Category: rambling waffle

long or incoherent; or both

Translation Iteration — Super Special Edition

Do I have a treat for you! Not sure why I didn’t think of this before, but geeky people will understand.

English/Japanese Translation Iteration. Make your time.

All your base are belong to us. You have no chance to survive. Make your time

あなたの基盤はすべて私達に属するある。 存続するチャンスを有しない。 あなたの時間を作りなさい

Your basis belongs to us entirely, it is. The chance which continues the possession is not done. Make your time

あなたの基礎は私達に、それある完全に属する。 所有物を続けるチャンスは終らなかった。 あなたの時間を作りなさい

Your foundation belongs in us, completely that is. It did not end the chance which continues possession ones. Make your time

あなたの基礎は私達それで完全に、ある属する。 それは所有物を物続けるチャンスを終えなかった。 あなたの時間を作りなさい

Completely, there is your foundation with our that, it belongs. That did not finish the chance which possession ones the thing is continued. Make your time

完全に、私達ののあなたの基礎がそれのそれ属するある。 それは所有物が物事続くチャンスを終えなかった。 あなたの時間を作りなさい

Completely, your foundation our that of that belongs, it is. As for that possession ones phenomenon did not finish the chance which continues. Make your time

完全に、私達のそれの属するあなたの基礎、それはある。 その所有物に関しては物は現象続くチャンスを終えなかった。 あなたの時間を作りなさい

Completely, your foundation to which our that belongs, it is that. The thing phenomenon did not finish the chance which continues in regard to the possession ones. Make your time

完全に、私達のあなたの基礎属する、それをそれがある。 事現象は所有物に関して物を続けるチャンスを終えなかった。 あなたの時間を作りなさい

Completely, our your foundations it belongs, that it is that. Thing phenomenon did not finish the chance which continues the thing in regard to possession ones. Make your time

完全に、私達のあなたの基礎それはそれであること、属する。 事現象は所有物に関して事を物続けるチャンスを終えなかった。 あなたの時間を作りなさい

Completely, our your fundamental that belongs that being. Thing phenomenon did not finish the chance which thing the thing is continued in regard to possession ones. Make your time

Did Not Converge After 7 iterations, and is becoming less and less amusing, and more and more incoherent. At least “Make your time” translates perfectly.

As an extra treat for my readers, I think I’m finally bored of this so we’ll be returning to our usual programming.

Thank you for your patience.

Translation Iteration — Special Edition

That’s right. As not promised previously, the English/French/German iteration, because there is no French/Russian translation!

Sally sells seashells on the seashore. The shells she sells are seashore shells.

Sally vend des seashells sur le bord de la mer. Les coquilles qu’elle se vend sont des coquilles de bord de la mer.

Sally verkauft seashells auf dem Rand des Meeres. Die Schalen, die sie sich verkauft, sind Schalen des Randes des Meeres.

Sally sells seashells on the edge of the sea. The bowls, which them sell themselves, are bowls of the edge of the sea.

Sally vend des seashells sur le bord de la mer. Les cuvettes, qu’elles vente elles-mêmes, sont des cuvettes du bord de la mer.

Sally verkauft seashells auf dem Rand des Meeres. Die Schüsseln nur sie Verkauf selbst sind Schüsseln des Randes des Meeres.

Sally sells seashells on the edge of the sea. The dishes only them sales are dishes of the edge of the sea.

Sally vend des seashells sur le bord de la mer. Les plats seulement ils des ventes sont des plats du bord de la mer.

Sally verkauft seashells auf dem Rand des Meeres. Die Teller nur sie von den Verkäufen sind Teller des Randes des Meeres.

Sally sells seashells on the edge of the sea. The plates only them of the sales are plates of the edge of the sea.

Sally vend des seashells sur le bord de la mer. Les plats seulement ils des ventes sont des plats du bord de la mer.

Sally verkauft seashells auf dem Rand des Meeres. Die Teller nur sie von den Verkäufen sind Teller des Randes des Meeres.

Sally sells seashells on the edge of the sea. The plates only them of the sales are plates of the edge of the sea.

Converged.

I really wish there was a French/Russian translation. This nonsense of shells turning into various types of crockery is boring. I wanted guns to turn into all manner of carnage. Ah well. Back to work then.

Translation Iteration — Russian Edition

Courtesy of Google Translate

Today’s edition is somewhat more amusing than the French one, considering the English/Russian Russian/English translators are still in BETA.

Sally sells seashells on the seashore. The shells she sells are seashore shells.

Салли продает Дек.раковины на берегу моря. Орудий она продает побережья являются морские раковины.

Sally sells seashells on the seashore. Shells it sells off the shells.

Салли продает Дек.раковины на берегу моря. Корпуса продаются у орудий.

Sally sells seashells on the seashore. Shells sold the guns.

Салли продает Дек.раковины на берегу моря. Корпуса продаются ружья.

Sally sells seashells on the seashore. Shells sold shotguns.

Салли продает Дек.раковины на берегу моря. Корпуса продаются ружья.

Converged.

It seems that in America, Sally sells seashells; but in Soviet Russia, shells sell guns.

