Okay, so I know I've written about Disney already. But since animated bliss is such a major part of my life I figured mentioning it again wouldn't be too much of a stretch. I've just watched a "featurette" on Disney's next movie - The Princess and the Frog. And I'm so excited that I may keel over just thinking about it. One of the coolest things about this upcoming slice of animated glory is that it is set in New Orleans, one of my favourite cities in the world. I traveled to New Orleans in October of 2000, when I was sixteen years old. My mom had a conference with ASHA - the American School Health Association - and she took me along so that we could bond. Like any sixteen year old, I was hormonal and difficult at the age and the trip to New Orleans really cemented the fantastic relationship that I have with mom today. We went on a "voodoo tour" of the city, we had a 5 star brunch that we could not afford but that we "deserved," I ate my first oyster at the Acme Oyster House in the French Quarter, and we had enough adventures to last a lifetime.
I still remember waiting for the plane from Pittsburgh to New Orleans. We were at the gate, looking out the window as they loaded the luggage onto the aircraft. There was a man fiddling about in the engine and then he came out, climbed down the ladder, and started shaking his head and crossing his arms as he talked to one of the other mechanics. The woman next to us, a business lady fiddling about on her laptop, had been looking out the window as well and said decisively, I am not getting on that plane." She proceeded to rally the other passengers and a group of smartly dressed business people stormed the little gate desk, where the worried looking counter girl sat reassuring and promising until eventually the call came through that no one would be getting on that plane. Instead we were diverted through Atlanta and ended up in New Orleans in the middle of the night.
I felt like I was in a foreign country when we arrived down in New Orleans. The hot, sticky air and the heavy southern accents, the delicious creole cuisine and the European design, the list goes on and on. I'm not sure what the city is like post-Katrina but I hope it has maintained that easy-going charm. It's hard to imagine that it has when so many people lost their homes and lives, but the spirit of the city has surely endured.
Another thing that stuck with me about New Orleans was the division of white and black people and also of poverty and wealth (not that the two necessarily go hand-in-hand, though sadly they sometimes do). Now, living down here in South Africa, I reflect and think that New Orleans really served as a prelude to this experience. New Orleans was the first place I'd ever visited that I would be standing on the street and be the only white person. At the time I remember feeling quite uncomfortable. Not because I felt threatened, but because the last thing a sixteen year old wants is to stand out, especially because of something they cannot hide. This made me think about all the "different" kids back in my hometown - it was one of the first times that I actually thought about what it must mean emotionally to be one of the only black kids in a school full of white kids, or the only Chinese or Indian, etc.
Now, down here in SA, it is quite common to find yourself as the only white person in a store or on a road. And that is something I've really enjoyed, because it has given me firsthand knowledge that we are still basically all the same. No one has treated me any better or worse because of what I look like - I get far more attention for my North American accent (which boggles my mind anyway - I never thought I had an accent - we're neutral!) than for the colour of my skin.
Another thing about New Orleans that was similar to South Africa is the extreme division between wealth and poverty. I know that this division is far more noted in areas of the world that I have not visited - I hear that especially in South American nations this dichotomy is quite noted - but they are pretty much my only two points of reference. In New Orleans you have the French Quarter and the Garden District and the New Orleans proper. The French Quarter is stunning - I'm sure you've heard of the hysterically fun Bourbon Street and the House of Blues and the various parades, etc. It has this fabulous European quality that just seeps out of every pore. Then you have the Garden District, which is where you'll find the grand Southern mansions and overflowing gardens. The city itself, however, feels much more like Detroit than Europe. There is a certain inner-city charm, but it is definitely a huge change from the glamour of the other neighborhoods.
South Africa has been a lot like that. The entire city that I actually live in is called Sandton. Sandton is a refuge directly to the north of Johannesburg (they blend together and can hardly even be called separate municipalities) that the wealthy people went to when Johannesburg itself became too unpredictable and dangerous. Sandton is divided into neighborhoods - from the super-affluent Melrose to the media- hub of Rivonia (where I live/work) to the shopping-mecca of Fourways - but all of them are basically upper-crust. Surrounding Sandton are townships (such as Soweto and Alexandra) which are much better than they used to be but are still markedly less wealthy than the surrounding towns. No wonder there is sometimes violent tension and anger when people are living in poverty right across the fence from someone with a swimming pool and a Mercedes.
I've been thinking a lot of New Orleans lately because of these similarities. That is why I'm so happy to see Disney embrace it and make it the setting for a film! How wonderful to give New Orleans the same treatment as Wonderland and Agrabah! And it has been too long since we've had a good old fashioned animated fairytale at the movies.
Maybe one day they can use Johannesburg for a fantasy-land. I know I made comparisons to The Lion King but that film is definitely more in line with other parts of Africa. What people don't realize about this area is the physical beauty. When you here Johannesburg, people think violence and poverty mixed in with big business. The truth is that the hot sun, the red soil, and the purple jacarandas give the whole city, rich or poor, a fairy tale quality. It is amazing to be in a city of seven million and still to be able to drive over a hill and see and expanse of hot red soil baking in the sun. The Johannsburg's days of being El Dorado ended when the gold was stripped of gold back in the days, the harsh physical beauty of the land still makes it feel like the protector of precious materials.
I'm suffering from the flu at the moment so I apologize if I don't make sense. I took myself on a date last night since I didn't feel well - I rented a movie, bought some soup, turned off my phone (not that I know enough people to expect phone calls!) and nestled into the couch. It was so nice to have an old fashioned relaxing night - I can't remember the last time I did that. I hope everyone else is having a similarly indulgent weekend.
xoxo
Mike
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Media Freedom
Good morning!
