Press Release: Where In The World Is Mandy J Watson? (It's Probably Not Where You Think)

The madness continues. PR Peeps frequently send review products for me to the wrong address (sometimes, even, the wrong city, but thankfully that doesn't happen too often).

Dear: [insert your name here if you are a PR Peep]

Where In The World Is Mandy J Watson?

Please find enclosed a release expanding on Mandy J Watson's ability not to be where you incorrectly have assumed she is.

For further information or queries, please do not hesitate to contact me.

Kind regards,

Mandy


---

For Immediate Release

Where In The World Is Mandy J Watson? (It's Probably Not Where You Think)

11 February 2010, Cape Town -- Mandy J Watson, the world's most frustrated[1] tech-culture journalist, is on the move (though not right now)!

As a freelancer, she has many jobs, big and small, and works at many places, though not always at once, but sometimes also all at once, because she knows how to multitask[2].

"Over the years many publications have been very good to me, offering me money and a desk - sometimes even with a computer on it - in return for my journalism services. But because I am a freelancer, I cannot be contained, so I am like a nomad in the wind of the desert of technology, flitting to-and-fro with sand in my eye, creating tears of frustration when my deliveries don't reach me," says Mandy J Watson.

In fact, a startling fact of Many J Watson's nomadic lifestyle is that crucial technological doobiedabs, sent to her for important tech-journalism testing via courier, post, or pigeon, often do not reach her in a timely manner because the PR Peeps sending the doobiedabs to her manifest the wrong delivery address, and it causes untimely delays and sadness.

"Really, the best thing one can do to ascertain my whereabouts ahead of time is to use a revolutionary app I developed a while back while Al Gore[3] was inventing the Internet. I call it email, and it has magical properties. It can find me where ever I am, and I am able to communicate to the whole world using it, and vice versa[4]," says Mandy J Watson.

"In five minutes, PR Peeps can ascertain that I am not where they think I am, and with my help I can correct their misinformation, like a Carte Blanche journalist on the trail of the head of a municipal department who has secretly been running a Hooters in an abandoned governmental building. I want to emphasise this," says Mandy J Watson.

The result, Mandy J Watson believes, will be better communication between all parties concerned and the possibility that she may receive her doobiedabs before they become outdated technology, as Moore's Law is still in operation and is being enforced, even in South Africa where no one adheres to any laws.

Mandy J Watson is the world's most frustrated[1] tech-culture journalist, with regular contributions being contributed to COSMO SA[6] and book.co.za[7]. She is also the founder and co-editor of brainwavez.org, a culture and technology site with reviews of related products that are of interest to geeks and other discerning members of the digital-culture generation.


ENDS


[1] It builds up over many years and eventually it cannot be contained. The result is personal press releases.

[2] Or at least appear to multitask, as we all know the concept of multitasking is a marketing ploy ployed by marketers to sell you computer things and is actually physically impossible!

[3] You may have read this Snopes article[5] disputing Al Gore's involvement but Mandy J Watson, the world's most frustrated[1] tech-culture journalist, assures you that it isn't true.

[4] The ability to contact Mandy J Watson may not be available in all markets. Please contact Mandy J Watson to ascertain whether the facility will be available to you.

[5] http://www.snopes.com/quotes/internet.asp

[6] [7] Please refer to the previous press release for pertinent information pertaining to COSMO SA and book.co.za. By law, by reading this text, you acknowledge that you have read the previous text.


Issued By:
Mandy J Watson

On Behalf Of:
Mandy J Watson


-----
Mandy J Watson
Writer | Copy Editor | Founder Of brainwavez.org
http://www.brainwavez.org/about/people/watson_mandy_j.html
Twitter: http://twitter.com/mandyjwatson

Press Release: Mandy Watson Becomes Mandy J Watson

In case you are wondering, yes - I did have to send this to a PR Peep today; one with whom I have conversed for years. I have made it public so that I can just point other PR Peeps to it in future and so that I may kick off what is likely to be a lot of new posts regarding my ongoing PR nightmare. I cannot remain silent anymore. I only have so much fortitude and can only endure so much silent pain. [ Case in point ]

Dear: [insert your name here if you are a PR Peep]

Mandy Watson (1987) becomes Mandy J Watson (to infinity and beyond).

Please find enclosed a release further expanding on the name change.

For further information or queries, please do not hesitate to contact me.

