The ides of March

Its my daughters birthday today. The ides of March. Not too many parents are naming their child Brutus anymore. So I feel she should be okay. Still… I’m buying her a Glock 43 for her eighteenth birthday, you know, the brazilian ju-jitsu is strong with you grasshopper, but take this sub-compact, just in case.

Anyways, happy first birthday sperm-ovum combo. Hope its a good one. You woke daddy up three times last night. So daddy had to stop and get coffee from Mugg and Bean this morning. Which is why daddy is poor and can’t afford (anymore) lego this month. Also daddy broke one of your mommys pictures hanging in the passage, because it was dark and your father, REM deprived, swung his cooler bag around in a madcap fashion dislodging said picture from the wall. He then added to the cacophony by cursing loudly (and with feeling).

I wanted to take the day off. Alas my warehouse manager is on leave. So unfortunately the onus is on me to… well I’m not entirely sure what my warehouse manager does. So I feel I’m accurately portraying him in a fashion that will cause minimum disturbance to the status quo.

I plan on ducking out later for birthday type events… and have already provided for an adequate decoy of similar management style and active decision-making-ness.


My sales manager who is generally quite denunciatory of my blase approach to critical path selection would feel that this makes a fine simulacrum. In fact she might argue Joey 2.0 is a marked improvement over the original. I probably wouldn’t debate her on this. Mostly because she scares me ie, mid argument she might stick me with a stiletto. The heel he added afterwards, not the dagger. Jimmy choo. With the red bottoms. So you can’t see the blood.

The actual party-party is happening on Sunday afternoon. We are breaking with societal norms and having a seriously budget affair. I’ve been to some ridiculous toddler parties lately. The excess and the expense that people go to. When I turned one (you know the good old days when the lighting to everthing was slightly beige), your cousins were there. And maybe there was a cake that your mom made. These days it’s all three story inflatables, magic shows, a petting zoo and party packs that cost more than krugerrands. And this seems to be the accepted benchmark in our society.

Fucken party packs.

Apparently we risk a riot if these aren’t available post party. What the fuck. I’ve heard a story of a party where there were no party packs… the guest child was apparently so upset and his parents so attuned to their child’s needs they took back their present. And left the party in a huff. Training a well adjusted little shit right there.

So for my daughters baptism we tried this.

At the bottom of her invite we wrote. In lieu of presents would you please make a donation to her education fund. And then listed my bank details.

I thought we were being quite clever. You know how many people made donations. ONE. Lots of people promised they would, but in the end only one person actually followed through. On the plus side I only had to write one thank you email.

Dear so and so. Thank you for your donation of R200. We’ve bought our daughter 8 DBXWD, we will let you know how they do*.

*as we all know… they have done pretty much nothing.

We tried something similar for our Wedding. Me and my wife had more than enough stuff. So we asked that everyone rather than giving us money or stuff that people rather donate to our charity at the time, Husky Rescue.

South African Pet Services Husky Rescue.png

That was WAY more successful. And we ended up donating R30K to them. Like one or two people still gave us gifts. Gah! Which we re-gifted.

Weirdly it worked for the one thing, but not other. I’m dreading the gift avalanche on Sunday. Mostly because its all such a waste. You know what my daughter likes to play with…

  1. Rocks she finds in the garden.
  2. Plastic measuring cups in the kitchen (Joseph and Joseph)
  3. Plug points
  4. Keys. And not fake keys (she knows the difference)
  5. Playstation controllers, iPhones and television remotes (again can’t fake her out with non working versions)

That’s pretty much it. I mean she cycles through her toys. But really it’s usually five seconds per toy before she tosses them over her shoulder or briefly tries to eat them/tear out their eyes with her teeth.

DBXWD would be SOOOOOO much better. The gift that keeps on giving. Assuming Deutsche doesn’t go bang in spectacular fashion. Germans should stick to engineering. Leave the banking to the English*. The corruption to the Italians and Marijuana to the Dutch.

