I don't speak slang

Bra, last night was a lank sick jol, bra, epic smut with my floss. What is that? What does that mean? Surely there are easier ways of communicating the grandeur of the previous evening’s festivities. I’m not saying that I’m completely against the use of slang. It just eludes me how people can use it so often in the space of one sentence. Slang has penetrated the English language and cemented it’s prominence in the vocabulary of the wannabee surfers and try-hard hipsters.

Do I use slang? Yes, occasionally I do. It’s good to keep up with the times and know what people are actually saying when they feed you a mouthfull of gibberish. But slang should be used with caution. It should be the small hint of spice in an already delicious dish. Slang is there to complement your vocabulary, not to dominate it.

People can get too attached to slang and end up relying on it to communicate. This translates into a neglect for the English Language and people begin to flounder when faced with having to string together a sensible sentence. But the way people speak has changed a lot over the years. I would find it rather disturbing and slightly amusing if we all spoke the way they did in Shakespeare’s time. So I’m not saying we need to halt the evolution of human speech.

Slang is also used too loosely. Because slang words are fabricated, their definition is hard to pin down. Take, for example, the word, “vibe”. “Vibe” can be used in various ways to mean different things. “Last night was such a vibe.”; “Are you two vibing?”; “What’s you’re vibe tonight?”; "Let’s have a vibe at your place this weekend.”. Basically, the word “vibe” can be slotted in to replace the words: good time, flirting/courting, plans and party. Imagine you were to actually construct a sentence using all those words but substitute them with vibe. It would not make sense. The thing that frightens me is that people exist out there who would do such a thing and think nothing of it.

Slang is a wonderful thing. It really is. I find it to be an expression of one’s creativity since, after, all that’s essentially what it is – People creating new words or new ways of using words. I just don’t want the English Language to be forgotten about. Let slang be a device used in moderation. As in most cases, “less is more”. Don’t let slang rule your tongue. People have a lot of interesting and important things to say. Why not say it properly?

'Punch a taxi driver in the face' - day

They hoot, they swerve, they shout, they speed, they overload and they multiply, but can they actually drive? Legally, that is. Taxi drivers in South Africa are the excrement under my shoe. They dispel any concern for etiquette on the roads and cause drivers unnecessary anxiety and road rage. They pack their Toyota “busses” far past their capacity and drive without concern for the lives on board or surrounding. Their negligence is the source of so many traffic accidents yet they continue to pursue their aspiration of being the most inept drivers on the road.

Yesterday, my father was cycling in Port Elizabeth along the beachfront. This is something he does regularly, being the fitness junkie he is. He probably left the house that day expecting to get some exercise under his belt with the added bonus of catching some fresh air. He wouldn’t have given much thought to the possibility of being assaulted by a taxi. He should have, however. While cycling along the side of the road, a delinquent taxi driver decided, in his mindless haste, to swerve (as they do) into my dad. Their intention was unclear but taxi drivers can’t be held capable of actual thought. My dad was knocked off his bike and fell to the ground landing with his arm under the taxi.

Luckily the taxi driver stopped before he could do more damage, got out his vehicle and helped my dad to his feet, all the while apologising profusely. If that sounds fabricated, it’s because it is. Taxi drivers don’t stop. They probably don’t know how to. So, over my dad’s arm he drove, completely oblivious to the destruction left in his wake. Luckily a driver (with a license) saw the incident unravel and stopped to assist my injured father. Apparently the taxi was inches away from murder.

So what’s to be done now? Do you go to the police? Do you get the insurance details of the taxi driver? Do you act surprised when you find out the taxi driver can’t even spell insurance?

Taxi drivers are traffic menaces. But we can’t blame them since they don’t know how to drive. If you were to place a 7 year old child in the driver’s seat, hand them the keys and tell them to “go wild”, you’re asking for an accident to happen. But, do you blame the child? No, children don’t know any better. You blame the person who allowed them get behind the wheel. This government is beyond help when it comes to the leniency with taxis in this country. They are always too full, too fast and too reckless. But, they provide transport for the masses so they can be justified as being ‘necessary’. Another thing that can be justified as a ‘necessity’ would be drivers having obtained a legitimate driving license. Also, justice could be thrown in there, but who am I kidding.

Face the fats

If you don't get this print ad, you're a moron. In all its simplicity, it communicates the insight in a recognisable, funny and relateable way. The visual is very effective in collaborating the insights: if you're overweight, you're unhappy about it and if you're overweight, you most likely want to change that.

In a perfect world, we would all have bodies resembling either that of Brad Pitt in Fight Club or Gisele Bundchen in, well, life. But this world is far from perfect, I'm afraid. You see more Rosie Odonalds and John Goodmans slumping around in our painful reality.

But it doesn't have to be this way. No, Speed-Fit provides the opportunity to combat the unhappiness attatched to being overweight by getting in shape. They promise a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, you're just going to have to run all the way there to get it.

The visual of an overweight man's stomach resembling, in all its spectacular irony, a sad face provides a bit of comic relief. The comedic appeal of the ad entices you to pay some attention to what's written in the lower, left-hand corner. "Unhappy with the shape you're in?". People who have an issue with their weight or physical appearance look at this ad and think: "Yes, I am.". The humourous nature of the visual is dissarming and allows you to have a laugh at the situation depicted while still being able to relate to it.