I cannot believe that it is Thursday already. This week has flown by! I have seen so much that I've wanted to write about, but by the time I have gotten home from work, hit the gym, eaten dinner, and guzzled a glass of pinotage in front of a Disney movie, it is time for bed! No time for blogging! So, given that the cleaning girl is in my apartment at the moment, I took the opportunity to come into the office a bit early today and have decided to blog before the boss-man arrives.
The women in my life have been cutting me no slack these last couple of days. I'm battling a stomach bug and Debbie, my all-seeing office coordinator who has basically assumed control of most aspects of my life, has conjured up about seventy-five home remedies for me to take. When I wave them off, I get the evil eye and the promise that I'll take them whether I like it or not! So I've been watching my coffee skeptically all week. My problem with taking medicine is that so much of it makes you tired and we have so much on at work this week that I just cannot afford to be tired!
Then, yesterday, I waited for the cleaning girl all morning and left late for work when she had not appeared. I just assumed I'd gotten her schedule wrong. As it turns out, she had just been running late and I accidentally locked her out. Whoops. So, this morning rolls around and she's knocking on my door at seven! I let her in and she scolds me for locking her out, then scolds me for having so much laundry, then scolds me for not having tea and toast for her, then scolds me for forgetting about her next week (because she's already assuming I'll do so). Then I accidentally took her keys and she scolded me for that! I cannot catch a break. So, I arrive at work, and our wonderful kitchen woman, Lizzie, is breezing about and offers me coffee. I say - "yes my darling - and what a lovely scarf you're wearing today!" Her face turns sad and she says "I will wear this forever because I am mourning my husband." Whoops. I suck.
So, I'm on a roll. And we've got eight billion things going on at the office! We're moving to the open plan today - which should be fun. And we have a conference next Tuesday to Thursday, which I am looking forward to but also dreading, as I have to give a presentation to our directors. Scary. But the conference is at a beautiful old mansion in the Free State. The house is called Prynnsburg. On the one hand, the whole experience seems a bit too Tara (of Gone With the Wind fame) for me. I mean - in a country that is only about ten years out of laws worse than Jim Crow, it seems a little insensitive to go party at a plantation. However, the venue seems to have a lot of cultural value, with everything from old churches to caves with bushman art. And clay pigeon shooting, of course. I am praying praying praying that I don't have a Dick Cheney moment on that one.
Well, enough venting. Life is still fantastic down here. It has been sunny and about 85 degrees (around 27 degrees, Euro friends). One thing that I've loved about Johannesburg is the massive thunderstorms. Perhaps because of Johannesburg's high elevation (something with air pressure - I'm reaching the limits of my meteorological knowledge here), there are quite a few storms, especially in summer time (I still get so confused about it being summer here from November to February). So I've spent quite a few nights curled up on the couch listening to thunder and torrential downpours. And then, by the time you wake up - it is sunny and dry!
Speaking of waking up - I know there aren't tons of magical wildlife creatures in the actual city of Johannesburg. However, I am positively convinced that there is a family of monkeys living in the tree outside of my bedroom windows. They must be wee little monkeys, as I've yet to glimpse them, but they sound super monkey-esque. Not like bird-monkey noises. Actual angry baboon screeching monkey music! It's quite distracting, but I have trouble getting too upset about it because it makes me feel like a wild jungle explorer.
I know I'm not making a ton of sense today (Debbie has probably spiked my morning coffee), but one thing I wanted to mention is Media Freedom Day. Just this past Monday (October 19) was the 32nd Media Freedom Day here in South Africa. Apparently, on October 19, 1977, several newspapers were banned by the white-ruled apartheid government because they were seen as biased in favour of black rights. Can you believe that such oppression was allowed so recently? And it was not until 1994 (!!!!) that apartheid was disbanded and most (not all by quite a stretch) of these injustices ended.
Now I am not going to get up on a soap box and preach in one way or the other. But I get very offended by media restrictions. That is the whole reason I got my Master's Degree in Communication Regulation - because I genuinely feel (as most people do I think) that (a) everyone should have the freedom to express their personal views without being penalized and (b) the media should be allowed to broadcast the truth in any situation. There are all sorts of tricky conundrums surrounding both of these points (who determines what the truth is? what if someone's personal views are harmful to others? where should the line be drawn in terms of shielding the public from violence or obscenity?). My opinion on these matters is pretty clear cut. First of all - I really believe there are no crimes of the mind. So if someone expresses a thought, whether violent or crazy, it is the action that is illegal, not the thought. That is what makes us human - the ability to have an urge to do something and to stop it because of our conscience. And second, I don't think it is the media's job to filter anything. The media should express the truth (and all sides of the truth - the truth on Fox and the truth on CNN are very different and it is great to have both sides). We get into all of these arguments about what should be shown to children and such - I really think it is a parent's role to get involved and know what their child is viewing/downloading/playing - the media should remain a relatively unfiltered conduit.
Anyways, that is as preachy as you will see me get. I just got so fired up watching television on Monday and hearing from a man who had been jailed for ten years for his writings in a newspaper. Ten years behind bars because his opinions went against the status quo. Hindsight is 20/20, but it is still devastating to think that this man was jailed for so long and he turned up to be on the right side - the side that won (or is winning - not over yet). At least if he'd been in jail for so long and he was wrong then we could say something nice about the justice system, if nothing else.
This is just another reason that I am loving it down here in South Africa. In addition to being a land of nature and discovery, it is also a place where the wounds of political and social struggle still haven't completely scarred over. And while it is so sad to see that equality has not yet been achieved, it is also inspiring to see people fight for the cause and to see both sides try to reach a positive conclusion. It just shows that there is so much work to be done and that humans are really capable of moving in the right direction. (All this hopeful freedom speech makes me want to listen to "Independence Day" by Martina McBride - or better yet, listen to Katie Turiak sing it at karaoke).
On that note, I need to get moving! I have a new desk coming up to the open plan - let's hope it is dark enough that they won't notice coffee stains!!!
PS - I'm just discovering Bruce Springsteen thanks to the boss. Who knew he was so good?
