Sundown Ranch Hotel, Boshoek, Pilanesberg, North West Province

Friday, August 19, 2005 -- Later Still

Service: *
Food: *
Ambience: *
Babe Count: *

What's the deal with institutional food and gristle?

Do these people think that the money they save on buying lowest grade meat will offset the cost of people not returning? I won't be eating supper here again. And after breakfast tomorrow morning, I won't be eating breakfast here again either.

Supper...

• A buffet with some lumpen potatos.
• Some boiled pumpkin.
• "Beef" curry (yes, the inverted commas are here to convey irony).
• Some kind of fish curry.
• Assorted salads.
• A variety of white bread.
• Tea and coffee (free).
• Drinks you pay for.
• Sweet things for dessert (I'm not religious, but Jesus help me... please!).

And I don't have to spell out what happens when you get to a buffet supper half an hour after everyone else cos you've been told to by the maitre d' and his sidekick cos they "can't seat one person at a table meant for eight". But I'll spell it out anyway.

The food is cold. The meat that's left in the serving dish consists of bone, gristle, and little tufts of edible-ish meat. Almost all of the salads are finished. Except for the popular stuff like beetroot salad. There's a full bowl of that. And not an apology to be heard.

The maitre d' floats up to me as I'm dishing up. "That'll be your table over there," he says, pointing to an "intimate" table directly in front of the tea and coffee area.

The place is still full. And lemme tell you something... the babe count has dropped. What's with cyclist chicks? Do they all have overbites? Or is that just a characteristic of a cheapish hotel near a gambling palace? (For anyone who doesn't know, Sun City is a casino resort, and it's tremendously expensive. Which means that people on a budget, or losers, or desperados stay in place like this, ten minutes away from Sun City. I like to think of myself as being on a budget. But maybe I'm actually a desperado.)

I finish dishing up, put my food down, and make some tea. There's no milk in the jug. And it's a two-litre jug. An industrial-sized jug. With nothing in it.

I schlepp the jug to the maitre d'. "May I have some milk please?"

He takes it from me with a smile, then romps over to the tea and coffee area and searches it. He assumes I'm not watching him, and I see him make an angry gesture with his head, and he slaps an open hand onto the side of the jug. He's clearly furious with some or other member of staff who's duty is to keep the jug filled.

I sit. I start piling a side plate with bones and gristle and bits of tough fat. It's a pile. I eat a bit. It's okay. But tepid. And I want to gag. But I force myself not to, cos this is the only food I'll be eating till breakfast tomorrow. Blah.

The maitre d' brings the milk jug back to the tea and coffee area. He ignores me. I stand up to put milk in my tea, and he simply steps aside and walks off.

Courtesy costs nothing. I'm courteous. He's in the hospitality industry. All I want is a bit of courtesy back.

Actually, I'd best revise that... all I want is courtesy and an antacid tablet for my indigestion.

Sundown Ranch Hotel, Boshoek, Pilanesberg, North West Province

Friday, August 19, 2005 -- Later

Service: *
Food: Looking grim
Ambience: * *
Babe Count: * *

Okay. So the service rating of this place has just plummeted to one star. I haven't actually eaten the food yet, but I've just been in the dining room and seen it. It's looking pretty fuckin' diabolical. Here's the story.

I arrive in the dining room. A waitress and a maitre d' both approach me, slightly too urgently for my liking.

The waitress says, "What is your room number?"

I say, "One oh five."

She looks at her computer printout. "You're here for bed and breakfast, not dinner bed and breakfast."

"I just checked in an hour or two ago, and paid for dinner bed and breakfast," I say.

She shows me the printout. I show her my meal card. "Eish," she says, shaking her head. "These reception people."

The maitre d' steps in. "That's okay, sir," he says. "Go ahead."

A woman with a clipboard steps up to the maitre d'. "Where you gunna sit this guy?" she says. "Is he just one person? We haven't got space for one person. We can't sit him at a table for eight!"

The maitre d' says to me, "Sir, is the table just for yourself?"

"Just me," I say.

The woman says, "Well, we haven't got a table for just one person."