So many advertisements concerned with improving your physical condition involve barbie and ken wannabees. They blindly promise that if you make use of the product or service being advertised, "you too could look like this"! I find those adverts mindless and insulting. This print ad simply states the obvious and offers a solution. Also, it's a concern if your stomach is capable of expression.

Its ok, rather you drive.

I love the show, Top Gear. At the same time, I'm not the biggest fan of cars. I like them. I like my car. I wouldn't mind a nice new car. Do I buy the latest issues of the various car magazines every month? No, I don't.

Back to Top Gear. This show may be all about cars and subjects related to cars but that isn't the source of the shows entertainment value for me. It's the blend of the show's presenters, activities and humour that give it its pulse, in my opinion. A key characteristic possessed by most of the Top Gear viewers, I presume, is that they can actually drive a car and enjoy driving. I don't particularly fit this mold.

I can drive. I've been legally driving for almost 4 years now. But if ever there are more than two people with a driver's license present in a car, you're most likely to find me sitting in the passenger seat. This was not always the case, however.

In the beginning of my new found, car driven independence, I was besotted with driving. I had just passed my license test and was ready to take full advantage of all the perks that little signed piece of paper had to offer me. If anyone ever needed to be lifted somewhere, I would drive them. If the parental units forgot to buy something from the shops and wanted to go back and get it, I would run, no, drive that errand for them. If anyone ever needed a "designated dave" come "sober cobra" come "Mr responsible" to lift everyone home after a night out, I would...not necessarily do that.

But you get the picture.
You can finally drive on the open roads secure in the knowledge that you're not breaking any laws and don't require a big "L" on the back window and mum in the passenger seat. This is what people term: "the honeymoon phase". Its new, fun and exciting but pretty soon it'll pass. Then sets in the reality that driving is not all its cracked up to be.


Once the novelty has worn off, driving is exposed as the tedious task it is. Traffic is a complete nightmare. The continuous stop-start motion you experience amoung a see of seemingly stationary cars can be nauseating. This would be the perfect time to drift off and hang out in dream land for a bit but alas that is not an option. God forbid the person in front of you moves a few inches forward and you don't reciprocate by covering newly available ground. Road rage is also a reality amoungst drivers. Every driver on the road has the mindset that they're the best and if ever something were to go wrong, it would be on the other drivers behalf. The hooter is a road-rage-driver's best friend. They also feel the need to prove this sentiment over and over again.

Back to my point. I'm a competent driver. I just don't enjoy being in the driver's seat clasping the steering wheel. If I need to get from A to B and someone other than myself is willing to make that happen, then by all means, take my car keys. I'll be content to sit back in the passenger seat, play around with the stereo and watch the outside world fly by while you deal with traffic lights, road rules, pedestrians, other vehicles and the clutch.If we really all enjoyed driving that much - it would be a lot easier to get a cab.  



 

"It did it by accident"

Ok, I know this print ad is boarder line cheesy but I find it charming. It could be the use of colours or the photography? Most likely its appeal stems from the hyperbolic nature of the ad. I enjoy a good hyperbole.

The ad is for Vitamins for children. The image here displays two kids playing an interrupted game of cricket while observing a plane falling from the sky. The plane appears to be crashing. Any guesses as to why the plane would be crashing? Personally, a kamikaze pilot isn't the first thing that comes to mind. Also, that would make for a terrible print ad when children and vitamins are involved.

Of course, it was the children who accomplished this feat, the one holding the bat in particular. We assume from the images provided that the reason their cricket game is interrupted is not because they suddenly noticed a plane crashing in the distance. No, their game is interrupted because they have no ball to play with. Where is the ball you may ask? Probably in the turbine of that plane.

So how did that cricket ball get all the way there one has to wonder. It's simple; the boy holding the cricket bat hit it there. ALL THE WAY THERE! This is quite an accomplished distance for even the professionals. Here's where we get our big clue. Look in the bottom right hand corner and you will find the logo and slogan for a children's vitamin product. Tah dah! The reason for this kid being able to send that cricket ball flying off in the distance and send a plane crashing down is because he took the before mentioned vitamins.

I think this ad, although completely exaggerated, communicates the message in the right way. Children hate taking their vitamins. I know I did. Children also have an astounding imagination. For this reason, a kid would look at this ad and actually believe that if they were to take these vitamins, they too would gain such extraordinary ability. But children don't buy vitamins. That's their parent's job. And hopefully their parent's aren't children themselves. But parents understand their children and would be disarmed by the charming humour of this ad. It would also create some good leverage for a parent trying to get their kid to actually take dam things! 

This one time, at gym camp...

If you're an avid people watcher like me, then drop everything and get over to your nearest Virgin Active. Here lies the breeding ground for the interesting and bizarre.