Forthcoming attraction — English/French/Russian Translation Iteration! Stay tuned!

Translation Iteration – French Edition

Courtesy of Google Translate

Sally sells seashells on the seashore. The shells she sells are seashore shells.

Sally vend des seashells sur le bord de la mer. Les coquilles qu’elle se vend sont des coquilles de bord de la mer.

Sally sells seashells one the seashore. The shells she sells are seashore shells. Sally sells seashells on the edge of the sea. The shells which it is sold are shells of edge of the sea.

Sally vend des seashells un le bord de la mer. Les coquilles qu’elle se vend sont des coquilles de bord de la mer. Sally vend des seashells sur le bord de la mer. Les coquilles qu’elle est vendu sont des coquilles du bord de la mer.

Sally sells seashells edge of the sea. The shells which it is sold are shells of edge of the sea. Sally sells seashells on the edge of the sea. The shells which it is sold are shells of the edge of the sea.

Sally vend le bord de seashells de la mer. Les coquilles qu’elle est vendu sont des coquilles du bord de la mer. Sally vend des seashells sur le bord de la mer. Les coquilles qu’elle est vendu sont des coquilles du bord de la mer.

Sally sells the edge of seashells of the sea. The shells which it is sold are shells of the edge of the sea. Sally sells seashells on the edge of the sea. The shells which it is sold are shells of the edge of the sea.

Sally vend le bord des seashells de la mer. Les coquilles qu’elle est vendu sont des coquilles du bord de la mer. Sally vend des seashells sur le bord de la mer. Les coquilles qu’elle est vendu sont des coquilles du bord de la mer.

Converged.

The Curious Incident of the Spare Wheel in the Night-time

Apologies to readers: this post is long

Apologies to Mark Haddon (or possibly Sir Arthur Conan Doyle) for the title of this post. It also seems that they are making a movie of the book, so that is most excellent. But I digress even before I get started. To the point!

The Point
Yesterday was a mostly tranquil day, with very little to set it aside from any other day. The only thing that was different to usual was that Angie and I went to a place called Fuel Cafe to help Lisa celebrate her birthday.
Lisa was discharged from hospital on Wednesday, so she said we should gather for a “tame boogie” at 10:30.
Given that description and the context, one would be forgiven for expecting that this would be some sort of brunch/tea-like affair. Of course, 10:30 should actually have been read 22h30. This is way past my bedtime. I’m an old man now.

Still, we arrived enthusiastically at about 11p.m., expecting to stay maybe and hour or two.

Fuel is a most excellent spot. It is a club and it has plants in buckets hanging from the ceiling. I don’t think I’ve every seen a club decorated with actual living plant things before.
It also had upturned buckets hanging down. They served as lamp-shades. I wish I had my camera with me. Alas!
Since the company was good, and the vibe was good, and I drank coffee and didn’t get tired, we stayed until about 01h45. Then the birthday-girl chose to depart, and we followed. We followed her home in order to continue the tame boogie and partake in a herbal treats.

For some reason, it was deemed necessary to watch an episode or two of “Scrubs.” Having not seen any episodes of the show, the first episode proved most chucklesome.
By this time, 3a.m. was upon us. Angie had passed out on Dan’s bed; Jaco, Dan, and Michaele (guessing on the spelling of this one, and I’m probably guessing wrong) had repeatedly knocked over the same ash-tray, and I was almost completely sober. Time to go home to bed for real. The evening had been a blast, but enough now.

The Actual Point
Just as I revived Angie from her slumber, she received a phonecall from her friend. I will refer to this friend as “Bob-the-Friend” for the sake of her privacy.
Driving home a little less sober than advisable, she’d driven off the road and mangled one of her wheels. Shouldn’t really be a major problem, since cars have spare wheels just for this very kind of thing. Indeed, she has such a spare wheel in her motor-vehicle. Except, on Tuesday, she and my dear wifely unit, Angie, had managed to mangle one of the other wheels by driving into obstacles on the highway, instead of avoiding them (which is customary behaviour). Thus, the spare wheel was already in use, rendering it no longer spare. Eish.

Angie and I travelled from Auckland Park to Northumberland Drive to the rescue. On our arrival we discovered that she’d built up quite a collection of by-standers. Bob-the-Friend, her sister, and her sister’s friend. They’d all been travelling in the vehicle of the mangled wheel.

But that’s not all! Someone from ADT security had arrived, and was protecting the damsels in distress. He was a fairly decent chap, and considering he had a gun and bulletproof-vest, I figure he also a pretty good deterent for those with malicious intensions.

But if you call now, you also get a dodgy, weedy, shifty-eyed character, who drives a Fiat Uno filled with broken computer hardware! Why, oh why did we call?

The shifty-eyed dude was trying to change the tyre, but recall that there was no spare tyre. For some reason he figured his Uno spare would fit nicely onto a Ford Fiesta. No surprise when it didn’t.

Not a problem – we happen to also own a Ford Fiesta, thus the spares would be compatible. All that was required was that we return home, fetch the other car and swop the wheels out. Problem was, Bob-the-Friend’s travelling companions needed to get home, so someone had to give them a lift. Shifty-eyes was really keen to be the guy. Shifty-eyes admitted to not knowing Bob-the-Friend’s companions from a bar of soap, yet felt he was trustworthy enough to drive them home.
Uh… no.