I say, "Well, when will you have a table for me?"

The maitre d' says, "In about five minutes."

She says, "In about half an hour."

"Okay," I say. "So if I come back at eight o'clock you'll have a table for me?"

"Ya," she says.

"Sorry," says the maitre d'.

So I'm back in my room considering making another cup of tea. (Earlier, the service rating hit four stars because I asked the lady at reception to organise me some real milk for my tea. She had them send over a cup full of the stuff. So I don't have to use the powdered coffee-creamer.)

I think I'll be asking them for a free drink at the buffet for my trouble. Harummph.

Sundown Ranch Hotel, Boshoek, Pilanesberg, North West Province

Friday, August 19, 2005

Service: * * * *
Food: Unknown as yet
Ambience: * * *
Babe Count: * * 1/2

I have to be at Sun City tomorrow morning at 8:45, and I didn't wanna drive all this way before daybreak. It's a two-hour-plus drive, and the roads are a little on the narrow side. So I figured I'd treat myself to a night away from Joburg.

The Sundown Ranch Hotel is just ten minutes away from Sun City. And about twenty minutes out of Rustenburg. Which would be ten minutes out of Rustenburg if the road didn't have so many stop signs. I stopped counting at fifteen.

This is quite a charming place. My room is on the ground floor. Non-smoking. And there's a door that leads out onto the pool. All of the rooms are arranged in a circle around the pool. And there's a little refreshment area out there. There's a sign that says, "Coffee and Cake". But it's a lie. There hasn't been coffee or cake anywhere near that pool in at least a decade, judging by the state of the fridge and the counter.

I was lucky to get a room. Alana, the woman who took my booking over the phone, said, "Are you one of the cyclists?"

I said, "Which cyclists would those be?"

She said, "The ones in the ride against cancer."

"Nope," I said.

"Oh," she said. "So then you won't be needing the special breakfast pack? Fruit, some juice, some stuff for the road? Cos the cyclists will be leaving quite early."

"No thanks," I said.

So I'm in my room looking our over the pool. A big room. Huge bed. Real cotton linen, so I won't be getting that awful skin irritation that one gets with polyester sheets.

Hmmmmm. Hang on. There's a lithe blonde babe approaching the pool. With her child, a little girl in a pink costume. The blonde takes a seat in a deckchair, back towards me. Her hair is quite short, curling out at the back. A larger woman joins her. A mullet hairstyle. Long at the back, tightly cropped at the top. Ughhhh.

A lesbian couple?

Nope. The blonde girl turns to talk to the big girl. She has a moustache. She's a man. A cyclist, by the looks of things. One of those damn moments. You know what I'm talking about. When you're driving behind the cyclist, and she's got the most gorgeous arse in the whole world and she turns out to be a he. Ah well.

I didn't bring condoms anyway. I figured I'm not going to be testing out my polyamory with S for a long time to come. And I'm missing her. Pity she couldn't make it here tonight with me. Sigh.

My Flat, Cresta

Thursday, August 18, 2005

Service: * *
Food: * * *
Ambience: * * * 1/2
Babe Count: N/A

Hmmmm. It's been an eventful two months since I last blogged. Quick catchup...

I took a job writing copy for an online gambling empire. My job was to addict fat American housewives to online gaming, via direct response communications. I thought the job would be a wonderful challenge, both to my morals and my skills. I started out in advertising writing direct response, and loved it.

However, this particular company just has no idea about direct response. They also have no idea about how to get creative beings to stay in their employ.

They were clock watchers of the worst kind. I had to be in the office at 9am, take exactly one hour for lunch, and leave no earlier than 6pm. Ugh!!! Now I'm a particularly fast writer. Humungously so. Give me 22 direct response mailers to write, and you'll have them within two days. Budget a week for them, and I'll be sitting with three days of boredom on my hands. If you don't have the grace to give me the time off, I'll be a very frustrated man.

Which is why I left.

I sent out my cv to a coupla corporate video companies, and within half an hour received a response. The company was UNPLUGGED, and they needed a heavyweight writer to do a humour-packed script for Standard Bank. I met with them, was given the job on the spot, and resigned from the online gambling empire immediately.