Mike
I cannot believe that it is Thursday already. This week has flown by! I have seen so much that I've wanted to write about, but by the time I have gotten home from work, hit the gym, eaten dinner, and guzzled a glass of pinotage in front of a Disney movie, it is time for bed! No time for blogging! So, given that the cleaning girl is in my apartment at the moment, I took the opportunity to come into the office a bit early today and have decided to blog before the boss-man arrives.
The women in my life have been cutting me no slack these last couple of days. I'm battling a stomach bug and Debbie, my all-seeing office coordinator who has basically assumed control of most aspects of my life, has conjured up about seventy-five home remedies for me to take. When I wave them off, I get the evil eye and the promise that I'll take them whether I like it or not! So I've been watching my coffee skeptically all week. My problem with taking medicine is that so much of it makes you tired and we have so much on at work this week that I just cannot afford to be tired!
Then, yesterday, I waited for the cleaning girl all morning and left late for work when she had not appeared. I just assumed I'd gotten her schedule wrong. As it turns out, she had just been running late and I accidentally locked her out. Whoops. So, this morning rolls around and she's knocking on my door at seven! I let her in and she scolds me for locking her out, then scolds me for having so much laundry, then scolds me for not having tea and toast for her, then scolds me for forgetting about her next week (because she's already assuming I'll do so). Then I accidentally took her keys and she scolded me for that! I cannot catch a break. So, I arrive at work, and our wonderful kitchen woman, Lizzie, is breezing about and offers me coffee. I say - "yes my darling - and what a lovely scarf you're wearing today!" Her face turns sad and she says "I will wear this forever because I am mourning my husband." Whoops. I suck.
So, I'm on a roll. And we've got eight billion things going on at the office! We're moving to the open plan today - which should be fun. And we have a conference next Tuesday to Thursday, which I am looking forward to but also dreading, as I have to give a presentation to our directors. Scary. But the conference is at a beautiful old mansion in the Free State. The house is called Prynnsburg. On the one hand, the whole experience seems a bit too Tara (of Gone With the Wind fame) for me. I mean - in a country that is only about ten years out of laws worse than Jim Crow, it seems a little insensitive to go party at a plantation. However, the venue seems to have a lot of cultural value, with everything from old churches to caves with bushman art. And clay pigeon shooting, of course. I am praying praying praying that I don't have a Dick Cheney moment on that one.
Well, enough venting. Life is still fantastic down here. It has been sunny and about 85 degrees (around 27 degrees, Euro friends). One thing that I've loved about Johannesburg is the massive thunderstorms. Perhaps because of Johannesburg's high elevation (something with air pressure - I'm reaching the limits of my meteorological knowledge here), there are quite a few storms, especially in summer time (I still get so confused about it being summer here from November to February). So I've spent quite a few nights curled up on the couch listening to thunder and torrential downpours. And then, by the time you wake up - it is sunny and dry!
Speaking of waking up - I know there aren't tons of magical wildlife creatures in the actual city of Johannesburg. However, I am positively convinced that there is a family of monkeys living in the tree outside of my bedroom windows. They must be wee little monkeys, as I've yet to glimpse them, but they sound super monkey-esque. Not like bird-monkey noises. Actual angry baboon screeching monkey music! It's quite distracting, but I have trouble getting too upset about it because it makes me feel like a wild jungle explorer.
I know I'm not making a ton of sense today (Debbie has probably spiked my morning coffee), but one thing I wanted to mention is Media Freedom Day. Just this past Monday (October 19) was the 32nd Media Freedom Day here in South Africa. Apparently, on October 19, 1977, several newspapers were banned by the white-ruled apartheid government because they were seen as biased in favour of black rights. Can you believe that such oppression was allowed so recently? And it was not until 1994 (!!!!) that apartheid was disbanded and most (not all by quite a stretch) of these injustices ended.
Now I am not going to get up on a soap box and preach in one way or the other. But I get very offended by media restrictions. That is the whole reason I got my Master's Degree in Communication Regulation - because I genuinely feel (as most people do I think) that (a) everyone should have the freedom to express their personal views without being penalized and (b) the media should be allowed to broadcast the truth in any situation. There are all sorts of tricky conundrums surrounding both of these points (who determines what the truth is? what if someone's personal views are harmful to others? where should the line be drawn in terms of shielding the public from violence or obscenity?). My opinion on these matters is pretty clear cut. First of all - I really believe there are no crimes of the mind. So if someone expresses a thought, whether violent or crazy, it is the action that is illegal, not the thought. That is what makes us human - the ability to have an urge to do something and to stop it because of our conscience. And second, I don't think it is the media's job to filter anything. The media should express the truth (and all sides of the truth - the truth on Fox and the truth on CNN are very different and it is great to have both sides). We get into all of these arguments about what should be shown to children and such - I really think it is a parent's role to get involved and know what their child is viewing/downloading/playing - the media should remain a relatively unfiltered conduit.
Anyways, that is as preachy as you will see me get. I just got so fired up watching television on Monday and hearing from a man who had been jailed for ten years for his writings in a newspaper. Ten years behind bars because his opinions went against the status quo. Hindsight is 20/20, but it is still devastating to think that this man was jailed for so long and he turned up to be on the right side - the side that won (or is winning - not over yet). At least if he'd been in jail for so long and he was wrong then we could say something nice about the justice system, if nothing else.
This is just another reason that I am loving it down here in South Africa. In addition to being a land of nature and discovery, it is also a place where the wounds of political and social struggle still haven't completely scarred over. And while it is so sad to see that equality has not yet been achieved, it is also inspiring to see people fight for the cause and to see both sides try to reach a positive conclusion. It just shows that there is so much work to be done and that humans are really capable of moving in the right direction. (All this hopeful freedom speech makes me want to listen to "Independence Day" by Martina McBride - or better yet, listen to Katie Turiak sing it at karaoke).