We resolved that I would drive drop them home, fetch my Fiesta and return to the site of the Curious Incident. The ADT dude would kindly hang around at the car with Angie and Bob-the-Friend until my return, continuing with his role as “Damsel in Distress Defender.”
Shifty-eyes started throwing a tantrum. He flung his spare tyre back into the boot of his rickety vehicle and angrily slammed his computer detritus in along with it. All the time muttering about how he couldn’t handle this and how he “Needed to get drugs!”
It was strange how much more composed and friendly he was before it became clear that he wasn’t going to have a couple of under-age teenage girls alone to himself.

So, I ran my errands and returned. The kind ADT man switched the tyres, and we were all pleased and cheerful with ourselves. This was until we realised that the car keys were missing. I realised that Bob-the-Friend’s sister had handed them to me as I dropped her off at home. Unfortunately, I’d left them in the other car which was at home. Bugger.
As I tried to break the news to the ADT man, I could see his patience slipping. Clearly from my face, I wasn’t about to share excellent news like, “Oh, here the keys are!” He looked at me with trepidation, and started to shake his head slowly. Before I’d even started to explain, he was already going, “No. No. No.”
I thanked him for his help, and told him he should go if he wanted, and that I’d return shortly with the keys. Clearly the whole situation had wasted more of his evening than he’d expected. He fled the scene gladly.

Drove home, dropped Bob-the-Friend off. Picked up the keys. Returned with Angie. Tried to start the car.
Tried to start the car.
Tried to start the car.
Tried to start the car.
Tried to start the car.
Tried to start the car.
Tried to start the car.
Tried to start the car.

STUPID IMMOBILISER!

I lost my cool slightly. Up until that point I’d been very composed and relaxed and quite happy about all of the events that had transpired. I’d enjoyed my evening, and I’d even enjoyed helping out fixing the car situation. That Buddhism stuff is really effective. I am not kidding. It works really well. I hadn’t felt at all put out the whole evening until this point.
5a.m. and the car would mobilise. Gaaaaaaaaah! The was verbal abuse and a brief spurt of irrational ranting. But I noticed it quickly, didn’t give in and pulled it back into check.

We decided to push the car out of the road, and then after pushing it, tried once more to get it started. The engine turned. We drove.

I think Bob has a hang-over now.

And I’d give Fuel Cafe a visit if I were you. Can’t find their webpage (if they have one), but here’s where they are, and here’s what Google spews out so you don’t even have to submit the query. I’m such a buddy!
Well worth it. On the Corner of Carr and Quinn, Newtown, Joburg. Tel:(011) 838 9277

Migrate from Thunderbird to Evolution on Linux

This post is going up not because it is particularly interesting, but because Google failed to be particularly helpful in solving this problem for me.
If you want to do things the other way around (Evolution to Thunderbird) then you won’t be short of resources.

Evolution has an import tool, nestling away under File > Import
Go on. Try that. It looks promising.

The thing opens up and assures you that it will guide you through the process of importing external files into Evolution. You follow its prompts and check the box to import data and settings from older problems. You discover it has less use than expected.
Apparently it searches for setting from Netscape, which is what Thunderbird is based on. What gives?

At this point I went ‘Gah!’ and turned to my good friend Google. Google! Why have you forsaken me?

What I should have done was turn to Evolution’s internal help files. They don’t look immediately useful either, but on closer inspection you will find a section on Migration from Outlook to Evolution.
Now this is sort of silly, but to migrate from Outlook to Evolution, you first need to import your data into Mozilla Mail (which is (kind of) Thunderbird)).
The reason is some drivel about the necessary library only being available on windows.
Come on Novell, you know that’s stupid. If you expect people to migrate from MS products to OSS, then you need to make it simpler than that. But I digress.

Your Thunderbird mbox files are hiding out here (well, mine are):
~/.mozilla-thunderbird/(random letters)/Mail/Local Folders/

They are the files without extensions, with names like Inbox, Sent, Drafts and so on.
If you’ve gone and made nested subfolders in your inbox (or any other folder for that matter), you’re in for a frustrating time because it is necessary to import each mbox file individually (unless you can write a script to do it, but if you could then you wouldn’t be reading this poorly explained effort).
If you have subfolders in Inbox, change directory to Inbox.sbd
One again the mbox files will have the same name as your folders. You’ll have to import each one, one at a time.
Welcome to the suck!

Here is how you import an mbox file now that you’ve found them:
Back to that largely useless import tool I mentioned earlier. It has an ‘import single file’ option. Guess what?
That’s right. Then browse to the folder and open it. If you’re lucky, the stupid importer will recognise that the file is indeed in mbox format. It might not. I found that sometimes it did, and other times it didn’t. Keep trying until it works, or alternatively, smack your computer with a sledge-hammer. Your call.

Assuming it works, click ‘Forward’ and then select the destination folder. Fortunately you are given the option to create a new folder, so that may bring a little relief in your world of pain.

Enjoy, you masochist you!

Foolish wife

Because it will be unhelpful to shout at Angie, I’m going to shout at the internet instead.