Kind regards,

Mandy

---

For Immediate Release

Mandy Watson Becomes Mandy J Watson

2 February 2010, Cape Town -- Mandy Watson, the world's second-hottest[1] tech-culture journalist, underwent a personal-brand reinvention in 1987 during a music-theory exam, and from thenceforth wished only to be known as "Mandy J Watson".

According to Mandy J Watson, CEO of the Mandy J Watson brand, the name change signified Mandy J Watson's transition from a nondescript entity to a future Google-search-dominating brand, which continues to operate the same way as before, with the same structure in place, bar many more grey hairs.

"The name reflects my continuing personal-brand strategy, begun at an early age when I realised I was cool, but could be cooler, and what better way to differentiate myself from other Mandy Watsons yet to be discovered but subsequently discovered than by inserting a J in the middle of my branding for more differentiating branding effect," says Mandy J Watson.

"I will continue to offer the same level of ultra-weird-awesome-nifty-cool journalism as I was likely to be offering before I even knew I was going to be offering it, because that is the way of The Force. And futurism," says Mandy J Watson.

Mandy J Watson is the world's second-hottest[1] tech-culture journalist, with regular contributions being contributed to COSMO SA[2] and book.co.za[2]. She is also the founder and co-editor of brainwavez.org, a culture and technology site with reviews of related products that are of interest to geeks and other discerning members of the digital-culture generation.


ENDS


[1] Certain press releases may contain forward-looking statements and should not be taken as fact until we are forwards.

[2] Mention of these entities does not necessarily endorse these brands endorsing the "Mandy J Watson" brand, except they do as it is in print[3]. Or pixels in the case of book.co.za, but that is technically beyond the scope of this press release.

[3] And has been for years, in at least one case.


Issued By:
Mandy J Watson

On Behalf Of:
Mandy J Watson


-----
Mandy J Watson
Writer | Copy Editor | Founder Of brainwavez.org
http://www.brainwavez.org/about/people/watson_mandy_j.html
Twitter: http://twitter.com/mandyjwatson

Shameless Self-Promotion: August 2009

Well here's a post I should have done about three weeks ago but you know how it goes....

August was another bumper month for me in terms of published tech articles - pages I wrote appeared in three consumer magazines:

• COSMO: my regular Gadget Girl page, of course,

• House & Leisure: a special one-off gadgets page focussing on glamorous gadgets, and

• Elle Decoration: a possibly regular page, of which this was the first (things went a little up in the air all of a sudden so I remain rather confused at the moment). Each Elle Deco Tech page is themed and this one focussed on gadgets for kids - I had a lot of fun writing it.

DOMINATION! (::cough::)

If you can still find any of these issues on the shelves grab them, buy them, and keep me in a job! (If you can't - because this post is so late - then steal them from a friend. It won't help to keep me in a job but my writing will enhance your life in mysterious ways - and who wants to miss that?)

Prime Circle At The Launch Of The Nokia Music Store, Johannesburg

[ Flickr link: Orton Effect ]

Above: Yes, yes, it's an Orton Effect....

In April Nokia held a press function in Johannesburg to launch the Nokia Music Store in South Africa. The special music guest was Prime Circle, which played a great set that lasted about 20 minutes.

I don't have much to say about it, so here are some photos (they were taken with a Sony DSC-W290 Cyber-shot digital camera, which I was testing for the July issue of COSMO for my gadgets page):

[ Flickr link ]

Above: The man behind the scenes who sorts out all the awesome (and unpacks and then repacks it in boxes and trunks).

[ Flickr link ]

Above: Smile!

[ Flickr link ]

[ Flickr link ]

And finally, a song:

I was also testing a digital-video camera while filming this (the Sony DCR-SR47 Handycam) so see the YouTube page for notes on that here.

Ice In The Aircon

[ Flickr link ]

Above: Ice in the aircon.

This is about as close as Cape Town will be coming to Europe's current snowfall - ice in the aircon.

Out here, we're having a beautiful summer. Come visit!

Shameless Self-Promotion: December 2008

This was a good portfolio month - two separate gadget pages that I wrote were published in the December 2008 issue of COSMO. One is my normal monthly gadgets page, although it is a special one for this issue of the magazine in that it features a showcase of gift ideas, rather than four or five hands-on product reviews, which is what I normally do for the page.