They're busy putting the finishing touches on the final edit of the video, and the client loves it, according to my producer. Viva!

I then turned down another writing job, cos the money wasn't right for me, and the job felt rather hectically undefined. I'm a fiendishly expensive writer for many reasons. One reason is that I'm realllly good at what I do. Another is that I'm picky about the gigs I get involved in. Another is that I'm actively living my motto: "I live my art in prosperity and abundance."

My philosophy came about a day or so after the planes hit the Twin Towers. I said to myself, "Roy... if you're in a building that gets hit by a plane, you'd bettttttter be doing something you love."

From that day on, I've been moving closer and closer to ONLY doing jobs I love. And charging between R50k and R100k for them. And walking away from those I don't love.

On the love-front, M and I split up. Basically, it wasn't really working for me. She was pretty set on monogamy after my polyamorous exploration stopped.

You may remember that I was in a polyamorous setup with J, and with M, and that they were both cool with it while it was happening. But then J decided it wasn't cool for her, and she quit the arrangement. As soon as that happened, M said, "Okay, Roy! I'm not keen on polyamory, and I want to be in a monogamous relationship with you."

As much as I liked her, the pressure suddenly seemed enormous. And things fizzled out for me.

But then I met S. She's a babe, and I've fallen head-over-heels in love with her. Smitten, I tell you. She and I discussed polyamory, and we're both theoretically cool with it. Our arrangement is that our current relationship is our primary one, but that we're both free to pursue other relationships after discussion with each other. We've both agreed that we won't do any such pursuing until our relationship is fully established.

I have to admit, though, that I'm feeling spectacularly happily monogamous with S. She's pretty much everything I've ever wanted or needed in a woman. She feels like the person I wanna be with. Yummy.

Part of the reason I haven't blogged till now is that I've been putting my energy into building the relationship. And also, she's been a little nervous over my blogging about her. So the arrangement is that I blog without naming her or making it obvious to anyone who doesn't know us who she is. She'll read what I put on the site, and we'll evaluate as we go along.

On other fronts, I'm experiencing a huge creative upsurge. I've just written a short film, which I'll be directing, with Damon Berry shooting. We'll be filming it early next month. And I've been spending some time breaking the script down, storyboarding it, and generally being a director-producer on it.

I'm looking for some actors (based in Johannesburg, South Africa). Lemme know if you're interested in auditioning. I want to make it clear that this is a freebie though. There is NO MONEY involved in the making of this film. None whatsoever. Not a cent. So if you're in it, it's for free. Email me on schmucknews@gmail.com if you're keen.

I'm also pursuing voice-over work seriously.

And a chance encounter over a French beret has led me to a bunch of people who run team-building seminars that I might find myself part of. I'll be sitting in on one of their processes this weekend out in Sun City.

Blogging will now continue as normal. Good to be back.

Fournos, Dunkeld

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Service: * * * 1/2
Food: * * * *
Ambience: * * *
Babe Count: * * * 1/2

I've ordered my chicken crispy. It's the half chicken with a side salad. The side salad is much more generous than before. And the chicken is crispy. Hmmmm.

And I'm still shaking a little bit.

Why'm I shaking? Cos I'm now officially an honest to goodness Citizen of Gauteng (the province or state in which I live).

I was on the phone to Jade, Eran's babe, making arrangements to pick up some headshots of myself that Eran took. I need them to send to my agent, and to voicebank. I had just concluded a successful job interview, and was driving towards Dunkeld. Up Corlett Drive. Turned right into Oxford. Waiting at the red traffic light to turn right into Bompas Road. I phone Jade at the red light.

"If you can come round on the weekend, Eran will be home, and he'll know where to find the disc," Jade says.

"That's cool," I say. And I notice someone knocking on my window. He's got a gun. "Oh shit," I say to Jade, "hang on!" And by mistake, and in my confusion, I terminate the call.

The traffic cop motions me to pull over in a driveway in Bompas. I do so. He comes to my window. "Do you KNOW what you did wrong?" he asks. I notice instantly that there's no name tag in sight. My usual practice in a situation like this would be to be as charming as possible, and talk my way out of it.

