portrayed in the Bar-One Manhunt the most useless, pussy-whipped, dull, commonplace, lowercase, but good-looking meaty men representing the typical image of what Men's Health would have you believe men are? 

I imagine this is what all women feel when watching the Miss World Pageant. Yes, they are pleasant to look at, but are they good for anything? 

Having choked, laughed and on various occasions almost vomited my way through a couple of these episodes, I can safely proclaim that these aren't real men. They are mere images of the men they used to be before they joined this warped reality show. And I use the term reality with the utmost of care.

Firstly, they are all abs, shoulders and neatly trimmed haircuts. They all probably smell of Dettol. Not a germ on the lot of them. And therein lies the problem. Because the most hilarious part of the entire show is when Ursula have to keep on reminding them that they are ten of the most fit, most intelligent men in South Africa. Did she also mention young? And if they are that intelligent, then surely this will be as much on display as their naked torsos? And yet. 

And yet. 

Anyone who spend that amount of time developing muscles that size, cannot possibly give their brains the same amount of attention. They may be good looking, strong, pumped, skillful in front of a mirror, but intelligent? I think not. 

Don't get me wrong. I am not saying they are stupid. But ten of the most intelligent men in South Africa? Ten of the most average men maybe, for their age, taken into consideration we haven't actually heard of any of them before this. And on the fit side, I'm sure they are. But can they keep up with your average Springbok rugby player, or Bafana soccer player, or Protea cricket player? Already about 50 men more fit than they are. 

So what makes them so special then? 

That's right. The neatly trimmed haircuts. I'll give them that. It's mostly better than rugby players' hair, and most certainly better than brilliant men like Tokyo Sexwale, or Andre P. Brink. 

So to be a Bar-One Man, you have to be good-looking, pumped, with your shirt off, and have a neat haircut. 

Oh yes, and be willing to be ordered around by a short, cross, female presenter with a bad PMS problem - Ursula - possible the most charmless presenter of any show, on any channel. Like an aging pit-bull, her bark is poison, her look relentless, and when she grows teeth, I switch channels. 

Because even more disturbing than this show's portrayal of real men, is their portrayal of real men with their tails between their legs. 

Woof!

Any queries about your Phone?

Fire. Of all the things that can possibly irritate me today, fire is it. 

As my wife said: "It must be terribly difficult being you," since most things irritate me, on a regular basis. Which is simply not true. Only stupid things irritate me, on a regular basis.

The problem however, is that stupid things, people, ideas and whatnot are all around us, every day. Therefore, they irritate me. 

Like fire. Not fire itself. But the things surrounding it. Like builders. 

You drive to work, and whenever you pass a building site in winter, and there happen to be more than two builders present, they've built a fire. In between houses. On a building site full of flammable rubble. And half the time they're not even standing near the fire. But it continues to burn against a newly painted wall.  

The most ridiculous thing about fires, however, is when you try to report them. Here's what happens:

You phone 10111. They answer only after you've pressed 1 in case of an emergency. Like you would just randomly phone 10111, if for instance, you wanted to talk to your mother. They then tell you that this is for emergencies only, of the Police kind. For a fire, you have to phone 10178. Which you do. Then, the stupid thing happens. 

An electronic voice comes on that says you must press 1 in case of an emergency, or 2 if you have any queries about your phone. 

Excuse me? 

Why would a line dedicated to reporting fires ask you as a second option whether you have any queries about your phone? Is this really the place? 

Yes. I was wondering when my next upgrade is please? Since the phone in my hand is about to burn to a bloody crisp! 

How monumentally stupid. 

What's more than stupid, is when they finally answer and then can't tell you where your nearest fire station is. 

So here's the tip for today - if in the process of burning, rather phone 1023 and ask for the nearest fire department. They, at least, answer immediately and know the answer to most questions. 

NoteBook 1 : Title 1

My six months of standing upright. 

It started, like most things, with an article I read. It was about how Ernest Hemingway, Winston Churchill, Carol Lewis and many other writers, like myself I would like to think, didn't sit down when working, but stood. The whole day. 

This made sense to me, and is something that I always suspected is the way the Lord wanted things. Writing is possibly one of the most disturbingly dangerous activities for your health known to man. Because you lose yourself spectacularly, focusing mostly on keeping your fingers moving, and your brain - and not much else. 

And unless you're a smoker, you never get up. You just keep on going. Until the cows come home, or your alarm goes off. Off course right from the start you make sure you don't need to get up. You surround yourself with various unhealthy snacks, salty things to counteract the chocolaty things. Drinking things in ice buckets and flasks of hot coffee. Hot to counteract the cold, and vice versa. But not too much, because the one thing you cannot bare, is to get up to go to the toilet. So you develop bladder muscels that would put Charles Atlas' resistance training to shame. I can clench for hours on end. 

Because an idea doesn't wait for pee. And the rhythm of writing is a cruel master. 