On that note, I need to get moving! I have a new desk coming up to the open plan - let's hope it is dark enough that they won't notice coffee stains!!!
PS - I'm just discovering Bruce Springsteen thanks to the boss. Who knew he was so good?
Mike
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Paradise in a Parking Lot
In the summer of 2006, while I was interning in New York City, I went up to the Hamptons a couple of times to see my good friends Jess and Colin. The woman that Jess was working for, I think her name was Judy, told me in confidence that there was a parking lot in East Hampton that was actually the key to getting anything done in the Hamptons. Just that week she'd seen Christie Brinkley, Dina Lohan (yikes), Steven Spielberg's mother, and Mike Tyson there. She said that sometimes after grocery shopping she would just sit in her car and watch to see who came into the parking lot.
Now, this quick entry is not going to be about how I aspire to loiter in the A-List parking lots of the world. It's just that I have been thinking about parking lots a lot lately (no pun intended). I barely even thought about them during my two years in London. Now, three weeks into my South African life, I am find myself in parking lots, discussing parking lots, fearing parking lots, and - dare I say it - loving parking lots.
I have always had a love-hate relationship with parking lots (car parks for my European friends). As much I as absolutely love my mother, one of the stranger aspects of my childhood was that she would always shut my legs in the car door when I was getting into or out of the car. She wouldn't do it hard - in fact, I'm not sure if the door would ever actually even touch me (I still have full use of my legs, after all). I just think this was her interesting way of making sure I did not waste time in my life. Maybe it worked. One thing that it did do was to instill a fear of parking lots in me from a young age.
This fear was exacerbated by Unsolved Mysteries. I've discussed this with friends before. There were kids that were scared of horror movies and kids that were scared of Unsolved Mysteries. I was an Unsolved Mysteries child. I always watched it with a feeling of discomfort in my stomach - similar to when you witness a fist fight - and would spend the next few days contemplating which killer-on-the-loose or ghost-from-another-time was going to hunt me down and destroy me. For some reason, it always seemed like people that went missing on Unsolved Mysteries were last seen in parking lots. What is with that? Are there lots of people like Judy (above) who sit in parking lots and occasionally spot a celebrity or see a crime in progress?
This was all before I even started driving. Once that happened, a whole new nest of fears was unveiled. Was there someone under my car waiting to razor blade my achilles (whoever started that urban legend should be flogged until the end of time)? Or, maybe someone is waiting in my backseat to kill me but hiding just out of the view? My parking lot "dance" has always been a swirl around the car to look in all windows (from a good distance away to avoid razor action), then a quick opening of the door and feet-in-the-air leap into the driver's seat. I try to have a bit more decorum as a passenger, but one must put safety first.
And then of course there are parking lot break-ups. I have had three. Not breakdowns, as in a broken car. Break-ups as in rip-your -heart-out-and-run-it-over-with-your-damned-little-red-trash-mobile endings of amorous pairings. The most tragic of them was in another Hampton's parking lot (weird, I know - maybe I should do a documentary) and had me sitting in a handicap space crying (sitting on the ground, not even in a car), calling my parents, and begging them to drive the ten hours from Meadville to New Jersey to pick me up (they did, God love them). On my birthday.
The other parking lot break-ups were much more tolerabe. One I can't really remember but it involved a pretty-friendly mutual let's-end-it decision followed by the un-friendly hurling of scrambled eggs in the Perkins parking lot. And the final one was me fleeing the Dollar General parking lot after making some incredibly poor decisions there and never looking back.
Anyways - I can't believe I'm babbling this much about parking lots. There is a point forthcoming, I swear.
In addition to all of these bad thoughts, however, parking lots have always had good vibes for me as well. One of my favourite feelings in the world is when you go into a movie in the evening in the sunlight and then come out into the movie theater parking lot and find that night has fallen. And parking lots have also meant trips to the mall, or thank-God-we're-finally-at-a-rest-stop, or served as a meeting spot with friends because it is closer for both of you or the only common area you can both think of. Parking lots are great because they usually have no allegiances - that's probably why people always exchange hostages/drugs/secret documents there (in the movies, not my life...unfortunately).
Anyways, I've arrived in South Africa and suddenly - pow - parking lots have re-entered my life. At first I thought this was going to be a problem - everyone kept telling me to watch my back in parking lots, otherwise someone could sneak up behind me and steal my keys and my car in a flash. And then kill me for good measure. I was so scared at first that I actually twisted my neck after continuously jerking my neck back to look over my shoulder. I spent my first two days of work down here only able to look to the right.
However, I've come to love the South African parking lots. Perhaps as a reaction to the violence that has happened in parking lots in the past, almost every parking lot I have visited has had tons of wonderful young workers helping drivers to park - they also seem to serve as security guards. The other night, I parked a little far out in the parking lot by my gym. When I returned outside after my workout, it had gotten dark and my car was all alone in a grim dark corner. I was 97% sure that I would meet my end there. However, the nice guy in the parking lot walked with me to my car - I didn't even have to sacrifice my masculinity and ask. I feel like I can usually take care of myself, but I'll be damned if I want to go at it with someone who has a lurking-in-the-dark-carrying-a-razor-blade advantage. No thanks.
Parking lots in South Africa (or at least in my part of Johannesburg) have gone from a potentially scary place to an almost festive place. There's a system of reversing, tipping the young guy who helped you park and watched your car, and zipping off to your next task. It also reminds me of home. I don't know if parking lots are an American thing, but every time I pull into a parking spot I feel like I'm back on native soil. While I'm loving the diversity and excitement of South Africa - and I'm so excited to continue to learn and try new and different things - it is nice to get a reminder of home every once in a while.
There you have it - a frivolous Sunday note on the value of parking lots. I'm off for another trip to the parking lot - I might try and go to the store or something while I'm there.