Angie went out tonight to one of Wendy’s parties. I declined to attend.
Angie is on anti-biotics and I told her to watch the drinking. One glass of wine would probably be too much, but if she only drank one glass for the whole evening then things would be ok.

Then I went to bed.

At about 02h30 there is a knocking at the door. I go to answer it and Angie is standing there swaying slightly, and looking sheepish. Slightly further down the passage is a burly Indian dude who I have never met. My initial assumption is that the drinking was not constrained to a single glass and that this Indian dude was someone at the party that has driven Angie home. I can’t quite twig why a stranger has driven her home, since Angie knew people at the party. Also, I don’t think Wendy knows any Indians well enough to invite them to a party that she would be holding.
I went to sleep in underwear, so I’m kind of hiding myself behind the door and that isn’t helping me figure things out.

I come to an understanding that I need to go downstairs, so I excuse myself and go to put some pants on. To further complicate matters, the bloody dog runs off. Angie says, “You need to catch Bean, she’s running away.” I don’t honestly give a fuck about the dog at that point because the Indian dude is telling me bewildering stuff about cars spinning out of control and that I need to thank God. But in my half-dazed state I hear that I need to thank ‘the guard’ and I’m thinking that seems a little peculiar. Why do I need to thank the security complex’s guard? Did the car spin in the driveway? Or in the cul-de-sac outside the complex perhaps?
I get Angie inside, telling her to shut-up about the dog and that Bean won’t run very far. I follow the Indian dude downstairs and I see that he is not alone. He’s brought Al Qaida with him. Not really. This isn’t even something I think at the time. I only think it later. A cell of Al Qaida on a Jihad of Peace have arrived at my doorstep. They are a group of four Muslim men, some with the hectic beards, others without. And they are the nicest strangers I’ve ever come across.
They keep talking about how Angie spun her car on the highway and drove up an embankment, and how they fortunately were going slow enough to avoid her, and how they got out to help her because it didn’t look like she wanted to stop. It looked like she intended to drive over the embankment into the oncoming traffic on the other side of the highway. The Peugeot, not being a 4×4, was taking a while to achieve this aim, but Angie seemed determined.
I can’t understand how the Peugeot didn’t collide with anything. I ask about that, but it seems the embankment (and not a crash barrier) is the only thing that stopped her.

I start to express how utterly pissed-off I am at Angie at this point, but the guy that brought Angie upstairs chides me for it. He tells me not to be angry, but rather to be thankful that Angie was not harmed. That we are all human, and that sometimes humans drink a little too much. I mention the anti-biotics, and for a moment he falters in his mantra of tolerance conceding that drinking with anti-biotics is extra-foolish, but still human.
I realise that these nice guys have effectively saved Angie from doing further harm to herself and her car and I thank them profusely.
I am quite rattled by the whole thing in that I didn’t get their names or contact information in order to thank them properly, but I’m fairly certain that bringing Angie home safely was all they wanted out of the experience anyway.

They drive off and I feel a bit rattled. I feel an urge to go shout in an unreasonable fashion at Angie. But Bean has run off, so I need to find her first.

I walk around the grounds of the complex, from top to bottom and find her nowhere. My panic grows. I think stupid things like, “She got confused because it’s dark” and “She’s squeezed under the fence and run off to the dam and been eaten by a carnivorous goose.”
Dismayed, I return upstairs to my home to find her waiting for me at the door. At least I no longer feel angry at Angie. I feel relief at finding the infamous Satan’s Poodle.

I get back inside to find Angie passed out on the bed in that fully-clothed, splayed way that drunken people pass out on things. I feel the anger welling up inside me again. I also feel no desire to sleep.

I write this post.

There will be words in the morning, but I hope that I will keep them tempered.

[WaffleG] The ‘No, Waffle Group has not Died a Miserable Death’ Issue

#Waffle Group#
Official Waffleletter No.19
The ‘No, Waffle Group has not Died a Miserable Death’ IssueEditorial
Loyal Wafflings! How you have waited for another issue of the notorious Waffle Group. How you have been disappointed. Disappointment no more! In fact, this is so long you’ll wish I’d fallen off that frosty mountain-top I spoke of in the previous, oh-so-hideous issue.

Naturally, other things have happened since then, and if you’d been visiting the Home of Waffle on the Web you’d know about some of the things. Certain descriptions have been cryptic, but bad things have happened and basically, since nearly falling a mountain, things have continued to suck muchly.

Things that suck tend to lead one in a journey of self-discovery. Why does it suck? How can I stop the suck? If I can’t stop the suck, how do I live with the suck? Do waffles suck? And other deep questions.
So I stumbled upon Buddhism which seems to have a philosophy that fits in nicely with mine, and helps me to deal with the suck.

Things are looking up though, and in the spirit of improving mental health, I won’t be dwelling on the negative, and will rather relate the more frivolous events in my recent past. Basically you’ll be getting another account of my international travels. The latest destinations being England, Wales and France.

My life of luxury will soon come to an end as I search for gainful employment. Angie has hinted at being tired of making all the money, so I will have to change my ways from blood-sucking leach to life-giving elixir while simultaneously finishing off my masters. Sounds like fun.

