The Number 42 IS PURPLE

On first glance, a bright cheerful image of two bears greets the idle visitor of this blog site. Holding hands, they look out towards a rainbow over on a psychedelic green horizon, immediately below, the perky face of one of the blogs regular contributors, Cath Cunningham, smiles wickedly back from the screen.

Well written, witty and informative, it is clear to see why this blog was one of the favorites at the blog awards, the attention to detail is almost as perfect as any collective of women can muster and the relevancy found in each article glares at one in the face like an angry bear. Their tongue-in-cheek attitude towards writing is done cleanly and without the rough edges found in other blogs that occupy space on Blogspot.com (namely my own).

Personally, there is not one post that stands out above the rest, simply because to compare each one of these well educated writers would be unjust. Yet the flavours brought in by Cath, Mya and Michelle are as diverse as ice-cream stalls, but one cannot help but feel that two of the three authors were raised on a similar brand of psychoactive gymnastics as your truly.

That may make me a little biased towards their writing, hell, it may make me very biased towards their writing but its nothing that I am ashamed of. For a good laugh and a good time go check out their blog at www.thenumber42ispurple.blogspot.com.

One Hour...

It dawned on me, something that could open up eyes in this Rhodes institute of privileged kids who know no other way of life.

My plan was to sit alongside that old barefooted hobo, who plays his guitar and stretches his vocal tracts day in and out along the kerbs of High Street.

I was a bit nervous initially as I suspected him to be reluctant to have a stranger sit along side him to experience the life from the ground up.

I did not expect a conversation due to the language barriers in existence, which was a pity as my plan was to extract some information that might have served as an inspirational stepping stone for me as a student who has done nothing but walk past this soloist on his way to Pick n Pay.

Friday Morning.

The street is in its usual casual state with everyone tending to their own business, not a sign of a friendly handshake or a warm embrace – not by anyone.

And there he sits. Under the tree, strumming away.

‘Molo Tata’ was all I could utter. He grins with droopy eyelids and I take a seat next to him.
Not long after, the eyes start staring my way and I experience what it is to be looked down upon by the masses. I attempt to catch my new friend’s lyrics and sing along, but I am too intrigued by the passion with which he delivers his melodies. This man is content with his circumstance, it is clear as day.

The hour I spent with my new friend was an experience that has humbled me even further and I actually felt so guilty when I got back to my res and found an expensive hoodie of mine lying on the floor alongside my bed.

Nonetheless, it was experience gained through experiencing.

Red Hot Number 42

My current semester at Rhodes University has allowed me to attend lectures on the global crisis with Professor Cobbing. It is a high flying course covering human history and what we have done wrong to end up in the state that we are currently experiencing (which, according to Cobbing, is a crisis). Professor Cobbing’s reason behind our state of flux is simply because no one cares anymore. Humans are too selfish and more inclined to put themselves first than to be bothered about society’s problems. The writers of The Number 42 is Purple, however, show a conscious understanding of the world. Their writing shows evidence of social awareness and a genuine concern with the current state of society.

These four women have viewed and reviewed worldly issues with a critical lens. They have provided readers with a student’s perspective on the world and have shown that humans are not entirely focused on themselves. The Number 42 is Purple has provided me with a little hope about the world we live in. Many people today are so engaged with their own trivial concerns that the human race has slowly turned into an autistic community. Connecting with each other through a networking site or over some technological device is a more natural occurrence than physical, face-to-face human contact.

The blogging topics range from climate change and twitter, to Obama and animal testing. The broad topics demonstrate an extensive understanding in the world and are well executed in their writing. The world needs to see more of The Number 42 is Purple if we are ever to have any hope of living beyond this crisis.

No real Culture, but a whole lot of vulture

I decided to do my review on Young Culture’s Emporium. The blog, orchestrated by four opinionated young women, presents a simplified interface with articles that state the point and eliminate irrelevance.