"Yes officer," I say. "I want to apologise. I was talking on my cellphone."

"How much you think this fine is?" he asks. He shows me an unblemished book of fines. His pen is ready. "It is five hundred rand," he says.

I step out of the car. "Oh man, officer," I say. "Yeow. Is it possible for you to find it in your heart to forgive me?"

He looks at me. Sideways. "Get back in the car." I do. He goes round to the passenger side. Indicates I should roll down the window. I do. "You know how much the fine is?" he asks again. "Five hundred."

"Is it possible to make it a smaller fine?" I ask.

"How much?" he asks.

"Uhm..." I'm wondering what banknotes I've got in my wallet. If I say fifty rand, and I've only got a hundred buck note, I'm sure as heck not getting change from this chump. Think Roy, think. Okay... I broke a hundred last night. I say, "Would a fifty rand fine be acceptable to you?"

He smiles, pretends to think about it a bit, looks at my li'l red convertible, smiles more broadly. Says, "Fifty rand is acceptable."

"How do I do this, officer?" I've got the note out. He's holding my driver's licence in his right hand. "I've never done this before."

"Fold it small!" he says. "Keep your hand down. I take it when I give you this." He waves the driver's licence.

I fold the fifty in half, and half again. I scoop up a discarded pamphlet from my floor, and hold the note under that. I hand it to him. He gives me the licence, and takes the money. I can't even see his hand move into his pocket. He's slick at this. A very smooth operator.

"Do you promise never to do this again?"

"Officer," I say, "I would be lying if I made that promise. But I can promise I'll TRY not to get caught again."

He smiles. Waves me off.

"Sala gahle," I say in Zulu. (Stay well.)

When I get to Fournos, I realise that this traffic officer, with his gun, and his irrevocable authority, and his absent name tag, is exactly the same as a mugger or a hijacker. He has exactly the same power apparatus behind him... the threat of violence, the power of surprise, the threat of hazy fantasy consequences, the gun. I got mugged, in essence. And every South African who pays a bribe has been mugged in the same way.

When I chat to M about it, she's kinda happy about the fact that I got away with paying just fifty bucks instead of five hundred. I say to her, "Okay... but think about this... what happens if I were a girl in a car on my own, and this WASN'T a crowded intersection but rather the side of the road somewhere. What if the officer solicited a blow job instead of fifty bucks. That's rape. Isn't it?"

Ah fuck it. I'll just eat my chicken and my salad. And I'll think about being a nine-to-sixer for the next while working as a copywriter at an online gaming empire. And I think I'll order a slice of chocolate mousse cake with a decaff cappuccino when I finish my lunch. It's off to gym after anyway.

Roy officially on VoiceBank -- listen to my voice clips online, then hire me as a voice artist!

Ah! It's official! I now have some voice clips on The Voice Bank (http://www.voicebank.co.za/artistlink/artistid912.asp), South Africa's source of quality voice artists. Listen to my voice! Then call my agent and book me!

Blue skies
love
Roy

News Cafe, Sandton

Monday, June 20, 2005

Service: * * * *
Food: * * * 1/2
Ambience: * *
Babe Count: * * *

Damon's just done a voice-over session at Primedia across the road. I gave him a lift, due to Wendy using his car today, due to Wendy's car being stuck in Nelspruit for the next week or so while the mechanics have a field day finding things they can charge her for in fixing her blown head gasket.

"What the hell's that?" asks Damon, as I pull a little home-assembled gizmo from my bag. "Dude!!!" he says. "It's not -- it's not --"

"It is," I say.

A while ago, Damon and I invented a babewatching gizmo that would allow both parties at the table to gawk at the same babe, without one of them craning his head round and looking like a lame rubber-necker. It remained an idea, until I got to London.

I say, "I bought the mirror at a 'one pound store' in London."

The device is a bicycle mirror, attached to a dowel rod, with a sturdy bullclip attaching it to the table or chair.