The Suck
Adapting my suck analogy loosely to the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism gives us this:

1. Life sucks.
2. Expecting life not to suck makes life suck.
3. It is possible for life not to suck
4. To stop life from sucking, follow the Eight-fold anti-suck path

To be honest, the suck analogy doesn’t do a very good job of capturing the spirit of Buddhism. This might be because generally people say things like, ‘You suck!’ or ‘This sucks!’ which lacks subtlety and nuance. Buddhism is practically all subtlety and nuance.
For a better description see about.com’s Buddhism articles.

What I really enjoy is that Buddhism is a scientific philosophy. One doesn’t practise Buddhism with blind faith, but with a questioning attitude. Nothing is to be taken as scripture. The practitioner is encouraged to experiment with the teachings and make observations. After gathering results of one’s experiment, it is possible to devise new experiments, or re-run the experiments in order to gather more data.
It isn’t necessary to believe and implement everything that the Buddha said, just do what works or makes sense to you.
For the first time in my exploration of philosophy and religion, I’ve found an attitude towards life where almost everything makes sense. No-one is excluded. There are no threats of eternal damnation. You are responsible for your actions, and there’s no get out of bad karma free ticket. Asking for forgiveness doesn’t help — you need to act for forgiveness. Even then you don’t get forgiveness, you just balance the karmic accounts.
Possibly the theory of karma is a load of crap, but it explains why bad things happen to good people a hell of a lot better than anything else I’ve come across. God working in mysterious and inexplicable ways has never done it for me.

Here’s an argument against an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving god.

Let us now consider Mumphred, the plush toy. Let us assume that Mumphred has hopes and dreams, and does not want to suffer a horrible fate at the teeth and claws of Satan’s Poodle (aka Bean).
I fed Mumphred to Bean as something for her to play with, and she treats Mumphred quite roughly. Mumphred has had his heart ripped off (since he wore it on his sleeve), and his face mauled. From Mumphred’s perspective, these are bad things to have happened to him — perhaps even evil things.

If god is all-powerful and all-knowing, then he can’t be all-loving because he isn’t stopping evil, despite knowing about it and being powerful enough to stop it.
If god is all-powerful and all-loving, then he obviously doesn’t know what’s happening to Mumphred, because if he did he could and would want to stop the evil.
If god is all-knowing and all-loving, then he can’t be powerful enough to save Mumphred, because he must know about and want to stop the evil.

Why do I get into these theological debates with myself and email them to people? I think I subconsciously want to annoy Tammy. Sorry Tammy, it isn’t intentional.

The Travel Master
This is what it’s like to visit a small town in the south of France:

sdfh hj psdjfdsj l;kdfjgkj ;l ksd;flk ;lsdkofjsd;fkjsd ;klsjdf;lsdf lkdjdslfjhfdpb potposefoswdop pjd pojpojf oihj oihj pijsd pioj poj lkijdsiphjsdkj pij ijseoisd ih loihgthjyfsdo iohgufsdgoi opiisfadvjhj pi ygasdi uopiihyasgiy poixc ougrhasdiuc pou iohsdiy oijuouisdy ojsdoiudj iugsdpcxuip ihjsdohcviu jupfj

sdflkjsdlksdjsdflkj lkij lkgflk;lk lkjsdo ;ojk likisdkl ogbjpsdpoaspasdopvblo i piodfopdf i iofgopf iop ilhjg

sdfjkl dilj lkjsd l;oj lkisjdkidsfflfki odfjdsflksdfl iloksdjflkdsfjk lokijdfj kivjslkjf iogoiju ohiosdfki lokisdjvlihj kixckl lk ljkhx lokixdh klhdx klhxklxv lkhj lflk lk

As you can clearly see, there is no punctuation in small French towns.

London
We (being me and Angie, since we travelled together for a change) actually spent a few days in London with our friend Lisa before heading to France. Lisa was an excellent host, especially in the way she forgot the specifics of our arrival and was rowing on the Thames at the same time as we rang her doorbell. So we rang another doorbell next to hers and stirred a grumpy demon from her lair.
The miserable old wench hissed at us and told us to press whichever button we hadn’t pressed. She didn’t seem sympathetic when we explained that we’d pressed all of the buttons and had only her visage as a reward.

Lisa didn’t answer her cell, the landline just rang. The flatmates she told us she had were either her special invisible friends or dead. After almost booking into a B&B I managed to rouse one of the flatmates, from a slumber so deep it may have been a coma, by getting into a comfortable position and leaning on the doorbell button. Her name was also Lisa, which was a little creepy. Gloriously she was expecting us (although she didn’t know when exactly) and let us in, saving us from a slow, hypothermic death on the pavement — at least there were no mountains in sight.

To Lisa’s credit, once she came back from rowing she did an excellent job of taking care of us, showing us the sights and taking us to places of interest and just generally being excellent company. Thanks for everything, chick (as Angie would call you).

Onward to France
We spent a week in France near the base of the Pyrennees in a small town called Baynere, although I am not too certain about the name. It was French-sounding, and if the Americans don’t like the French, why should I bother?
We went there specifically to visit Angie’s aunt and uncle who have retired and moved there. Plus, they fed us for a week in über-expensive Euroland (which isn’t the same as EuroDisney). Bonus!