The other page is a showcase of music-related gadgets for the COSMO Rocks supplement, which is published each year in the December issue. I was also fortunate to work on this supplement as one of the copy editors and I feel quite honoured to be able to say that as it is an interesting exploration of new music, from most of the popular genres, with great design work by the magazine's art director. The content should be of interest to you even if you don't consider yourself a COSMO girl (or guy) and it's really worth reading if you love music.

So if you're looking for something different to page through this month, or are just curious as to what I write for COSMO, keep me in a job and go and buy the December issue! (It's on stands for about two more weeks and has Jessica Alba on the cover. You can't miss it! Now go!)

Janez In The Closet

A cutout of Top Billing's Janez Vermeiren has been drifting around the COSMO office for the past few days. Earlier this year he was voted as being the hottest man in COSMO's 2008 Sexiest Men Calendar (he's Mr September if you wish to haul out your calendar for purposes of ogling) and is listed as one of COSMO's 101 Hottest Men Alive (to find out where he's ranked you'll have to get yourself a copy of the June issue, which is no longer on the stands - ha haaa!). The cutout was made to advertise the June "Hot Men" issue.

Cutouts are quite freaky as they are life size and if you're too near to one you always catch sight of it out of the corner of your eye or feel as if someone is looming over you if it's behind you, both of which can be quite disconcerting, so cutouts never stay in one place for very long before someone quietly moves them elsewhere for some mental relief.

A few years ago a Robbie Williams cutout drifted around the COSMO office for months, scaring small children and most of the staff members who would turn a corner to find themselves unexpectedly face to face with Robbie and his bulging crotch (I make no jokes here).

Anyway, I've been eyeing the Janez cutout since it arrived with the intention of doing something with it (it's an opportunity not to be lost), but no actual idea. This afternoon it finally made its way to behind my desk (in case you are wondering I was not involved in the relocation, I just did not object to it) and I had this bright idea to put it in a nearby closet and take a picture, for some sort of nefarious future use yet to be determined.

Halfway to the closet I paused to say something to a colleague, resting against the rather bulky cutout and cradling it in my arms so that it wouldn't fall over.

"Now that's something I never expected to see," the editor, drifting past in a well-timed manoeuvre, exclaimed.

"...what?" I, oblivious as usual, perturbedly muttered, looking to my colleagues for assistance out of my confusion.

"You, cradling Janez so lovingly and tenderly with his abs resting against you,"* she replied, before drifting off.

I stood there, briefly, then lifted up the cutout, put it in the closet, and took a photo, but by that point I couldn't remember why I wanted to do it.


*(I may have paraphrased this bit slightly because at that moment, caught off guard, all I could think was "Oh, crap!")

When Life Hands You An Orange ...

Someone left an orange on top of the unopened box of CD sleeves that is sitting on our bookshelf/storage thing in the office. (We don't have a cupboard. We have a four-block by five-block storage thing. I have no other word for it.)

(As you can imagine, this is going to be a rather arbitrary [glossary] blog post. I'm in a mood.)

Annoyed, I moved the orange to on top of the filing cabinet that we inherited with our office space. The filing cabinet is rather manky [glossary], and doesn't lock, so we don't actually use it for anything, except now I'm using it to balance an orange.

I moved the orange about two weeks ago.

Today it's still there, on the filing cabinet. I just noticed it again out of the corner of my eye and felt irritated.

I was hoping the owner would magically reclaim it at some point, much like s/he magically placed it on our bookshelf thing a few weeks ago. This hasn't happened.

I'm not sure of what I should do. I don't know why this has suddenly become my responsibility. I have enough responsibility. I really don't need the "random orange that won't go away and should be dealt with" responsibility too.

It's 11am. That orange is annoying the hell out of me.

It's going to be a long day.

The Story About The Thing That I Really Didn't Want To Talk About But I'm Blogging About It Anyway

Towards the end of last week the desk phone of one of my colleagues suddenly stopped working, so she logged a support call and, a very long story later (as these always tend to be), we ended up with a tech guy in our office yesterday, who came to fix the phone.

I shall now, as I always do, switch to the present tense for heightened dramatic effect.

The tech guy, complete with cap, jeans, and large toolbox, appears in our office about five hours after we had been expecting him (that's part of the long story). He tries out the phone. He opens his toolbox. He does tech guy things. Eventually it becomes boring so we all go back to work.

He leaves, he returns. We continue working. My colleague leaves the office for some reason. I keep half an eye on the tech guy because there's something a little odd about him. My other colleagues in the room continue on with their work. It is deadline, after all, and no one's given us alcohol, so we're all in a bad mood.