Damon attaches it to the chair, and bends the arm around so that he can see the waitresses behind him. I've got a great seat, so I can watch them bending over the till in their tight black trousers all the time.

"It works! It works!!!" says Damon.

For the rest of the afternoon, Damon's eyes are glued to the mirror. Strangely, not one waitress comes up to us and asks what this thing is.

"I should have bought two mirrors at the pound store," I say.

"Two EACH," says Damon.

My Flat, Cresta

Sunday, June 19, 2005

Service: * *
Food: * * * *
Ambience: * * * *
Babe Count: N/A

Got a phone call from Damon yesterday morning. "Roy, I need your help, urgently! Have I woken you up?"

I was still half asleep. "Uh, no, it's cool. The phone was ringing anyway."

"Roy, Wendy's car's broken down in Nelspruit, and I'm supposed to be the MC of a poetry slam at St John's. I'm not gonna make it. Can you stand in for me?"

"Absolutely!" I was now wide awake. "Uh... what time's the gig?"

"Two o'clock. Can you make it?"

"Sure," I said. "What happened to Wendy's car?"

Damon and Wendy were down in Timbavati, visiting the White Lion project. One of Wendy's friends runs the thing. So they were delivering a benefit concert for the lions.

"Oh man. We blew a head gasket."

Luckily I was wide awake, so I could respond properly. "Jesus dude! I hope you were in the back seat when this happened. Did you have something to wipe off the fluids?"

"Very funny Roy."

Damon was sounding a little tense. Which happens when you're stuck four hours out of Joburg, and you're not likely to have your own head gasket blown for a while cos your girlfriend's also tense and you're about to spend R5 000 to fix something that shouldn't need fixing.

So I went to the slam, and had huge amounts of fun. I was compering, which is a good thing, cos I haven't performed poetry in a long time now.


After the slam, Kgafela oa Magogodi performed. He had a bassist and a drummer backing him, and his show was simply outstanding. Awesome is the word. Rock 'n roll, bebbe. He's gonna be South Africa's next big star.

In the meantime, I'm waiting for M to get back from Dakar. She was there on business, and she's arriving tonight. We'll be having supper together. Hehehehehe.

I've made myself a sandwich on pumpernickel, with double gloucester cheese and Woolworth's salami. Hmmmmmmmm.

We've had some serious discussions recently. She's glad that J is no longer on the polyamory scene with me, and would prefer it if I don't get a replacement girlfriend. I'm in serious panic mode around this. Makes me feel all tunnel-vision monogamous again, and all my anxiety responses are up. Eeeek. I dunno if I WANT just one girlfriend!!!

Not that there's anything wrong with M! She's hot as heck! And I like her. I like her a lot. Enough to be her boyfriend. But I'm just not certain I'm cut out for monogamy. Ah well. I'll have to play this one by ear.

I've also decided that I'm on the employment market. I've lived a very enjoyable freelance existence for a decade or more, but I'm starting to want some more financial stability in my life.

So here's my plan... I'm going to sell my services on long term contract to anyone who can make use of a serious maverick with a broad skills palette. My resume follows below. If you know anyone who can make use of me, let them know, or let me know.

I'm quite flexible about the work. As long as I'm exercising my creativity, I'm happy.

ROY BLUMENTHAL -- Writer, Artist, Filmmaker, Radio Presenter, Amateur Coffee-Shop Critic, Ka Huna Masseur, Trouble-Shooter, Maverick



Phone: +27 82 659 3165
Email: schmucknews@gmail.com
Blog: http://schmucknews.blogspot.com

o Currently working as a freelance writer/director/producer in television and corporate videos.

o I'm a trained crisis counsellor (back in the old day of the 702 Crisis Centre, I was a volunteer).

o I'm an ex-advertising writer/art director (freelanced most of my working life as a self-contained writer/art director team; was a permanent copywriter at Hunt Lascaris FMC for a while).

o Studied half of an electrical engineering degree at Wits, where I was a journalist and satirist on Wits Student newspaper, edited the RAG mag one year, and was a DJ on Voice of Wits Radio.

o Worked as a sound engineer/controller on the Stan Katz, Chris Gibbons, and Barry Ronge shows on 702 back in the day. Thanks to Voice of Wits for that.