Mike
Now, this quick entry is not going to be about how I aspire to loiter in the A-List parking lots of the world. It's just that I have been thinking about parking lots a lot lately (no pun intended). I barely even thought about them during my two years in London. Now, three weeks into my South African life, I am find myself in parking lots, discussing parking lots, fearing parking lots, and - dare I say it - loving parking lots.
I have always had a love-hate relationship with parking lots (car parks for my European friends). As much I as absolutely love my mother, one of the stranger aspects of my childhood was that she would always shut my legs in the car door when I was getting into or out of the car. She wouldn't do it hard - in fact, I'm not sure if the door would ever actually even touch me (I still have full use of my legs, after all). I just think this was her interesting way of making sure I did not waste time in my life. Maybe it worked. One thing that it did do was to instill a fear of parking lots in me from a young age.
This fear was exacerbated by Unsolved Mysteries. I've discussed this with friends before. There were kids that were scared of horror movies and kids that were scared of Unsolved Mysteries. I was an Unsolved Mysteries child. I always watched it with a feeling of discomfort in my stomach - similar to when you witness a fist fight - and would spend the next few days contemplating which killer-on-the-loose or ghost-from-another-time was going to hunt me down and destroy me. For some reason, it always seemed like people that went missing on Unsolved Mysteries were last seen in parking lots. What is with that? Are there lots of people like Judy (above) who sit in parking lots and occasionally spot a celebrity or see a crime in progress?
This was all before I even started driving. Once that happened, a whole new nest of fears was unveiled. Was there someone under my car waiting to razor blade my achilles (whoever started that urban legend should be flogged until the end of time)? Or, maybe someone is waiting in my backseat to kill me but hiding just out of the view? My parking lot "dance" has always been a swirl around the car to look in all windows (from a good distance away to avoid razor action), then a quick opening of the door and feet-in-the-air leap into the driver's seat. I try to have a bit more decorum as a passenger, but one must put safety first.
And then of course there are parking lot break-ups. I have had three. Not breakdowns, as in a broken car. Break-ups as in rip-your -heart-out-and-run-it-over-with-your-damned-little-red-trash-mobile endings of amorous pairings. The most tragic of them was in another Hampton's parking lot (weird, I know - maybe I should do a documentary) and had me sitting in a handicap space crying (sitting on the ground, not even in a car), calling my parents, and begging them to drive the ten hours from Meadville to New Jersey to pick me up (they did, God love them). On my birthday.
The other parking lot break-ups were much more tolerabe. One I can't really remember but it involved a pretty-friendly mutual let's-end-it decision followed by the un-friendly hurling of scrambled eggs in the Perkins parking lot. And the final one was me fleeing the Dollar General parking lot after making some incredibly poor decisions there and never looking back.
Anyways - I can't believe I'm babbling this much about parking lots. There is a point forthcoming, I swear.
In addition to all of these bad thoughts, however, parking lots have always had good vibes for me as well. One of my favourite feelings in the world is when you go into a movie in the evening in the sunlight and then come out into the movie theater parking lot and find that night has fallen. And parking lots have also meant trips to the mall, or thank-God-we're-finally-at-a-rest-stop, or served as a meeting spot with friends because it is closer for both of you or the only common area you can both think of. Parking lots are great because they usually have no allegiances - that's probably why people always exchange hostages/drugs/secret documents there (in the movies, not my life...unfortunately).
Anyways, I've arrived in South Africa and suddenly - pow - parking lots have re-entered my life. At first I thought this was going to be a problem - everyone kept telling me to watch my back in parking lots, otherwise someone could sneak up behind me and steal my keys and my car in a flash. And then kill me for good measure. I was so scared at first that I actually twisted my neck after continuously jerking my neck back to look over my shoulder. I spent my first two days of work down here only able to look to the right.
However, I've come to love the South African parking lots. Perhaps as a reaction to the violence that has happened in parking lots in the past, almost every parking lot I have visited has had tons of wonderful young workers helping drivers to park - they also seem to serve as security guards. The other night, I parked a little far out in the parking lot by my gym. When I returned outside after my workout, it had gotten dark and my car was all alone in a grim dark corner. I was 97% sure that I would meet my end there. However, the nice guy in the parking lot walked with me to my car - I didn't even have to sacrifice my masculinity and ask. I feel like I can usually take care of myself, but I'll be damned if I want to go at it with someone who has a lurking-in-the-dark-carrying-a-razor-blade advantage. No thanks.
Parking lots in South Africa (or at least in my part of Johannesburg) have gone from a potentially scary place to an almost festive place. There's a system of reversing, tipping the young guy who helped you park and watched your car, and zipping off to your next task. It also reminds me of home. I don't know if parking lots are an American thing, but every time I pull into a parking spot I feel like I'm back on native soil. While I'm loving the diversity and excitement of South Africa - and I'm so excited to continue to learn and try new and different things - it is nice to get a reminder of home every once in a while.
There you have it - a frivolous Sunday note on the value of parking lots. I'm off for another trip to the parking lot - I might try and go to the store or something while I'm there.
Mike
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Breaking Down the Walls: A Fear Street Saga
Did anyone else read Fear Street? According to some, there are Goosebumps kids and there are Fear Street kids (R.L. Stine must have been raking it in in the early 90s). Eventually, those kids grow up to become either beer or wine drinkers, Browns or Steelers fans, Jen or Angie supporters....there are some teams in life the don't accept co-membership. While I experimented with Goosebumps, I was Fear Street all the way. While my favourite Fear Street series was definitely the Fear Street Cheerleaders set (zombie cheerleader bathtub brawl? yes please!), one that has always stuck with me is the 99 Fear Street series. Well, at least the first one. After that we get voodoo doctors, colonial flashbacks, and movie-within-a-movie-within-a-book tie ins. Whoa bessie. Anyways, in the 99 Fear Street set, evil lives within the walls on the house (very Amityville Horror). But not in the metaphorical sense. There is actually majorly evil crap in the walls of the house.