The blog title, however, does not coincide very much with the content presented. I would have expected that with a name such as young culture, there would have been more focus placed on growing youth trends in terms of fashion, cults, belief systems as well as young people who are excelling in media and other industries.

Regardless though, the articles proved to compensate for the lack of title-content integration with a diverse mix of posts, ranging from commentary on fresh AWB onslaught-in-the-making to hits at the verbosity of parliamentarians in court to a direct challenge at the first year journalism course which is proving nothing more than plain boring.

Due to the critical nature of this blog, it would perhaps have been appropriate to include a sideline widget on the blog such as a poll or statistical chart, which would compliment the articles well or perhaps a darker colour scheme to point out the critical element.

The use of images and video were creative and stood out amongst the simplified interface,

I particularly enjoyed the articles ‘Just a thought on Varsity life’ and ‘Doomed for failure by global expectation’

One can tell that most posts have been well researched and hyperlinks are provided to substantiate this

This is a simple blog which secures the cash and disposes the trash, using imagery economically and making

it gets 7.5/10

The Sobriety Test

Grahamstown is well known for many things, but the student drinking culture most likely tops the list of the most famous or infamous qualities this fair town. I am not embarrassed to say that I have taken part in these activities with great enthusiasm and fervour. I have met a number of people, could tell a hundred stories and I have had a great deal of laughs along the way. This has been, however, all under the influence of alcohol. Therefore, I decided that I would spend a night out in Grahamstown with no trace of alcohol in my system.

The thought of going out sober was a daunting one. This is because, and maybe it is a sad fact, but going out in sober in Grahamstown is a little difficult seeing as there are numerous students wondering New Street in a drunk and disorderly fashion. This factor is somewhat off putting, because inebriated people do not have the same interests as those who are sober. For example, dancing on the tables at Union might be appealing to those who have had a few; whereas those who haven’t had a drop may not be able to muster the confidence to showcase their dancing abilities to the Rhodes student body. The reason for this would be that one’s inhibitions slowly fall away with the consumption of alcohol and the ability to acknowledge one’s appearance and behaviour disappears. Therefore, finding common ground with those who had been drinking made me a little reluctant to go out at all.

However, I had promised a mate that we were going to go out, even if it was in a sober state of mind. So we downed our Bioplus sachets and headed out. One of the issues I was going to have with this night of no alcohol was the weather. The wind was ice cold as we wandered down to Union. This is often ignored due to alcohols capacity to warm the blood. However, all was not lost as a lift was soon acquired.
Union was empty and for now, Sammy and I weren’t quite prepared to make fools of ourselves on the dance floor. So we sat and waited for Steph to arrive from Aquatics AGM. It must be noted that by the time she arrived at Union, Steph had already had copious amounts of free punch; which would mean that Sammy and I were in for an evening of a lot of work and effort.

I expected the night to be a rough one with lots of drunk people falling all over the place, which it invariably was, but I didn’t expect the night to be enjoyable. Wandering the Grahamstown streets, hitching lifts and having a number of drunk conversations was surprisingly entertaining. I am glad I ended up staying true to my word by allowing myself to see the Grahamstown night life without the drunken haze.
However, this is an experience not to be taken lightly. If you are a keen partier like myself who enjoys a bit of drink to get started on a night out, a sober night could be a risky move. It’s only when all the planets are in alignment, the moon is full and blue and that pig across road did fly, that you will enjoy a night out as a sober cobra in Grahamstown. And that night for me was last night.

Ah, the Beach, a Blog that has Nothing To Do With Journalism

Hmmm, crap. This is public and stupid. I guess that’s what attracted me to it. I finally let go of my inhibitions and did something my parents would openly frown upon.

I sat on a beach and busked.

The spell check immediately asked me if I meant basked. No. I meant busked. For those of you playing the home game; busking is when you and a mate grab a guitar and play it in public while singing bad renditions of popular songs. For some its all about putting out the hat and earning some loose change, for others, like us, it was just about the feeling of doing something daft in public (and hopefully attract the attentions of the pretty girls sitting near us on the beach).