*I might have said the Swiss here. I don’t know… banking is a tough one. (Personally I feel banking is the realm of the wanker, and the English… generally speaking, definitely have more wankers) (take a stroll round Lewisham or Hounslow if you don’t believe me). A Zurich or Bern wanker is more preppy. And less obese.

Alas I am bound by the consumerism of this world. And so am designed to suffer a deluge of pink dresses, stuffed animals and creepy plastic dolls. Maybe I’ll sneak in a wrapped copy of ‘Thus spoke Zarathustra’ or, ‘If you meet the buddha on the road kill him’. That’ll will mess with my wife’s head. Ha ha ha. Actually no, she’ll immediately know it was me. Normal people don’t read that shit.

Wish me luck. If I don’t make it, know that I went down swinging…

Food for thought

I’m awake. He said. Not 100% convinced of the factual nature of the statement that he’d just blurted out loud to no one in particular. Still waiting for that first cup of coffee to form a frail bulwark against the circadian rhythm of life. Man the ramparts and fight back my little caffeine warriors. Although to be fair, perhaps I’m expecting too much. It feels like one of those days where I need to run one of those plastic aquarium hoses from the percolator to my abdominal caffeine port (that I’m going to have installed) The first bit of cyborgery that actually makes sense to me. Weirdly cyborgery is not underlined in red. Oh wait… there we go.

So breakfast this morning is surprisingly NOT Fruit Loops. Due to a deficit of the aforementioned sugar/carbohydrate combination at both Woolworths and Pick n Pay. I burn both time and burn fossil fuels in the quest for Fruit Loops. Which has forced me to consider my life, or rather my health. Damn you Toucan Sam!


So this morning, in a supreme effort not to be hungry by 9am and go snuffling around the office refrigerator and then going to raid next doors refrigerator (because ours is basically ALWAYS empty*) and then giving up and offering to buy everyone food from the Roadhouse, I’ve eaten three extra large free range eggs, scrambled to a rubbery consistency in the microwave and then combined with one diced pepper from my vegetable garden.

*because Jo has already eaten everything

This is actually the first year I’ve grown California Wonders and I’ve had a surprisingly bumper crop. I actually thought, green peppers, yellow peppers and red peppers were all different varieties. Ha ha. Imagine my surprise when they turned from green to yellow to red. Embarrassing. Well, now I know. My next endeavour is to try and grow garlic. The time to sow is near.

Interesting fact. If you buy a clove of garlic from any store in South Africa and stick it in the ground it will rot and die. This is because ALL commercially available garlic is imported from China and is irradiated first in a massive irradiator. Everytime I crush a clove of garlic in my Joseph and Joseph garlic press I feel like I’m adding Chinese lead paint to my dish, with a touch of nuclear. You know who likes gamma rays? The incredible hulk. Joey not so much. This coming from someone who stuffs his face with carcinogenic cereal every day. So maybe this paragraph lacks the sobriety it deserves.

I would also like to keep my own chickens. At some stage. I’m not sure how the German Shepherd would feel about this is, being similar to Hadedas, with whom she has a complex love/hate relationship. The Basset hound I feel would care very little, because he is a very insular motherfucker. Its not his fault. Its basically genetic. Also he is French, so really what chance does he have?


Although to be fair I love French food. French cars, beer and revolution not so much.

I had this notion that I was going to weld up something today. (A feature of spending my day in the warehouse yesterday) Last night I even thought about being a little bit proactive and packing my welding helmet so I wouldn’t forget it this morning. Alas my mind being the featureless gray expanse it is, I forgot. I think I do have some dodgy welding goggles lying around here somewhere, you know the, Dr Horrible/steam punk kind that will likely permanently burn purple spots into my vision if I use them. Not sure I’m willing to accept that trade off just yet.

Maybe I’ll remember my helmet tomorrow…