It is this expert knowledge (I'm like the Dian Fossey of teen lit) that made me tremble in terror when my boss picked up a sledgehammer yesterday and slammed it into the coral-coloured walls of The Jupiter Drawing Room. You see, we are changing from a more closed-off office type setting to an open plan, so we can all share ideas, yell across the room at each other, and smell one anothers lunches. Bliss. Haha - in fairness, I'm actually pretty excited about it. We have an absolutely brilliant creative team here at Jupiter but I have not gotten a lot of exposure to them as they sit in offices down the hall from Graham and myself.
Anyways, this symbolic sledging may have been exciting for some - the creatives were beaming with joy as each took a swing towards breaking down both the physical and emotional barriers between management and creative - but I was very concerned. Had anyone looked into the history of our buildings? Were they built on an ancient burial ground? Did the attic contain any corpses harbouring murderous grudges? And was anyone paying any attention to how close we are to Halloween!?
As I scanned the halls for signs of demons - checking the walls for pea soup splashes, inspecting the creatives for red irises or devil's marks, sniffing the air for any foul or otherworldly mists or fogs - I noticed something else in the air. Optimism.
I know - how corny does that sound? However, especially during this awful recession we're in, workplace optimism is a hard thing to find. And though I've had a wonderful start here at Jupiter and everyone has been fantastically welcoming, you cannot help but notice that on some days everyone just seems a bit run-down. It's that typical October feeling - what have I been doing all year and what do I have to show for it? And seeing these walls knocked down really seemed to help the attitude of some of our creative employees who I think have been feeling a bit neglected.
A bit of background: 49% of The Jupiter Drawing Room was purchased by WPP (the company I work for) in a deal that spanned nearly two years and just concluded last month. I for one am super happy about the deal, as it enabled me to come work here. However, as this deal was a long and arduous process, it took up most of the time of my boss, Graham, the founder and chairman of the TJDR. This has taken Graham away from his traditional duties. Normally, Graham would spend some time each week in the role of Creative Director - coming up with ideas, approving/amending work, rallying positive attitudes, and giving the creatives some individual attention. Graham has been quite successful in this director role - in fact, he's one of the most successful people in the history of advertising in that regard. According to one article (he doesn't often talk himself up, so I am forced to Google him), he has won "22 Cannes Lions, 23 Clios, 11 One Show Pencils, 23 London International Statues and 70 Medals at The New York Festival." Upon entering the office each day, I'm surrounded by so much gold I sometimes think I'm sharing an office with Meryl Streep. Cannes Lions are like the Oscars of advertising, and as I am a Leo, I enjoy staring at them and imagining my acceptance speeches upon winning them ("I'd like to thank the Academy for recognizing me as best actor...er....for best press advertisement...") or at least thinking about how I could make them into candelabras when I'm old and retired.
The point of that spiel is that the creative team here at Jupiter really wants Graham around. He hasn't been so successful without reason - he's a fantastic and rewarding director. So seeing these walls go down was a resounding sign to everyone that he is back in action and is eager to work alongside them. It was a really wonderful thing to see. I know that open plans can go wrong. One company I worked at previously had an open plan, and instead of instilling a feeling of togetherness there was just an area in the one corner where the management sat and no one dared to venture. If you got close, it was as if the temperature dropped about 10 degrees. But I really feel like Jupiter intends to make it a true open plan, where people are openly collaborating and sharing. I can just seem myself swirling around in my office chair, chatting to different people and then getting to work. One step closer to my dream of being an 1980s business-person.
So, instead of Satan emerging from the crumbling walls of Jupiter, we got a big old dose of togetherness. While we won't be singing "We Are Family" on the streets of Joburg anytime soon, I think it will help to make an already great situation even better. I may just keep a bit of holy water in my desk though - just in case.
Have a great day!
Mike
It is this expert knowledge (I'm like the Dian Fossey of teen lit) that made me tremble in terror when my boss picked up a sledgehammer yesterday and slammed it into the coral-coloured walls of The Jupiter Drawing Room. You see, we are changing from a more closed-off office type setting to an open plan, so we can all share ideas, yell across the room at each other, and smell one anothers lunches. Bliss. Haha - in fairness, I'm actually pretty excited about it. We have an absolutely brilliant creative team here at Jupiter but I have not gotten a lot of exposure to them as they sit in offices down the hall from Graham and myself.
Anyways, this symbolic sledging may have been exciting for some - the creatives were beaming with joy as each took a swing towards breaking down both the physical and emotional barriers between management and creative - but I was very concerned. Had anyone looked into the history of our buildings? Were they built on an ancient burial ground? Did the attic contain any corpses harbouring murderous grudges? And was anyone paying any attention to how close we are to Halloween!?
As I scanned the halls for signs of demons - checking the walls for pea soup splashes, inspecting the creatives for red irises or devil's marks, sniffing the air for any foul or otherworldly mists or fogs - I noticed something else in the air. Optimism.
I know - how corny does that sound? However, especially during this awful recession we're in, workplace optimism is a hard thing to find. And though I've had a wonderful start here at Jupiter and everyone has been fantastically welcoming, you cannot help but notice that on some days everyone just seems a bit run-down. It's that typical October feeling - what have I been doing all year and what do I have to show for it? And seeing these walls knocked down really seemed to help the attitude of some of our creative employees who I think have been feeling a bit neglected.