The feelings were not those associated with the usual euphoric tremblings found when performing before an audience who actually paid to see you. Instead, this felt more intimate. We had been mellowing out so much throughout the day that the actual act of busking just seemed like the next logical step to the intake of alcohol and hubbly already permeating our systems.

My friend Zane, bless him, recorded most of the one song, and it shows just how relaxed we all were, my friend Darryn was so relaxed, he opted not to even stir from his sleep.

The real truth behind all of this, which need I add has nothing to do with journalism, was for a break. To get out of our varsity town and visit the coast for a guys-only getaway where women, and booze were the only topics of conversation (two of the four of us were in steady relationships, as for myself and Darryn, well we have no clue). I guess the act of busking was an embodiment of our sentiments for the weekend; not to care while throwing out whatever we felt like to the big bad world. It was the musical equivalent of farting in public.

The end of the song, not shown in the clip, was more of a tapering off of notes than a resounding musical finale, but that is what busking is… bullshitting your way through a piece of music to look good and hip. Yet in this instance we did not do it to look cool and feel smart, we just did it to improve on our already considerable state of happiness. In other words, it was the worlds most selfish busk.

I do hope that everyone can feel what we felt for those few seconds. The sense that anyone can be watching you there and then and you won’t be self conscious about it at all. It is really one of the most liberating moments I have ever experienced, and if I have my way, it wont be the last.

Racism, Retribution and Forgiveness

It’s exciting to see young people becoming mobilised and active in society. However, are the reasons behind this type of activism well informed?

Today, the SRC of Rhodes University along with SASCO, ANCYL, DA, YCL, NEHAWU and DASO organised a protest against racism. This was in light of Professor Jonathan Jansen’s, the Vice-Chancellor of the University of the Free State, decision to allow the Reitz 4 to continue their education at UFS. According to the SRC at Rhodes University, this protest was against such a decision by Prof. Jansen.

Those who were involved in the protest, I can only hope, took the time to research the matter clearly. I am in no way for any sort of racist action. However, I do not believe one should blindly follow the other without determining the facts and making a well informed decision.

If I did agree with the protest’s aims I would have been more than willing to give up my lunch time meal of a Cornish pie and chips. However, this was not the case.
Vice-Chancellor Jansen’s decision is solely based on the ideals of forgiveness and reconciliation. The charges of the Reitz 4 have not been dropped. Their case is on-going with the UFS, the Human Rights Commission and the Directorate of Special Prosecutions. By allowing these perpetrators to continue their tertiary education is an act of transformation and an attempt to emulate the actions of the men who built the country we live in today. Archbishop Desmond Tutu pointed out in a letter to Vice-Chancellor Jansen that Nelson Mandela is a man much admired today because of his ability to forgive rather than his ability to execute revenge.

A case many years ago that we cannot forget is that of Amy Biehl. An American woman who’s work is greatly respected and marvelled at the world over. Unfortunately she was brutally murdered in 1993 as an act of ‘political mob violence’. Her parents participated in the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s hearing and publicly forgave these men.

Therefore, I must ask members of the student body to remember such men and women and why we revere them. It is forgiveness, rather than retribution, that will serve us well in the long term.

Ahem, Stop Standing On My Toes

Insults. Political correctness. Insultingly politically correct. Insulting the politically correct. Correcting the politically insulting. Insulting the political.

I have often wondered why my mother would clip me about the ears for impropriety. Whether I was at school singing aloud Tenacious D’s Gay Eskimo song at the age of ten, or on the dojo floor urging a team mate to tear off the testicles of an opponent at the age of 17, either way you look at it, my attention to social fiber is not very good.

It saddens me that society, with all the charm found in its ignorance, still does not like being politically incorrect. The act of political correctness only encourages one to remain a dope-fuelled government addict, sniveling when someone describes racism as dead and being white as a guilty sin. The fascinating thing remains that those who are politically incorrect don’t tend to reverse this role, they take their criticism generally quite well and continue to be as loud and rude about the subject of abortion as before.