o Was a photo journalist on Paratus magazine, writing satire unbeknownst to the people in charge. (Was a religious objector, of all things. Refused to carry a rifle.)

o Studied eight tenths of a literary theory degree at Unisa.

o Sold advertising space on a weekly newpaper called THE HERALD TIMES for Publico.

o Started doing performance poetry at the Market Theatre Flea Market, and in Pretoria and Verwoerdburgstad (now Centurion). That's where Barefoot Press was born.

o Worked at Exclusive Books Hyde Park as their computer geek, in charge of the database when I left the army. Lasted three months, but organised their literary theory shelf.

o Created a project called "Performance in the Park" at Joubert Park. It was a collaboration between COSAW (the Congress of South African Writers) and the Johannesburg Art Gallery. Every Saturday at noon, I got a bunch of street performers to come in and do stuff for an hour. It was hugely successful.

o Got employed by a telephone dating service for about 7 months. Catered for allllll sorts of people. Men looking for women. Women looking for men. Singles looking for couples. Couples looking for couples. Gay men. Gay women. Affairs. The gamut. By the time I stopped working for them, I could tell EXACTLY what line people were calling by simply listening to their intake of breath before they spoke. I was right a hundred percent of the time.

o Left dating to become a direct response copywriter.

o Stayed with advertising for about eight years before leaving it for the film industry.

o Co-edited a book that went to number one on both Exclusive Books and Facts & Fiction bestseller lists. A WRITER IN STONE was in honour of Lionel Abrahams, the doyen of South African literature.

o Numerous published poetry, and television appearances as a performance poet.

o Started Barefoot Press, a poetry publishing house. Started printing poetry on cloth.

o Started running creativity seminars for RAU and WITS. Still run these.

o Taught copywriting at AAA School of Advertising, and later at VEGA.

o Edited GADGET, the online magazine that Arthur Goldstuck started. Got the readership up from around 800 people a week to approximately 10 000.

o Wrote all of the content for Yaron Assabi's "Digital Mall" while I was there. Also saved Incredible Connection from losing R150 000 in a credit card fraud perpetrated from Malaysia. Spotted what looked like a pattern in ordering, and turned out to be right. Hehehehehehe. Crime Buster Blumenthal. That's me.

o Became a "Production Assistant". This is a glorified term for "Runner", the lowest rung on the filmmaking ladder. Had several very surprised members of the ad fraternity saying, "Roy! Blumenthal!!! What are you doing giving me coffee???? And picking up my cigarette stompies?????"

o Progressed into production. Wrote and made a few short films, notably ARIA (a ten minute film about some ancient ex-Nazi opera singers who have their past confront them) and NOODLES (a one-minute quickie).

o Popped onto the radio as the disher out of "Priceless Advice" on SAfm's Computer Gig. Did that for around 7 or 8 years.

o Ended up at SABC3 on contract for three years as a promo producer. It was my job to get people to watch appalling shows like BUDDY FARO. And better shows like SURVIVOR and THE AMAZING RACE. And I can tell you that it's almost impossible to get a voice artist to say the phrase "Relic Hunter" with a straight face. Say it out loud ten times. Heheheheheh. I learned how to edit at Three. Very cool. I made about 900 promos in that time, 450 of which I cut myself. And that translates to my having directed 900 voiceover sessions.

o Started blogging, turning in irreverent and pointless coffee-shop reviews, and have been doing so for three or four years. Cult following. Have used the phrase, "Do you KNOW who I am???" more than once in an effort to terrify the staff into ensuring that the coffee they give me is indeed decaf.

o Joined Memar as a producer on their Ethiopian education project. Turned the chemistry team around. It was haemorrhaging, and it was my pleasure to fire six people and fix the entire screw-up. Endured a death threat in the process. What a tough skin I have.



o Started taking my art seriously. First exhibited at Gallery 111 in Bez Valley. Then the Spaza Gallery in Troyeville. Then Gordon Froud's Gordart Gallery in Melville. My pictures were also part of the erotica exhibition at Merely Mortal in Craighall.

o Directed half of the episodes of GO-OPEN, a tv series about the Open Source Movement. Mostly magazine-style inserts. One or two studio shoots. All across the country.

o Produced a video soliciting funds from Oprah Winfrey and other sponsors for the SOUL BUDDYZ CLUBS, a social phenomenon that arose around the tv series.

o Did pre-production on a travel and tourism DVD aimed at South Africans in South Africa.

o All sorts of writing odd jobs all the way through.

o Am a level-two Hawaiian Ka Huna massage practitioner.

o My motto: "I live my art in prosperity and abundance."