So I read this article about how when you don't spend your day standing, you are going to die - in the next three days. The writer of the article got so scared he immediately forked out $400 to buy himself a standing desk thingy. I don't have $400 to waste, so I bought three boxes of books for R250 at the Charity Shop. Some nice books. An entire Children's Encyclopedia, some lovely red leather Uncle Arthur Bedtime Stories and a crapload of Reader's Digest abridged volumes. And then I built myself a stand-up work station, on top of my normal desk at work.

This was yesterday. Today my calves regret it. And I have been ridiculed by co-workers more than I would have liked, but I am not going to die within the next three days. In fact, I am going to report on my progress made right here, for the next 6 months. Until December, when I go on holiday. 

What I can report: 

My calves ache. My hamstrings, I believe they are called, also aches. My mind is however much better. Because strangely enough, when you stand, your mind thinks that you have to do something. Also, you can't stand in front of your desk doing nothing. That would just be loitering. So you're kind of forced to work, or do something. Or actively read something. It's a whole other ballgame when you sit. You don't have to do something. You can just sit. But if you do nothing standing, it defeats the purpose, and you feel useless. 

So here I am, standing, and writing this blog. Something I thought I would never do. The question is, what am I going to do once I've posted this? 

I'll keep you posted. 

NoteBook 1 : Title 1

This Blog is a bit misleading. At least the name is. I think it is not so much about irritation levels as it is about passion.

Because let's face it. If you are irritated, you are either one of those sad individuals who will find fault with everything, being all the glass is empty, or you are someone who cares.

I care. Mostly I care about finding a solution to stupidity. But the point is, I do care. A lot. Enough to write about it. 

Does this mean that this Blog is going to be just all negative space? 

No.

Hell no. 

It will also feature revolutionary new technology, great solutions to ancient problems, and then some. Some what, I hear you ask? I can't say. It hasn't happened yet. Not today in any case. 

Today the levels of irritation is relatively low. I have started to work standing up, if that makes any sense. After having read an article about how you will DIE if you sit down all day. So now I've created my own standing up working space. It's all a bit new for me. 

I built my workstation out of books. Old books. Bought from a second-hand everything store for a little more than R250. Three boxes full. So I've stacked 'em high. And loaded it with my iPad and bluetooth keyboard. It's been about an hour and a half, and already I'm tired. But I will keep it up. I am determined to make it work, come calve-strains or cramps. 

Here's a picture of it, obviously without my iPad, since I am using it to take the picture. I will report on how it all pans out.

 

Let's try this again, shall we?

This Blog is a bit misleading. At least the name is. I think it is not so much about irritation levels as it is about passion.

Because let's face it. If you are irritated, you are either one of those sad individuals who will find fault with everything, being all the glass is empty, or you are someone who cares.

I care. Mostly I care about finding a solution to stupidity. But the point is, I do care. A lot. Enough to write about it. 

Does this mean that this Blog is going to be just all negative space? 

No.

Hell no. 

It will also feature revolutionary new technology, great solutions to ancient problems, and then some. Some what, I hear you ask? I can't say. It hasn't happened yet. Not today in any case. 

Today the levels of irritation is relatively low. I have started to work standing up, if that makes any sense. After having read an article about how you will DIE if you sit down all day. So now I've created my own standing up working space. It's all a bit new for me. 

I built my workstation out of books. Old books. Bought from a second-hand everything store for a little more than R250. Three boxes full. So I've stacked 'em high. And loaded it with my iPad and bluetooth keyboard. It's been about an hour and a half, and already I'm tired. But I will keep it up. I am determined to make it work, come calve-strains or cramps. 

Here's a picture of it, obviously without my iPad, since I am using it to take the picture. I will report on how it all pans out.

 

Title 1

This Blog is a bit misleading. At least the name is. I think it is not so much about irritation levels as it is about passion.

Because let's face it. If you are irritated, you are either one of those sad individuals who will find fault with everything, being all the glass is empty, or you are someone who cares.

I care. Mostly I care about finding a solution to stupidity. But the point is, I do care. A lot. Enough to write about it. 

Does this mean that this Blog is going to be just all negative space? 

No.

Hell no. 

It will also feature revolutionary new technology, great solutions to ancient problems, and then some. Some what, I hear you ask? I can't say. It hasn't happened yet. Not today in any case. 

Today the levels of irritation is relatively low. I have started to work standing up, if that makes any sense. After having read an article about how you will DIE if you sit down all day. So now I've created my own standing up working space. It's all a bit new for me. 

I built my workstation out of books. Old books. Bought from a second-hand everything store for a little more than R250. Three boxes full. So I've stacked 'em high. And loaded it with my iPad and bluetooth keyboard. It's been about an hour and a half, and already I'm tired. But I will keep it up. I am determined to make it work, come calve-strains or cramps. 

Here's a picture of it, obviously without my iPad, since I am using it to take the picture. I will report on how it all pans out.