The fact is, and always will be, that to be politically incorrect is to be a challenger of what people should be thinking about a given topic. You say abortions are necessary for the victims of rape, I say they are needed for the floozy’s in High School. Either way an abortion is the answer, but why do the reasons need to be the same? For a shining example of true political incorrectness, one need only gloss the likes of www.hayibo.com to know that there are people out there who just don’t give a crap anymore about what others tell them.

Could you Bring the Bill Please?

Over the last couple of days the African National Congress have been accused of overspending by R318 million. A number of newspaper sites have covered this story and have chosen to provide an angle of the story from the Democratic Alliance’s point of view. This bias in perspective can be seen on all the major news websites such as IOL, Mail and Guardian, iAfrica.com, TimesLive and News24.com. This is because the article about the DA’s accusations is the same article throughout the sites. The story has been taken from SAPA and used by all the news sites; this has, therefore, presented the reader of these sites with little perspective and insight into the story. What one can determine is that SAPA have maintained a biased view. There are no quotes from ANC representatives whereas the DA features prominently throughout the article.

IOL.co.za, however, provided an article that provided in depth analysis into government spending over recent months. Instead of listing the number of cars each minister has just acquired, there is discussion about state owned enterprises and bail outs involving the South African National Broadcaster and South African Airways. I prefer this angle more as it allows the reader to see beyond the R318 million that has gone to petty things such as government cars. This article provides one with a more balanced and all round approach to where the tax payers’ money is going.

The Hand Of A Woman

One Scoop, or Two?

The District 9 Naughtiness

Oh those pesky big-wig producers and their evil little racist friends! Whatever will they do next?

For those who have been living in complete isolation over the past few months, and when asked about this movie it would appear a lot of you have, our local cinema’s have been graced with a film called District 9. The premise is remarkably allegoristic, turning apartheid on its head by literally telling the story of how real aliens are received by us humans when forced to land on Earth for an as yet undisclosed reason (sequel anyone?). Oh, and it all takes place in South Africa (well, Johannesburg).

This time around the cinema critics actually took to the film on a million to one long-shot, with praise coming in from all corners of the globe with its bravery and originality. Everyone it would seem, except for those at racialicious.com.

Need I point out that this written in response to their post on just how racist district 9 was.

Yes, District 9 portrays the oppressed in an unflattering light. Yes, the only Nigerians in the film are trying to eat everything before (or after) killing it first. Yes, the oppressors are all white. And yes, it was all written and directed by an ignorant American called Niel Blomkamp.

What?

It wasn’t?

Neil Blomkamp is South African?

Get outta here!

Yup, much to the chagrin of racialicious.com, Neil Blomkamp was born and raised in South Africa, ahem, during apartheid before his family moved to Canada. Granted, his domestic touch may be influenced by foreign media, but what racialicious fail to realize is that District 9 is actually so stereotyped and out-therem (deliberately, I have read the interviews with writer/director Neil Blomkamp at empiremagazine.com) with the whole racist plot that it’s anti-racist? Understand Mother-Grandie? Also what the individual who wrote the whole article failed to realize is that the whole practice of Muthi (the eating of parts of another to gain their strength) is actually incredibly common in South Africa. I live in Durban, where there is an entire muthi market selling the limbs and innards of every living thing. So telling me that because of this aspect of the film the film-makers are racist, I would encourage whosoever writes such articles to do their research first. For fucks sakes! You can legally claim medical aid for seeing a witch doctor in South Africa!

All that I ask of these people, and unfortunately blog writers are particularly to blame, is to do your research first before making claims about countries and policies you actually know nothing about. It is our job as journalists to provide, when asked, an informed opinion. Not one that is made because you are insulted, but one which has been made because the facts you have acquired point to something else. In this instance, the writers at racialicious.com chose to believe, without justification, that elements of the film were racist whereas they were, for South Africans, a seriously hard hit home as to the problems we are facing everyday with prejudice.