Technically, we could have made a skiing holiday of it, but when we went up the mountain to have a look at the ski-slopes, Angie had a bizarre panic attack and refused to go anywhere near the snow. It was a struggle to even coax her out of the car. She complained that there was too much snow, and everything was too white. She was also scared of falling on the snow and breaking her hip — a misinterpretation of a story Angie’s aunt had told us about an elderly lady who had slipped on icy concrete and broken her hip.

We did not ski. We did visit Lourdes. It’s a famous place. If you’re Catholic, you should know about it. If you’re not, you might know about it. If you don’t know about it, don’t trust what I tell you.
St. Benedine (or possibly she had a different name that sounds like Benedine, but definitely starts with a ‘B’) had visions of the Virgin Mary in a damp alcove up on a hill. The French Catholics were so excited about this that they built a fairly ornate and quite large church above the alcove.
Then some French entrepreneurs realised that devote catholics would flock to Lourdes to see this holy alcove, and they’d probably want souvenirs. Kitschy plastic Virgin Marys and gold-coloured medallions of the Pope and the like.
The people wanted it, and so it came to pass. Souvenir shops and vending machines were created, and God looked down upon all that the humans had made and saw that it was irreverent.

Angie insisted on buying a small plastic virgin. I frowned upon her.

A final note on France: The rumours about the food are true. French food is excellent. I didn’t eat a single bland, ordinary meal while in that country (not so for the UK). You may not know what it is that you are about to eat, but you know it will taste good.

Wales
The Welsh language sounds a lot like Klingon (this is a reference to Star Trek, for those who refuse to have anything to do with cult TV shows from the 60s that have spawned spin-offs in the fashion of a plague of locusts). Not that this was a problem: everyone spoke English, as is only right and proper. The more countries the USA and UK invade the better. I’ll be able to go on holidays to Iraq and Afghanistan and be understood, just before I’m shot to death.
But I digress.

Wales is a country we visited because Michael and Frances moved there. It was cold and overcast much of the time. There were very few Chinese people to be seen on the streets. I expected more considering that Wales is where all the Chinese people from Eastern Europe were sent after the cold war.

Still, all was not lost. There were many castles. We visited several. Frances likes castles very much. I think castles are okay. This difference in our views of the value of castles may have caused a little friction. Sorry about that Frans.

I would like to draw attention to the gay castle, which is more commonly known as Caste Coch. I don’t know what ‘Coch’ means, but if there is any just ice in this world, it should mean ‘Queer as a Bicycle with Seventy-Eight Wheels.’
Castle Queer is built on the ruins of a medieval castle, and the foundations and cellar/dungeon bits are very authentic looking. So Castle Queer isn’t Queer to its roots.
Then a bunch of pansy Victorian hoity-toities got hold of it and “restored” the castle, complete with fairy-tale pointy turrets. Externally, if you can get passed the pointy turrets, it looks like a real castle. Inside, it looks like a gay-Victorian-medieval-fantasy or more plainly, it looks like a joke. Everything is ostensibly medieval, but with Victorian flair thrown in.
Historically accurate restoration? I don’t think so. It just isn’t bleak enough.

That’s the whining out of the way.

I enjoyed Cardiff despite what I thought of Castle Queer. We caught up with our friends, went ice-skating outdoors (not something practical in South Africa), went to Indian restaurants (yes, Indian), crossed the bay in a water-bus (which is really just a boat. Angie said they might as well call it a water-train), visited pubs, drank liquid Brains, ran around screaming. You know, the usual.

It might interest you to know that Brains is a brand of Welsh beer. Those Welshmen are crazy.

While I was there, we got the women out of the way and Michael discussed the wedding proposal with me. Now I’m leaving Angie to marry Mike. Well, that’s what I was hoping for. Turns out he’s more interested in marrying Frances. Curses.

Perhaps I need to hang around the gay castle a bit more.

Anyway, thanks for putting up with us in your space for two weeks.

End of Laze
I’ve started earning money.
I have been looking for work, and found work on a kind of freelance basis with environmental consultancies. They get too much work to handle. I absorb the overflow and they pay me.
So far it looks like it will work out quite nicely.
Bizarrely, having to find money earning work has had the effect of making me work more effectively at my masters. An all-round good thing then.

My other entrepreneurial plan is to sell plastic Virgin Marys at traffic lights. If that doesn’t catch on, plan B is to stand there very still with a cardboard sign that reads “I think I am a haystack. Need money for therapy.” If that also fails, I’ll change the sign slightly to a more aggressive stance: “I make dead people. Give me money for therapy” and wave about a bloody baton.

--That's all. Any comments, suggestions, complaints, insults. Send them to me.

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[WaffleG] The East African Edition (No.19)

Editorial
I seem to be struggling to remain in South Africa, oh humble wafflings. It’s not like I was trying to travel all over the place, it just seemed to happen. Such is the nature of being the Mighty Waffle Master. Cower before my syrupy magnificence!