A bit of background: 49% of The Jupiter Drawing Room was purchased by WPP (the company I work for) in a deal that spanned nearly two years and just concluded last month. I for one am super happy about the deal, as it enabled me to come work here. However, as this deal was a long and arduous process, it took up most of the time of my boss, Graham, the founder and chairman of the TJDR. This has taken Graham away from his traditional duties. Normally, Graham would spend some time each week in the role of Creative Director - coming up with ideas, approving/amending work, rallying positive attitudes, and giving the creatives some individual attention. Graham has been quite successful in this director role - in fact, he's one of the most successful people in the history of advertising in that regard. According to one article (he doesn't often talk himself up, so I am forced to Google him), he has won "22 Cannes Lions, 23 Clios, 11 One Show Pencils, 23 London International Statues and 70 Medals at The New York Festival." Upon entering the office each day, I'm surrounded by so much gold I sometimes think I'm sharing an office with Meryl Streep. Cannes Lions are like the Oscars of advertising, and as I am a Leo, I enjoy staring at them and imagining my acceptance speeches upon winning them ("I'd like to thank the Academy for recognizing me as best actor...er....for best press advertisement...") or at least thinking about how I could make them into candelabras when I'm old and retired.
The point of that spiel is that the creative team here at Jupiter really wants Graham around. He hasn't been so successful without reason - he's a fantastic and rewarding director. So seeing these walls go down was a resounding sign to everyone that he is back in action and is eager to work alongside them. It was a really wonderful thing to see. I know that open plans can go wrong. One company I worked at previously had an open plan, and instead of instilling a feeling of togetherness there was just an area in the one corner where the management sat and no one dared to venture. If you got close, it was as if the temperature dropped about 10 degrees. But I really feel like Jupiter intends to make it a true open plan, where people are openly collaborating and sharing. I can just seem myself swirling around in my office chair, chatting to different people and then getting to work. One step closer to my dream of being an 1980s business-person.
So, instead of Satan emerging from the crumbling walls of Jupiter, we got a big old dose of togetherness. While we won't be singing "We Are Family" on the streets of Joburg anytime soon, I think it will help to make an already great situation even better. I may just keep a bit of holy water in my desk though - just in case.
Have a great day!
Mike
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
The Help
Picture this: I'm sitting in my living room this morning at 7AM, sipping my morning coffee, wearing my bed-time staple of brightly-coloured underpants and too-tight tank top, trying to decide whether I should play a quick round of Mario Kart on the Wii or get started on my writing duties for the day. I hear a knock upon my door. Since I don't know anyone in the country, let alone my apartment complex, I immediately assume it is an axe murderer. So, I grab my trusty lead curtain rod (the temporary replacement for Blue Strike - my large London hammer - which is currently in a box somewhere between Europe and the sub-Saharan) and tip-toe over to the sink-top window, where I crane my head in an effort to spot the villain. A face pops into the window and I scream! And the face screams! And I drop the lead rod on my feet and scream again! After several seconds of feeling pain and then feeling foolish, I look back at the window and see that the face of my would-be killer is an attractive black woman, who is now laughing instead of screaming. I begin to wonder if maybe she's not a murderer - maybe she's - the cleaner?
As it turns out, her name is Catherine and she came with my apartment. Every Wednesday she comes to clean the apartment, do the ironing, and (probably) spy for the landlady. Which is fine with me - if I was renting an apartment to a twenty-something male who's only luggage at move-in was an Xbox carrying case, I'd have a spy as well. Catherine is also married to Simon the security guard from my apartment's front gate. They are both quite lovely and I'm lucky to have them around.
I quickly threw on a shirt and tie and high-tailed it out of there, but I couldn't help but feel a bit guilty in retrospect. Here I'd been feeling uncomfortable having this woman - a stranger - in my apartment a 7:00 in the morning. However, she was there to clean my house! Something I should be doing myself. The poor woman is probably going to pull my clothes off of the drying rack and iron them and she'll be subjected to my underwear collection, after which she'll likely label me a sexual deviant. She's going to make the bed, and wonder why a 25 year old man sleeps with a stuffed tiger (I plead the Fifth). And I can't even remember what state I left the shower in! I certainly hope I didn't snot-rocket or anything foul in the morning (we all do it sometimes - don't we?)
There is often this double standard when it comes to those who help us live our everyday lives. Cleaners and gardeners and security men - we love to complain about them, but what would we do without them? This is especially prevalent in South Africa. Not because South Africans are rude - in fact, they've been (as a collective) the friendliest people I've ever met in my entire life. However, the reality is that more people down here have this "help" than anywhere I've been before, and this is of course a product of this still-evolving nation's social/political history.
An outsider can imagine himself to be a sultan when visiting here. When I arrived at my hotel, I was the only guest and therefore had a staff of three employed just to wait on me. For the first two days, this was awesome. Mostly because the people themselves were awesome. But having someone to refill my cookie jar, to take my breakfast order, and to get me a towel at the pool was quite lovely. And then guilt set in. Here are people that work twice as hard and make half as much (if that). They walk to and from work everyday, probably have families to support, and often work more than the traditional 40-hour work week.
I obviously don't have an answer. But it does rub me the wrong way that even I, on an entry-level salary, can afford a weekly cleaner, an apartment with two-security guards, and to eat out every night was the majority of the people in the country are struggling to make it on a dollar or two a day.
There is apparently a fantastic book called The Help and I now intend to read it. It is about maids in the American South who were trusted to "raise their employers' children but not to polish the sliver." This sounds absurd in a sense, but when you think about it we've all witnessed similarly insane double standards when it comes to issues of race.
It would be easier to feel comfortable about the "help" if they weren't so damned helpful. Everyone I have met in a service/hospitality role down here has been obnoxiously efficient and friendly. The cook at my hotel practically forced delicious breakfasts of omelets, fresh fruit salad, filtered coffee (not the instant muck I make myself), and toast down my throat every morning and she seemed delighted by no more than a "thank you" and "how are you today?" as a reward. I felt like the exploding man from "The Meaning of Life" and all she wanted was common courtesy. The shocking thing was that some of the other guests didn't even go that far. I've never been the most mannerly of men (anyone who has seen my unique way of wielding a knife and fork can attest to that) but when someone makes me a three-course breakfast, I say "thank you thank you thank you!" I have visions of getting someone to serve me meals while singing "Be Our Guest" but I'd probably be so overwhelmed that I'd die on the spot.
