I am an inconsistent blogger

But here's another column.

Re: Trying to Get to "What Happened," Not "What I Did." Eventually.

In the interest of brevity, let’s skip the part where I moved into a yellow house with its own name (“Highbury”), its own wall, and its own barbed wire; claimed Room 2; unpacked my bags; and slept off my jet lag.

We can skip the descriptions and comparisons of this and that thing: the beaches (Clifton Beach: pretty but cold; Muizenburg: lots of surfers, lots of wind; Dangers Bay: warm and relatively free of dangers), the grocery stores (Pick and Pay : Checkers: Woolworths :: Star Market : Shaws : Whole Foods), and the landscape in general.

For some more glossing-over*, here are some of the things that – had you been here – you might have found me doing, at some point or another, in the past two weeks. **

• Standing on the Cape of Good Hope, ignoring physics, and wondering – as all humans are prone to do when they’re at the very tip of something – if it’s possible to fall off the face of the earth completely.

• Hiking up Table Mountain, making our way around the top, descending into the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens. Being glad that the reason that I was sweating so profusely was not (only) because I was severely out of shape, but because it was one of the hottest days since we’ve been here.

• Taking rides in Al’s unmarked van at least once a day. (Note: Al was the inspiration for that Paul Simon song.) Additionally, realizing that Al may be ripping us off, as he charges by person and not by distance. Peculiar.
  
  
• Joining three quasi-athletic clubs – surfing, capoeira, and yoga – just in case I have some untapped potential in these areas.
  
  
• Waiting in queues – which are not called lines even though they are clearly, undeniably, lines – to register for my classes. Signing up for African Dance. I’ll say it again: untapped potential.
  
  
• Climbing the “Jammie Stairs” on campus, which always requires more cardiovascular fortitude than expected.
  
  
• Training for a half-marathon while considering the whole “getting-winded-climbing-the-stairs” thing.
  
  
• Sitting on the couch on our front porch.
  
  
• Attending a political protest.
  
  
• Talking to a Kenyan refugee in a coffee shop while reading a newspaper clipping about him. Working in said coffee shop, which is owned by a guy who doesn’t wear shoes. Realizing that this is the kind of coffee shop that lacks a can opener. And sufficient glassware. And a staff.

Now, on to the juicy bits:

This is what an electrical socket looks like in Cape Town. It’s, you know … different. It’s not like the ones you see in the United States for many reasons – one difference being that South African sockets have the ability to make my American laptop burst into flames.

There’s a metaphor in here somewhere … but I’ll leave that up to you. It’s like … choose your own adventure.

Yeah.

*Elaboration is available upon request. But only if I like you.

**More pictures to come.

This is me, being a bit lazy

In lieu of trying to describe my first day or so in Cape Town, I'm going to link to my column for The Heights.

More entries to come about more interesting things.

I am the Best Blogger Ever.

Another reason to love Google

For some reason, my Google page was in German, so I had to find the German word for "preferences" (Einstellungen, for future reference) and change the language in the pull-down menu.

But has anyone noticed that Google includes languages like "Elmer Fudd" (e.g., "I'm Feewing Wucky"), and "bork, bork, bork" (I have no idea what that is)?

Sorry, these are the things you notice when you're stuck in an airport for six hours.

Why It Pays to be Vegan at 35,000 Feet

Hear me out.

On British Airways, and I’m supposing on most airlines nowadays, you can log your meal preference online prior to your flight.

Always go vegan for two reasons: (1) Meat on a plane will always be chewy and overcooked. (2) You’ll avoid the cheese factor, i.e., when they use melted cheese to compensate for whatever’s underneath. This usually does the trick, except when it doesn’t. Like on a plane.

I think I made some enemies on that plane. My neighbors were casting jealous eyes at my meal as they tried to eat their rubber chicken and congealed heaps of lasagna. Or else it was just the general looks that vegans tend to get, being pariahs and all.

In the spirit of McSweeneys, here's a review:

Whole-grain pasta with marinara sauce: Packaged in an oval-shaped plastic container with a foil lid, the pasta had a deliciously doughy texture. It was topped with a too-sweet, too-salty marinara sauce that, in retrospect, may well have been ketchup. However, if you have a good imagination, you can close your eyes and banish the whole “ketchup” thing from your mind, and then it will really resemble the real thing. Which is the point with airline food – it’s not going to taste good, but it should at least resemble something edible.

Another thing: what meal was that supposed to be? My flight left at 10:30pm, and they served this meal at midnight. If you account for the time change from New York to London, the meal would be at 5 a.m., which still makes no sense. Awkward!

So you eat it even if you’re not hungry, simply because you want it out of your lap … especially when the girl in front of you decides to recline her seat until your tray table hits you in the ribs. True story.

Then they served breakfast right before we were going to land. Sadly, I ended up passing on the vegan donut. It had a “cinnamon soy glaze.” It looked as disgusting as it sounds, trust me.

One last thing:

“You know, I’ve been flying for 20 years or so, and that was one of the roughest approaches yet. So … yes. Um, thanks for flying British Airways.”

(Our pilot, right after we landed in London. I'm still trying to figure out why he felt the need to tell us this. "You should feel lucky that I'm such a great pilot, or else you would all be dead"?)

Right now, I am drinking peppermint tea in Heathrow. I have nothing to do for the next few hours, so I thought: when in London, drink tea.

Meta-Blog, or Why Pack When You Can Blog?

I have no idea what type of Blog this is going to be.

For one, the title is lame. I know. This does not portend great Bloggy things. Although ... it's certainly a flashy little thing already, what with the red and orange octopus tentacles writhing along the bottom of the screen.

I'm supposed to be packing for Boston because I'm leaving on a Greyhound to visit BC before I leave for Cape Town. But I haven't packed a thing yet, so naturally, I'm going to continue not packing and Blog.

I'm so Bloggy that I'm going to use a bulleted list right now.

Generally, this blog could go in one or a combination of the following directions:

• I could create a travel blog, in which I'd write sprawling prose about how everything looks/smells/hears/feels/tastes, with accompanying photographs. This would be tiresome for everyone involved. Ex: "As I walk toward Table Mountain, shrouded in mist on this particular day, I notice that the air smells of flowers and rainbows and good intentions. I eat a granola bar and dream of world peace." (I can't really explain why I'd suddenly turn into a hippie.)
  
  
• The touchy-feely blog, in which I'd talk about my Feelings. This would be dreadful for everyone involved. Ex: "I went to lunch today, and it was so wretched that I wept in my macaroni. I set down my fork and pushed the sad, sad casserole away from me, leaving it to marinate in my tears." (Which reminds me of this inexplicably fascinating website.)
  
  
• The soapbox blog, in which I'd give my opinions on Important Issues of the day. It would also have lots and lots of links for you to click. This has the potential of being screechy. Ex: "Dennis Kucinich is the only presidential candidate who supports my values, so you have to vote for him. Also: he believes in UFOs. No, this should not deter you from voting for him, you close-minded sheep." (This is just an example, of course.)
  

In the interest of avoiding a blog that is tiresome, dreadful, screechy, or some unholy trinity of these qualities, I'll go with the kitchen-sink blog.

I promise to post erratically, about largely unrelated things and at random intervals.

There.