So the tech guy is fiddling with his tools and then crouches down under the desk. As he does so I hear a sound that I really don't want to be hearing. In fact, I'm hoping that the zipperish sound is an actual zip, and not what I think it is.

About a minute later an odour wafts past my desk heading off towards the ether. Except the ether is on the other side of a wall of windows that can't be opened, leaving me trapped in a room with a smell that can't dissipate.

Naturally, I begin to feel nauseous.

The tech guy continues to play with his tools, trying very hard to pretend that he's not responsible for this ecological disaster. In fact, he does such a good job of it that I begin to suspect that perhaps he doesn't actually know that he is responsible. Or that it truly is a disaster.

It's lunch time. I am practically starving, but I can't eat my lunch because the thought of food makes me want to vomit. In fact, it takes about two hours - waaaay past lunch time - before I can stomach consuming my carefully prepared piece of stuffed butternut, but all the joy has been taken out of it. I am not amused by this.

Meanwhile, the tech guy disappears, but we hear hammering sounds from nearby for the next 40 minutes, so we presume he's fixing something.

The tech guy reappears at my colleague's desk and starts fiddling again. Even though he's a couple of metres away from me I am feeling so invaded, in terms of my personal space, that I am cringing. I try to focus on my work but can't, and glance his way. I notice that his jeans are rather worn out, which isn't a big deal because I am wearing similar jeans today, but I notice that his jeans aren't so much worn-out blue as worn-out blueish streaked with grimy brown. In other words, they've probably never been washed.

Not pleasant.

He disappears, reappears, disappears, the work goes on. Eventually he returns to the office, picks up the handset of the now-fixed phone and - I kid you not - phones a friend and shouts something to the effect of: "Whad-up dawg!! Is it working?" into the phone. I presume he was trying to impress me with his knowledge of Ebonics, or something. I don't know; I was still so nauseous that I couldn't laugh cynically at the absurdity of a South African white boy trying to sound like an African American hip-hop artist and was just willing him To Go. Away.

My colleague, who had left the room again, returns to her desk and the tech guy informs her that her phone is now working. She is pleased, and thanks him, and then demurely says "...and hopefully I won't have to call you again," which is a reference to the fact that she didn't have a working phone for days on end and wouldn't like to repeat that experience (or the experience of trying to get someone to fix it).

"That would be a pity," replies the tech guy, sheepishly, gaze roaming the carpet while he daydreams about their five kids, because he's far too attracted to her to look her in the eyes as he says it.

Ooh. Sparks igniting while my nausea grows. Go. Away.

Realising that the romance probably isn't going to go anywhere anytime soon the tech guy leaves, and my colleague picks up her phone to try it out, but then exclaims: "Yuck! It smells like cigarette smoke."

Of course, because how else would this story end?

Good Vibrations

Please note that this post is not suitable for minors. Avert your eyes immediately!

Today a number of magazine editors (both male and female) in Cape Town received gifts from a fledgling publication looking for wider exposure (a poor choice of words, as you'll soon see). This is not unusual, of course, except that the magazine in question, intiem, is best described as a sex magazine for Afrikaans women (aged 25+), from a Christian perspective. So, in other words, it has a market of about three people.

One of the magazines for which I do work is a gardening and décor (etc) magazine, and the editor of that magazine was one of the recipients of the gift, which came (another poor choice of words) with a co-marketing suggestion that we should offer a free issue of the magazine to any of our readers interested in receiving it. The gift in question, which was made in China, is, believe it or not, a vibrator disguised (or styled?) as a daisy. Apparently it's suitable for the "home, office, or in the car"*.

The packaging gave no clue as to how this thing might work, as the design (of both the device and the packaging) is a cross between something that would appeal to a gardener (and therefore, I guess, it would be appropriate for our magazine's market) and something that would appeal to a child, so we opened it up to uncover its mysteries.

It uses three button cell batteries (thoughtfully included, as are three spares so, presumably, you won't run out of power in some sort of emergency), and you switch it on and off by turning the yellow part of the daisy. Let's just say it vibrates (much like a cellular phone does), and leave it at that.

I expect my day to end in a manner similar to the following:
"What did you do at work today, Mandy?"
"I handed my boss the batteries for her new vibrator."

Honestly, I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

*And, quite appropriately, one of the other recipients of the gift bag was the editor of a local-travel magazine.