Now. About the service in this place. "Roy!" I'm saying this aloud as I type. "Bring me some orange tea!"

My Drawings Now on Flickr

Thought you might be interested in viewing my drawings online. I've set up a Flickr account, and I'm steadily uploading my body of work to it. All of my recent ones are up, including those I drew while in London.

The URL is: http://www.flickr.com/photos/56788416@N00/.

Blue skies
love
Roy

My Flat, Cresta

Wednesday, June 8, 2005

Service: *
Food: N/A
Ambience: * * * *
Babe Count: N/A

Back from London now for a week and a half, almost. What a hectic and amazing mind-expansion. Flexed my credit card thoroughly. Gave two ka huna massages while I was there, improvising on the kitchen table at Paul and Pieter's place. Bought an iRIVER mp3 player on Tottenham Court Road for my ka huna practice. Saved about a grand in the process.

My massage bed has arrived, and my dining room has been transformed into my therapy room. Have already given two massages since I've been back. Yay!!! I'll be charging R350 for a 90 minute massage. So if you're interested, lemme know.

The reason I haven't blogged from London is simple and fundamental... my wonderful palmtop computer -- an iPAQ 2210 -- runs the Pocket PC platform. Which means that I am forced to surf the web using a stripped-down version of Internet Explorer. This version DOES NOT ALLOW ME TO ACCESS Blogspot's composer window! The browser crashes!

Now some might say, "Blame Blogspot for not optimising the site for people blogging from Pocket PC palmtops."

I disagree.

I say, "Microsoft! Stop lying to people about the software on palmtops running your crap operating system! Stop lying about this version of Internet Explorer! Stop claiming that the versions of Word and Excel bear ANY resemblance to their MS Office counterparts. GIVE ME A BETTER BROWSER!!!!!!! You fuckers!!!!!!!!!"

That's what I say. (And incidentally, I said something similar to Robert Scoble, Microsoft's chief blogger, but without the swearing. He emailed me back to say he'd get his techies onto it.)

Which is all to say, "Hey... I apologise for not blogging."

The post on the 18th of May was typed on my palmtop, and had to wait to be uploaded from my desktop machine. I've just been really busy since I got back, and have also been in serious hermit mode.

Damon and I shot a movie on Saturday. He wrote, directed, and shot the thing, and I was his only crew member, so I did everything else. It was a realllllll rush.

It was an initiative set up by The Actor's Centre at the Civic Theatre. They came up with this way of getting their members to get some experience in front of the camera. They got four writer/directors to pitch 5-minute scripts set in a waiting room. They ran casting sessions a week before the shoot, with rehearsals during that week. On shooting day, each director had exactly two hours to shoot, and one and-a-half hours to edit. The four films were screened on the night of the shoot!

Damon had amazingly detailed storyboards, and I spent most of the shooting time writing down timecode and evaluating the take for usability. We made it! And the audience loved his movie! (Might have had something to do with the actress. WHAT a babe!!!!)

On the domestic front, it looks like J and I are no longer in itemhood. She had a realisation that polyamory is not for her. So things have cooled drastically with her.

But that's allright. Cos I'm finding myself growing reallllly fond of M. She's serious babeage, and it looks like we're kinda taking things to the next stage. Eeek. Girlfriend/boyfriend stuff. And she'd prefer it if I don't get a replacement for J. And that's okay with me, even though I'll have to spend lots of time in therapy dealing with it. I don't wanna get all tunnel-visioned about her.

That's the news for now.

Be back soon.