I’ve always admired Shakira. Anyone who can come out with the lines
Lucky that my breasts are small and humble So you don’t confuse them with mountains Lucky I have strong legs like my mother
and manage to keep a straight face deserves some modicum of respect. Especially if you’ve seen her mum’s legs.
However, as VH1 played her 2005 hit La Tortura this morning, my son decided that it was time to play with his latest favourite toy: the vacuum cleaner. Thus, with 1400W of Hoover belting away barely 2 feet in front of the telly drowning out her vocal efforts, I was treated to a solely visual performance of the La Tortura video, during which Ms Shakira spills a fair amount of oil over herself (something she probably couldn’t afford to do these days), chops some onions up for a nice casserole and demonstrates the six principles of pilates. Several times over.
I advise you to watch the following video with the sound muted. If you’re from New Zealand, you will particularly appreciate the moment at around 2:17 when she starts doing the Haka. If you’re from anywhere else, there are still several other humble mountain moments to admire.
Welcome to visitors from the 2008 SA Blog Awards site. If you like what you see (and why wouldn’t you?) then it’s in everyone’s interests that you subscribe to the 6000 miles… RSS feed here.
Yes folks, in a show of democracy which would make Vladimir Putin blush and Robert Mugabe quake in his Z$116 billion boots, voting is underway in the 2008 SA Blog Awards. It’s like Barack versus Hillary, but without the racial tension. Which is a first for SA.
Thanks to your nominations, 6000 miles… has been shortlisted in four categories:
The organisers (whom I think are great, by the way) have provided the shortlistees with suitably ostentatious images like the one above to promote our blogs during the voting process. All you have to do to vote for your favourite blog (er… this one) is to click the image above, scroll down to the bottom of the page and enter your email address and the anti-spam code.
The organisers will then send you an email with a link to confirm your vote.
One vote per email address.
It couldn’t be simpler – unless I did it for you. In itself, that isn’t a bad idea but would surely flout the contest rules and the general sporting behaviour for which I am famed when not on a football pitch.
AHEM! You appear to still be here. Shouldn’t you be elsewhere voting by now?
We had a minor break-in at our house on Thursday, which capped a completely crap week off just perfectly (hence the lack of blogging). I don’t really want to go into it, but suffice to say that it really was the final icing on the coffin which broke the camels back.
So it was nice to take advantage of the stunning weekend weather to take the boy up for a run on the local school field. We sat there for a while, enjoying the view and eating jelly and custard in somewhat sombre introspection*. Then the sprinklers came on and he made a dash for it.
20 minutes later we returned home, both soaking wet but still somehow covered in an implausible amount of custard.
It’s amazing how one little thing can swing your whole mood around. It was a reminder that whatever bad things life throws at you, watching your 2 year old son giggling uncontrollably as you both succumb to several hundred litres of high pressure water can sort all your woes out…
* I did anyway. He sat there eating jelly and custard via osmosis.
I may be 34 years old, but despite my distance (both physical and chronological) from the family nest, the voice of my mum (now often experienced via email) still carries that air of authority. Apparently, there aren’t enough “diary entries” on 6000 miles… Nor should I be drinking beer during Lent. This despite the fact that both my mother and I are committed atheists and drunkards.
So. Diary entries. Well, this evening, we attended the Summer Sunset Concert at Kirstenbosch Gardens under threatening, but lenient skies. Arno Carstens was performing, and any South African will tell you that you can’t miss Arno. Once again, he performed some of his great music and totally failed to connect with the audience. Except for that expletive when he got a blast of feedback, which sent several old people home in disgust. Probably mostly retired mixing desk technicians.
I’ve uploaded a few pics from the concert. I’ve got to be honest: once again, it was primarily about the people watching and less about the music. Don’t get me wrong – the music was excellent – but the opportunity to gaze at and comment upon the population of Cape Town’s southern suburbs is not one that can easily be passed up.
Click for bigger versions of each pic
First up, we have a lady who we know, but we don’t. Yes, that friend of a friend thing strikes again. If the wife wasn’t pregnant and had a brain consisting mainly of freshly boiled porridge oats and if I hadn’t had a skinful of Castle Milk Stout, we would remember you. Sorry. I feel that I should offer some sort of reward for your name. I’m thinking “Dave”, but that just doesn’t sound right.
Secondly, an aggravating old bloke who wanted to stalk watch Arno with binoculars the whole time. Creepy. He kept getting irritated with people for standing up and blocking his perving. Fancy. Standing up at a music concert. Whatever next? His lady* friend went on to ignore the no smoking signs and exhaled her fumes all over my pregnant wife. Bitch.
Lastly, a shot of Arno on stage, doing his thing. I may have got a bit of my beer bottle in shot. Sorry about that. Photography isn’t my strong point. Drinking is though and one out of two ain’t bad.
So, Mum; I hope this pacifies you a little. I sat next to a really iritating bloke and his filthy missus just so that I had some stuff to tell the world about. It was worth it though: as I lay back with my 5th bottle of beer and gazed up at the lack of mountain, Arno did his best to sum it all up:
Can you feel it? Can you feel it? It is heaven on earth
Well, Arno – perhaps for you. Personally, I was missing the naked dancing girls, the masseuse, a Debonairs pizza and some sunshine. I guess you just set your standards a little lower than I do. I’m surprised. You always struck me as the naked dancing girl type as well.