The 11 O'Clock Phone Call From Hell

My office phone rings. It doesn't ring often, but when it does it's usually a wrong number, as people often misdial a number for the Peninsula Technicon and end up with me instead, which I'm sure is a disappointment, although I've had a few lovely chats.

I pick up the phone.

Me: "Hello, Mandy speaking."
Woman, who has the voice of a magazine editor or someone else very important: "Hello, can I speak to [name withheld], please?"
Me: "I'm sorry, you've got the wrong number."
Woman (in a highly-taken-aback manner): "Well, could you redirect the call to him, please?"
Me: "No, I'm saying you have the wrong number - I don't know anyone by that name here."
Woman (annoyed): "What magazine do you work for?"
Me: "[name of my magazine]"
Woman: "Well, [name withheld] works for [another magazine published by the company], so can you put me through to them." (Said in the tone of a demand, not a request.)
Me: "...er...ok, can you hang on for a minute, please?"

I cover the mouthpiece of the phone and look frantically at a colleague, who pulls up the internal list we have that details contact information for pretty much everyone in the organisation (thousands of people).

Me (quietly, to colleague, but rather freaked out): "Is [the other magazine] in Cape Town, or Johannesburg?"
Colleague: "It's in Cape Town. Let me look...oh...there are no phone numbers...."
Me (still speaking quietly, slight quiver of fear in my voice): "Are they not listed?"
Colleague: "Yes, they are, there just aren't any phone numbers."
Me: "That's what I meant - they're in there, just without phone numbers?"
Colleague: "Yes."
Me (panicking): "Ok, thanks."
I return to the phone, apologise, and explain that we don't have the numbers...and realise that the phone is dead. She has hung up on me.

How f***ing rude can you be? I presume she phoned from outside the building and was incorrectly directed to my number. I think she assumed that I was a receptionist (I am not) and should have been more on the ball (and have everyone's phone number, ever), but even if I was a receptionist, you just don't speak to people in this manner. I'm sorry. I don't care how bad your day has been, you just don't treat complete strangers with such contempt.

It's Cheaper Than Electricity And Petrol

The following conversation happened so fast that I couldn't keep up, so apologies if it doesn't quite make sense, but I just had to share it because it's so incredibly South African.

One of my colleagues was asking us our (financial) opinion as to whether he should pay off his credit card first or first spend money erecting a fence around a new property he's bought in a rural area. He then mentioned about local livestock mowing the lawn, but if the fence is erected:

Colleague #1: "...we can't tell Marta to bring her sheep to mow the lawn..."
Me: "Are you serious?"
Colleague #1: "Yes! we found two goats in our yard on the weekend."
[Discussion about the random goats that appeared on the property and "mowed" the lawn and how that wouldn't have happened if they had the fence.]
Colleague #2: "It was so cool when the goats were roaming around there...."
Colleague #1: "Yes, and we can get 10 sheep for free to come and clean up, otherwise we are going to get the bill from the municipality every year about cleaning up our plot."
Colleague #3: "Is it sheep or goats?"
Colleague #2: "No...Marta at the post office - she has 10 sheep..."
Colleague #1: "...she's looking for a restaurant for them..."
Colleague #3: "...so, free lawnmower and manure?"

The Pot Of Gold At The End Of The Rainbow

It's winter in Cape Town, which means erratic weather and (usually) lots of rain. Yesterday we went from slightly overcast to rain, to rain with sun, to sun, to overcast, to heavy rain, and then, finally, to more overcast in about nine hours. It makes it incredibly difficult to dress for the day because - between the TV weather broadcasts and predictions the night before, which are almost always wrong when it comes to the Cape region, and the actual weather, which reinvents itself every 30 minutes - you are usually either overdressed or underdressed when it comes to being warm and weatherproof versus freezing and damp (or one of many other unholy combinations).

(And don't get me started on the little man who controls the aircon for the entire building and who usually chooses to make it freezing when it's warm outside and freezing when it's cold outside, unless he's decided to make it rather warm when it's warm outside or - the pleasant exception to whatever rule he lives by - warm when it's cold outside.)

Yesterday, however, between bursts of weather erraticism, while the rain was on one mission and the clouds on another, we were treated to a brief display of beauty that spanned our entire view of the city: a magnificent rainbow.

Above: The full span of yesterday's rainbow.

Above: Closeup of the right-hand side of the rainbow.