Kenya is the destination for this issue. Next month the moon, and then after that – Mars.

New Members
None this time. But the following still applies, I suppose.New members: If you’re confused about this, visit the Official Waffle
Group Web page
It’s unlikely to clear up your confusion. Email me for clarity.

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The Destination
I found Mars to be just as red, barren and dusty as it always appears to be in the movies (and in photos). I found the thin atmosphere to be somewhat suffocating, and it was a real pain to always put on a pressure suit whenever I wanted to go out for a walk.
There were no tourist attractions to speak of and the locals were very strange and alien.
I don’t recommend you go there unless you really like the colour red.

Stop Being Silly Now
Ok. I’ll try. No promises.Firstly I’ll express my disappointment that I saw neither Tigers nor Lions in Kenya. Weebl – you are a trickster and a cad!
But, perhaps I should not be so harsh on Weebl. There are no lions and tigers in Nairobi. I didn’t manage to venture out of the confines of the city, so perhaps he speaks truth. I can confirm that there is a tall mountain with snow on the top. I saw it as we flew 1500 feet above it on the way to Kenyatta International. The disembodied voice that spoke to the passengers on the plane called the mountain Kilimanjaro. You need to ask yourself whether disembodied voices are trustworthy.
How can you be certain that anyone is actually flying the aeroplane? As a passenger I’ve never seen the pilot sitting at the controls. Is a disembodied voice flying the plane?
I propose that a small camera is fitted in the cockpit so that when the pilot has something to say, passengers can actually see him/her/it speaking on the TV screens. This is so obvious that the only reason it’s never been implemented is because no-one is flying the plane. And the air stewards are probably all robots.

The Point of the Visit
I went to Kenya because the UN headquarters for Africa are in Nairobi. Just down the road from the UN is the US embassy. The same US embassy that was bombed back in 1998. Exciting stuff! I was surprised that no-one tried to kidnap me, being as important as I am in the sphere of waffles.We met at the UN for the 1st African Symposium and Workshop on Life Cycle Assessment (LCA) from 29 August to 2 September. “We” being people from 11 African countries, and few people from other regions to assist in facilitating proceedings. My expectations for the event were not entirely met. Most of the attendees had heard of LCA, but didn’t know much about it. I was actually one of the more knowledgeable people there. As a result, I didn’t learn many new things about LCA (as I had hoped). At the same time, this is encouraging since it indicates that I probably know more than I thought I did, ergo I haven’t been totally misleading myself while studying LCA.
The best thing about these sort of gatherings is meeting new people who are interested in your field of study. Ultimately, when the studying is done, you can try to sucker some of them into giving you a job (or at least referring you to someone else who might give you one). Those guys who worked for CSIR looked particularly promising.
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The UN venue. I felt important sitting there

There was also a fascinating bureaucracy about the event. We held several open forum discussions, and various people voiced their opinions on extremely diverse issues. Most had very little to do with LCA, and the capabilities of LCA.
In one case we discussed potential impact categories that would be relevant to Africa, before anyone properly explained how impacts are modelled. Impact categories are usually things that can be determined using scientific principles and models. The impact category Climate Change is determined using some measurable variable, like CO2 and CH4 emissions (believe it or not, I am making an effort not to bore you into a catatonic state as I explain this). Data plugs into the model and voilà you have an impact score.
Sometimes you can define impact categories that don’t operate on a scientific principle, but you still need some sort of reliable statistical data. I hope you can see why I shook my head woefully when the impact category Corruption was proposed.
I suppose this kind of thing was partly a symptom of the delegates’ ignorance, and not their entirely their fault. Yet, I got the feeling that many people liked to propose motions that would be completely impractical or simply impossible to carry out. Everyone just smiled and nodded and made little notes in their little notebooks.
Sometimes certain people would challenge an opinion and there would be much debate and nodding and smiling and so on. Timeless discussions with no apparent end.
I started to see the merits of dictatorship. Benevolent dictatorship kicks democracy any day.
As Kevin (who also attended) said to me, “If this is how a bunch of academics discuss things, I’d hate to spend the day with a bunch of politicians.” Touché

The Most Chaotic Traffic Flow of Nairobi
There seems so be only one traffic rule in Nairobi: Keep left unless that’s inconvenient.
The rest are just guidelines.

At any intersection, the vehicle travelling at the greatest velocity has right of way:
Unless a stationary vehicle already blocks the road, in which case this vehicle has right of way until the vehicle blocking its path clears a space.
Give pedestrians a chance (I actually saw a road-sign stating this) since there are no pedestrian-crossings and very few traffic lights.
Keep a following distance of at least 1000 Angstroms. This also applies to vehicles to your left and right.
Hoot at cyclists
Get your mind checked if you are a cyclist

Because of the special guidelines traffic had a kind of organic quality to it. It seemed alive. Where the road was clearly designed for 2 lanes, there were three. At one stage our bus was driving on the wrong side of the road because an extra lane had spontaneously grown out of the left side of the road, consuming a lane on the right side. I recommend visiting just to see the traffic. I also recommend you get someone else to drive for you.