I recently joined the gym, Wembly Square Virgin Active to be precise, and have been astounded by the social dynamics infested here. I am a swimmer and enjoy the more aquatic side of exercise. This has impeded my ability to people-watch due to the fact that the swimming pool is on the lower level of the gym and I spend most of my time under the water. Today has been different, however. I was stuck in the tedious 5pm Cape Town traffic and decided to do an about turn revisit the gym where I had just come from.

This is now peek hour, meaning people...LOTS of people. So I decided to hang around and just merely do some observing, a favourite pass time of mine. This time I went nowhere near the boring pool but instead upstairs to the land lovers. Here, I was greeted by a watering hole for a collection of different breeds. I'll paint a picture for you.

We have on the one side, the beautiful 20-something women bouncing up and down the treadmills and exercise bikes accompanied by the older crowd trying desperately to keep up. These girls don't just throw on their gym clothes, hop in their car and arrive at the gym. No, its obvious that a lot more effort has gone into their appearance for their performance that day. I say performance because that's the impression one gets while watching them. Their stage (the treadmills) is perched perfectly alongside the railing of the second level of the gym in the center above the pool providing optimal viewing pleasure for their audience. Their run is not so much a plow forward but rather a graceful hop accentuating the flick of their hair and the movement of their assets. All the while they are flanked by the 40-somethings trying desperately to hold the youth being exhibited. 

Turn now to the weights section. Here, vanity can be considered a mild, understated description for the breed under study. This area of the gym is wallpapered with mirrors. BIG mirrors! A ballet studio probably has fewer mirrors. Testosterone pollutes the air and giant men in tiny clothing can be seen completely fixated with their own reflection. I could probably parade around the weights section in a purple Barney suite and nobody would pay me the slightest bit of attention. The environment here is stained with a perverse ambition to be bigger than the guy next to you. Ironically, these people wouldn't be able conduct such a comparison as that would require their attention being directed toward someone other than themselves.

 

Then there are the old people. They're not here to improve their image or build self confidence but rather to hold onto life. They don't confine to a specific area of their own, instead they're found scattered around the gym trying everything. I admire these folk for their zest for life and ambition to stay alive and healthy. However, this admiration dissolves the minute I walk into the changing room. I'm not accustomed to any form of change-room etiquette but I'm pretty sure it would dispel birthday suites as a dress code for these fossils. Don't get me wrong, I love old people. Their sage wisdom and matured outlook on life make them essential beacons of guidance for the youth. I just prefer them with their clothes on. For example: In the sauna, is it really necessary to do your post work out stretches? Could they not be done in a more private setting without the involvement of a reluctant audience?

I'm sure my perception of the gym and gym-goers alike may seem to be somewhat patronising. Let me remind you that I, too, frequent the gym. Therefore I consider myself to be one of the many specimens under study here at Virgin Active. People-watchers surely look at me and critique how I conduct myself during my exercise regime and probably have a good laugh. What I want to know, is this:

People who go to the gym are there to improve themselves. 

This must surely mean they are insecure of concerned about something to do with their appearance. 

Why then would one choose to address this concern in a public exercise facility?

My understanding is that people choose to endure the grueling exercises, watchful eyes and inevitable comparisons for the promise of better health, improved physical condition and an overall self esteem boost in the end. The pain surely must be worth the gain.

   

 

Its a dog's life

 

I'm an animal person, specifically a dog lover. Cats I can't stand, but that's off topic. Back to dogs. We all love man's best friend. There's method behind the madness with regard to that sentiment. Dogs are our furry friends who love and adore us. They're always happy to see you when you arrive home, they obey your every command, give you all the love and attention you could ask for and, if you’re lucky, bring you your paper and slippers every morning. But why all this adoration and obedience? Why do they sit when told, are quite happy to sleep outside and respectfully comply with the various house rules. The answer is simple. 

Dog loves food.

Man has food.

Man gives food to dog.

Dog loves man.

When training a dog, the only incentive for it to actually obey commands is the prospect of getting a treat as a 'reward' for being a "clever boy". Dogs are not clever. They're rather stupid if you ask me. Stupid and hungry. 

If I were a dog and my owner told me to sit for their own amusement I'd tell them to sod off and then pee on the expensive carpet for good measure. But like I say, dogs are stupid. In this print ad, however, we assume the opposite. The insight captured here is that our pets see everything that goes on in our homes. Because they can't speak; they can’t spill our dirty little secrets. That doesn't necessarily mean that they can't do some crafty exposure. 

The print ad depicts a woman in bed greeting her husband who has just arrived home from piloting a flight. They are accompanied in their bedroom by their dog and a pair of feet belonging to, we presume, a 'special guest'. The dog has exposed this 'special guest's' hideout by pulling at the curtains and thus brutally exposing the wife's infidelity. But dogs love their owners? So why on earth would this dog do such a thing?

"BAD FOOD, BAD DOG."

The catch phrase ties is all up nicely. Quick recap:

Dog loves food.

Man has food.

Man give food to dog.

Dog not satisfied with food.

Dog not very happy with man. 

This woman has obviously not been feeding her dog the quality food it deserves and the dog has rebelled by displaying her affair to her husband. The moral of the story comes down to this: Keep your pets happy by feeding them the right food. At the end of the day, its better to have them on your side.