I've included the closeup above for astute readers who may have noticed on the previous picture that the right-hand side of the rainbow deftly curves past the LG building and lands directly on the SARS* building. I'm not sure whether this is ominous or auspicious but, nevertheless, there you have it: irrefutable proof direct from the universe - Cape Town's equivalent of Fort Knox is most definitely somewhere in the SARS building.

*For any international readers, "SARS" stands for South African Revenue Service (the South African equivalent of the US's IRS) and not Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome, although the symptoms are similar and we appreciate the irony.

Another Office Perk

This weekend one of my coworkers tried a scone recipe that we are publishing in an upcoming issue of one of the magazines I work on, and it was a huge flop. So, this morning, he explained to the food department what had happened and that he thought there was something wrong with the recipe.

A few minutes later a member of the food department arrived in our office with a plate of freshly baked scones, butter, and strawberry jam. She had tested out the recipe and found the fault, and we were receiving the results of the testing. Yummy.

They were huge scones, too, with a crispy shell, and they were soft and warm on the inside. The butter melted immediately. It was quite heavenly.

It almost makes up for all the days we didn't have scones in the office...

So Much For The New South Africa

Yesterday one of my many managers wandered into our office with an official form she had to fill out, detailing everyone's highest education level and - what I only realised later when others started asking questions - our gender and race. When pressed for answers she said it had to do with the company's equality levels, as - as far as I know, and putting it quite basically - companies have to strive to have their body of employees represent, statistically, South Africa's population breakdown in terms of race.

A few weeks ago when I was at another job and had to fill in an employee information form, one of the questions I had to fill in was to tick a box detailing whether I was white, black, indian or coloured (South Africa's usual list of racial classifications), as well as my gender and whether I was single/married/divorced/separated/whatevered. Again, it was stated on the form that the race question had to do with equality requirements.

This has all - once again - brought to the forefront one of the many ridiculous issues that still plagues our country. I can choose to ignore the partnership status questions (although perhaps to my eventual peril?), but I can't ignore the gender question and I definitely cannot ignore the race question as, even if I choose not to fill it in, someone else will do so for me, as my manager automatically did yesterday without me even knowing initially that there was a question about it.

We are all supposed to be equal in the New South Africa and yet - in order to "achieve" this - our rights are trampled on on a daily basis. We are all told repeatedly that we must get over the race "thing", yet we are never allowed to move forward, as bureaucracy still dictates that we have to be classified on the same grounds that were used, years ago, to oppress the very same people that supposedly are now being liberated by this violation.

A Brief Interlude After Lunch

I return to my office after having scavenged leftover food from the magazine test kitchen to find one of my colleagues in a bit of a tizz. She's been looking for an important deposit slip that she had had on her desk that had then flown off (literally) into oblivion, as things do. (I swear, I have a theory about black and/or worm holes and items that vanish into thin air, but that's for another post). We search the room again, but it's nowhere to be found, although I do find a 5c piece (which, unfortunately, wasn't mine, so I gave it to my colleague).

About an hour later she gets up from her desk, once again obsessing about the Slip Of Oblivion. Again we start looking under furniture and behind objects, but nothing. I climb under her desk and notice a small round object under the wires next to her computer.
Me: "...Did you eat grapes today?"
Colleague: "No..."
Me: "Did you eat something that was round and black?"
Colleague: "Yes! Is that my olive?" [She climbs under the desk with me.] "Where is it? I was looking all over for it..."

Even The Rich Reuse And Recycle

Yesterday I attended a rather high-profile press function in Cape Town. (I won't say any more about it, specifically, in order to protect the guilty.)

As usual, we were all given those plastic name tags into which the PR lady or, more likely, her junior, junior assistant, inserts a piece of paper with your name and who or what you are representing printed on it. If you are lucky. If you are unlucky and have fallen off their little list (or have arrived without replying to and accepting the invitation prior to the event) you end up with a hand-written piece of paper that other guests usually squint at when they try to read it, as the handwriting is usually illegible. It immediately makes you more of a social outcast.