Festive Hotel Locations
Kevin and I (and most of the delegates) stayed at 680 Hotel. I think the website makes it look better than it is, but at least it was clean.
Kevin and I undoubtedly had the best rooms in the place. We were on the top floor and we looked down at Simmers, a wonderful bar/club/whorehouse that had a live band every night, seven days a week. Oh how we rejoiced as the pumping jams wafted tranquily up to our room, drowning out the insistent cackle of the television until the early hours of the morning. Oh, how well we slept each night with these soothing rhythms stroking our eardrums in gentle lulling softness. Oh how we were started awake each night at 3a.m. to the sudden silence at Simmers closed for the evening.
Indeed, as their pay-off line stated, Simmers was truly “The answer on a plate!”
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But does it look like the answer, on a plate or otherwise?

Simmers – A Closer Look
What to do in the evenings? Well, Simmers had been aggressively advertising using an audio medium, so Kevin and I figured we’d join Chris there for a drink.
It was festive and pleasing and we spoke of many things. Chris and I met up first and waited for Kevin to arrive. It took him quite a while. Apparently he’d been delayed by a waiter who had insisted that there were no other white people in the place, and he was to sit here at this table, and nowhere else because there were no other white people here. Fortunately, Kevin was strong-willed enough to break free and seek Chris and me out.Time passed. Beer bottles were emptied. There was talk and merriment. Then there was an overly friendly woman. She figured she could probably charge the gullible white men more for services rendered. She first sneakily positioned herself at the table next to ours. Then she drank some alcohol, presumably to build up some courage. Then she started talking to us. Then she started touching Kevin (since he was closest). Then we realised that we were actually surrounded since the woman seated at table on the other side reached out and gave my back a friendly stroking.
Then we paid for our drinks.
Then we left.

Later in the week Kevin and I were held up in the hotel lift by someone who claimed to work at the massage parlour on the second floor of the hotel.
“That’s nice. We’d like to go to our room now.”
She didn’t like that idea and continued with her marketing, preventing our escape by standing in the elevator doorway.
“That’s nice. We’d like to go to our room now.”
But she promised that the massage would be very nice, right over here on the 2nd floor. We could come any time we liked, and all the women who worked there were very beautiful, and look! here were a few of them right now. Aren’t they lovely?
“They’re nice. We’d like to go to our room now.”
Then the other ones started marketing a little. It didn’t look like our tactic of complete disinterest was working very well. Kevin attempted another approach.
“Maybe some other time. We’d like to go to our room now.”
It didn’t have much of an effect either.
But, the new characters didn’t seem to be as drunk as the one barring the door, and they quickly saw that we weren’t going to be giving them any money, so they dragged our new friend away and we returned to our room and the Simmers party.

The Carnivore
A whole bunch of delegates went to eat meat at the Carnivore. If you don’t like meat, you shouldn’t go there because you won’t like it. If you do like meat, you should go there. They will give you as much meat as you can eat. You will get meat from a cow, a chicken, a pig, an ostrich, a lamb, and a crocodile. Apparently they used to serve other game, but stopped doing that. Something about protecting endangered species. What are endangered species good for if you can’t eat them?
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Hell for Meaty BeastsThey will bring you the meat skewered on massive sword-like things, and slice it off using pangas. It’s really quite vicious, but most yummy.
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Dead beast is served

The day before going to the carnivore, some of us atoned in advance for our actions by eating at the vegetarian restaurant, which really made the most incredible meals, and for hardly any money at all.

Meeting the Family
After the conference I stayed the weekend. This gave me opportunity to finally meet my oldest uncle and his family who have been hiding out in Kenya all my life (and longer, but I’m still not convinced that anything existed before I did, so these claims may not be true).
I’d met all my other aunts and uncles before, so it was excellent to finally close the loop. It’s sort of creepy how is similar to my dad in many ways.
He drove out all the way from Kitale just to see me and I was really flattered by how important he and Freda considered our meeting. Initially I’d just thought it would be nice to meet them, but it really was a whole lot more significant than that.
I wanted to stay longer, but the taxi came to take me back to the hotel. I plan to go back for a holiday. Perhaps I’ll see the tigers then.

Thanks go to…
I arrived home to my darling wife to discovered that she’d gone a bit odd in my absence. She had a bit of a freak out while I was away, and it would appear that I actually keep her sane just by being around. Perhaps insane people emit sanity waves, which is why two insane people like us have to live together in order to keep stable. This hypothesis doesn’t explain why I didn’t go nuts, but then I did have Kevin around a lot while in Kenya, and there’s clearly something wrong with him.
In future, I will just have to take her with me wherever I go.
The good news is that the positive effects of my presence are starting to influence her once again, and I predict her recovery will be swift.
A bunch of people helped Angie through the weak (ah look! play on words!) and I’d like to thank them impersonally via email and the Internet. Yes, electronic media is eroding our humanity. Cope.Megs, Jaco, Louise (and I suppose Rob, you helped too, although you are in a way an extension of Louise). Thanks so much for looking after Angie (and Bean where applicable) when she needed you most.

That’s all. Any comments, suggestions, complaints, insults. Send them to me.Checkout the official Waffle Group Webpage at http://thewafflegroup.blogspot.com
Unless, of course, you are already there. Good on you!

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