These particular plastic name tags were the variety that only have the safety pin at the back, and no clip. I am no fan of safety pins in these situations because you usually have to find some way to attach the name tag to yourself in a rather hurried manner, and you usually have to try about three times before you get the thing remotely akin to something one could call straight. In fact, one person at the event, it seemed, was incapable of doing this and ended up wearing her tag vertically, which I found most amusing. Being a safety pin, of course, you also actually have to insert the damn thing through your clothing, which makes holes. Usually this is not particularly problematic or permanent as the pins are sharp, unless a situation arises such as that which happened to me yesterday - the safety pin was blunt. It took me a number of attempts to try and get the thing through my T-shirt, and all the while I was trying to hold a conversation with a colleague and avoid the gazes of the wait staff who were desperately looking for someone to serve.

A while later, still not satisfied with the outcome of my attempts and thinking that the badge was a little low (it was drawing gazer's eyes to an area I'd prefer they would not needlessly have to gaze towards...not at a press function, anyway), I decided to remove the badge and try again. To my horror, I found a huge hole in my T-shirt, so I had to put the badge back almost exactly where it was to try and cover up the hole.

At this point I would also like to point out that it is one of my favourite T-shirts although, thankfully, not one of my expensive ones.

The function then proceeded (20 minutes late, but that's normal for an event held in Cape Town) and later, on the way out, we were presented with our press packages, which were given to us in exchange for our plastic name tags.

Suddenly it all made sense. The safety pin was blunt because the badge had probably been used about 15 times before at other events, and the PR agency obviously doesn't have a safety-pin sharpener and polisher employed to maintain the quality of the tags. I can think of no other answer, as this has never happened to me before.

Now, I'm all for recycling - after all, I have amassed a small collection of these plastic badges at home from previous events, as no one's ever asked for them back and throwing them away seems so wasteful. I'm thinking of holding a press function at my house just so that I can get some use out of them. However, reusing these badges to the point at which they no longer have a point is a little ridiculous.

And my favourite T-shirt now has a strategically inconvenient hole in it, which really doesn't make me feel happy.

Afternoon Monologues From The Public-Address System

Currently we are experiencing rolling blackouts and random power failures and all sorts of things like that all over the province. I won't go into it (at least, not today), because it will end up in a big old boring ranty blog post. I'm sure there are enough Cape Town and South African blogs that have covered the drama.

Our office building recently managed, somehow, to obtain power from somewhere, so our lights are always on these days (although nothing much else is rescued), which is very exciting. However, our servers and other vital business tools, and the lifts, tend to come and go as they please, like yesterday. Yesterday, while we were busy finishing off our deadline production - already a day late - the servers suddenly went down, quickly followed by the Internet connection and the email system. And then the lifts stopped working, which is one thing we've become used to. So what do you do when you can't do anything? I found some personal work (for one of my web sites) that I could do, but everyone else was bored and wandering the hallways (but not the staircase). We were all too annoyed - being so close to being done with our deadline work - to banter, so there was only one thrilling exchange I can share with you:

20060302 12:25
Male Colleague: "I'm not saying this because I just walked into the office...but...there is this weird food smell down the passage."
Me: "Yes, I smelt it earlier. They're making food down there [for an article] or something." [Turned out they actually weren't.]
Male Colleague: "No, it's in the corner there. It's a human smell."
Everyone in the office (confused and utterly grossed out): "What?!"
Male Colleague: "It's someone's cooked lunch. Down the passage, in the corner. It smells awful."
Everyone randomly: "Yeah."
(beat)
Male Colleague (to himself): "...the smell of stress and sweat..."
Female Colleague: "You're very poetic today."

Personally, I thought perhaps someone had died from boredom in a corner somewhere.

The server, Internet, and email all eventually returned, but not the lifts. It seems that the building-operations people have some sort of super-power control over them. We learnt this via the building-wide public-address system, something that no one knew existed until the first round of power failures in November, when we were all startled on one particular day by the sound of what seemed to be an airport public-address sound, and then suddenly an ethereal voice floated out of speakers in the passageway ceilings throughout the building, which we had previously not noticed were there. (So who knows where all the secret mini cameras and microphones are hiding. *Ack!*)

The same thing happened yesterday afternoon. Repeatedly. In response we all mocked the ethereal voice and then most of the staff packed up their stuff and rushed to the lifts to get out of the building (the easy way) while they could.

16:14
Bing Bang Bong [the sound of the office "airport" announcement system].
[Announcement in Afrikaans about the lifts.]
Then (transcribed verbatim): "Attenshin all staff. Wisitors. The lifts will be operated from...sixteen thirty...till sixteen...forty five. From thenwidths, the lifts will be shtohpped again. Thank you."

16:16
Bing Bang Bong.
[Announcement in Afrikaans about the lifts.]
Repeat announcement in English: "Attenshin all staff. The lifts...will be operated...from half-past four...till quarter-to five. The lifts will be operated...from...half-past four till quarter-to five. You've got only fifteen minutes to make use of de lifts. Thank you."

16:27
Bing Bang Bong.
[Annoucement in Afrikaans about the lifts.]
Repeat announcement in English: "Attenshin all staff. De lifts...will now...be in working order for fifteen minutes...and from...then onwidths...it won't be...working...again. It will only be working for fifteen minutes. Thank you.

16:29
Female Colleague #2 (walking past our office as she's leaving for the day): "Ok. We're taking the four-thirty flight."

16:35
By now half the staff from our floor are milling around the elevator area. The lifts have been so busy that they haven't come up to the 20th floor. I walk past.
Me: "Have you missed your flight?"
Female Colleague #2 (with a wry smile): "Our flight's been delayed."

16:36
We hear loud shouting coming from down the corridor and look out to find two people from the maintenance and building operations department(s) shouting into their cellular phones (one to Otis lifts, I think) about the fact that they have missed the window for the lifts and blah blah. They don't even work on our floor. I don't know where they came from (or how they got here).

I only left the office just before six, so I had to take the stairs. On the plus side, I set a new down record. (It's the little things that keep us sane.)

More Merriment In The Office (Alcohol Was Involved. Again.)

So for nearly a week I've been debating as to whether or not I should post this, as I think it's rather risqué (what would my conservative readers think! heh heh) but a number of people who have seen it say I should so, well, here goes (and, hey, it's either talk about this, or talk about power failures and local-government elections):

The day after we drank the Absolut Raspberri vodka, we drank the Absolut Raspberri vodka again. The first time was largely for research purposes (we like to say, anyway), and it proved to have been a vital decision, as it turned out that one of the facts in an article that featured the Absolut Raspberri vodka was wrong, and we only found this out after we opened the bottle (it had to do with the colour of the liquid versus the colour of the bottle). The second time we drank the Absolut Rasberri vodka because it was there. And we could. So we did. We were on deadline, after all. And it was sucking badly. Again.

Then the following happened: *
20060224 13:03
Our boss comes into the office after having been AWOL for a day, even though vital decisions had to be made during that time, and asks a female colleague to prioritise a certain job, then leaves.
Me: "What you should have said was: 'That will not be convenient.'"
Female Colleague: "That will not be convenient."
Me: "Not to me, to [our boss]!"
Female Colleague: "True."
Later.
Female Colleague (to herself): "'That will not be convenient.' I must be careful what I say after a few sips of vodka. I might say something I might regret..."

13:23
A male colleague, who has been working very hard and has been in a bad mood because of all the deadline crap going on and nightmares he has had to deal with, suddenly looks up from his desk and asks: "Do I look drunk?"
We all stop and look at him.
Me: "Do you feel drunk?"
The male colleague nods vigorously with a wry, dozy smile.
Me: "Awesome!"

14:15
A gay male colleague says something to a female colleague in Afrikaans, but I don't catch half of it and can't interpret the rest, so I sit at my desk frowning at him because I'm trying very hard to figure it out.
Gay Male Colleague (frowning at my frown): "Don't give me cliffs."
Me (gazing at him in confusion): "They're not 'cliffs'." [About five minutes later someone mentions that he meant "furrows".]
Gay Male Colleague: "Don't give me eyeballs."
Me: "I'm not giving you eyeballs. You like to be eyeballed-....."
(beat, wherein my brain manages to react before my mouth)
Me: "...I stopped before I took that joke any further..."
(Much hilarity ensues.)

14:50
A gay male colleague starts to sing and chair groove to some Mariah song that suddenly starts playing in his head.
We all stop. Appalled.
Another gay male colleague: "I swear, if that comes on the radio, he turns it up..."
A female colleague (even more appalled): "...No, nooo!..."

15:15
A female colleague (to a male colleague): "...I can't because I'm going to the opera tonight."
Me: "Are you really?"
Female Colleague: "Yes."
Me: "On purpose?"
Female Colleague: "Yes."


* References to individuals have been almost completely removed, otherwise they will kill me. They might anyway.

Being A Journalist Has Its Perks

Today we drank Absolut Raspberri vodka in the office.

For research purposes, of course.

It was a good day.

(I can't mention the rest that went on. We were extra sarcastic and merry.)