All of this culture shock of course comes after a week spent in France for work. For some reason I felt less guilty accepting Foie Gras from gorgeous French wait-staff than I do taking things from all of the people here. I have no documentation over whether one group is paid better than the other, and no evidence that they are treated any better or worse. But it just feels wrong, after all the progress we have made in the world in terms of race, for there to be such a marked division between those who serve and those who are serviced.
I have no answers and I am making no accusations. Ninety-nine percent of the people I've met in South Africa, black or white, have been kind and have treated their fellow humans down here with respect (from what I've seen). I just wish it was a little more Last Holiday and a little less Gone with the Wind.
:) Mike
As it turns out, her name is Catherine and she came with my apartment. Every Wednesday she comes to clean the apartment, do the ironing, and (probably) spy for the landlady. Which is fine with me - if I was renting an apartment to a twenty-something male who's only luggage at move-in was an Xbox carrying case, I'd have a spy as well. Catherine is also married to Simon the security guard from my apartment's front gate. They are both quite lovely and I'm lucky to have them around.
I quickly threw on a shirt and tie and high-tailed it out of there, but I couldn't help but feel a bit guilty in retrospect. Here I'd been feeling uncomfortable having this woman - a stranger - in my apartment a 7:00 in the morning. However, she was there to clean my house! Something I should be doing myself. The poor woman is probably going to pull my clothes off of the drying rack and iron them and she'll be subjected to my underwear collection, after which she'll likely label me a sexual deviant. She's going to make the bed, and wonder why a 25 year old man sleeps with a stuffed tiger (I plead the Fifth). And I can't even remember what state I left the shower in! I certainly hope I didn't snot-rocket or anything foul in the morning (we all do it sometimes - don't we?)
There is often this double standard when it comes to those who help us live our everyday lives. Cleaners and gardeners and security men - we love to complain about them, but what would we do without them? This is especially prevalent in South Africa. Not because South Africans are rude - in fact, they've been (as a collective) the friendliest people I've ever met in my entire life. However, the reality is that more people down here have this "help" than anywhere I've been before, and this is of course a product of this still-evolving nation's social/political history.
An outsider can imagine himself to be a sultan when visiting here. When I arrived at my hotel, I was the only guest and therefore had a staff of three employed just to wait on me. For the first two days, this was awesome. Mostly because the people themselves were awesome. But having someone to refill my cookie jar, to take my breakfast order, and to get me a towel at the pool was quite lovely. And then guilt set in. Here are people that work twice as hard and make half as much (if that). They walk to and from work everyday, probably have families to support, and often work more than the traditional 40-hour work week.
I obviously don't have an answer. But it does rub me the wrong way that even I, on an entry-level salary, can afford a weekly cleaner, an apartment with two-security guards, and to eat out every night was the majority of the people in the country are struggling to make it on a dollar or two a day.
There is apparently a fantastic book called The Help and I now intend to read it. It is about maids in the American South who were trusted to "raise their employers' children but not to polish the sliver." This sounds absurd in a sense, but when you think about it we've all witnessed similarly insane double standards when it comes to issues of race.
It would be easier to feel comfortable about the "help" if they weren't so damned helpful. Everyone I have met in a service/hospitality role down here has been obnoxiously efficient and friendly. The cook at my hotel practically forced delicious breakfasts of omelets, fresh fruit salad, filtered coffee (not the instant muck I make myself), and toast down my throat every morning and she seemed delighted by no more than a "thank you" and "how are you today?" as a reward. I felt like the exploding man from "The Meaning of Life" and all she wanted was common courtesy. The shocking thing was that some of the other guests didn't even go that far. I've never been the most mannerly of men (anyone who has seen my unique way of wielding a knife and fork can attest to that) but when someone makes me a three-course breakfast, I say "thank you thank you thank you!" I have visions of getting someone to serve me meals while singing "Be Our Guest" but I'd probably be so overwhelmed that I'd die on the spot.
All of this culture shock of course comes after a week spent in France for work. For some reason I felt less guilty accepting Foie Gras from gorgeous French wait-staff than I do taking things from all of the people here. I have no documentation over whether one group is paid better than the other, and no evidence that they are treated any better or worse. But it just feels wrong, after all the progress we have made in the world in terms of race, for there to be such a marked division between those who serve and those who are serviced.
I have no answers and I am making no accusations. Ninety-nine percent of the people I've met in South Africa, black or white, have been kind and have treated their fellow humans down here with respect (from what I've seen). I just wish it was a little more Last Holiday and a little less Gone with the Wind.
:) Mike
Sunday, October 11, 2009
New Portugal
Bom Dia!
Apparently this strange sounding phrase, which sounds more appropriate for fashion week than for greetings, means "good day" in Portuguese! ("Did you see how fierce Tyra looks in Marc Jacobs? Bom diaaaaaaa!")
Why have I adopted Portuguese as my mother tongue today? While I have always had a soft spot for Ferdinand Magellan (mostly because of the dragon Magellan from Eureeka's Castle), I'm actually feeling Portuguese because I'm moving to a place called The Algarve this very afternoon. No - I'm not moving from a hotel in Johannesburg to a region in the south of Portugal (had to look that up - when I first read Algarve, I thought it was a cactus). It's the name of the apartment complex I'm moving into!
This will just be a quick post, but I want to draw attention to how much easier it is to find an apartment/flat in Johannesburg than it was in London. In London, it took weeks of negotiations, endless forms, security deposits, and pain and suffering just to move in (thank God I moved in to our flat between leases so I didn't have to go through the worst of it). Then, if - God forbid - you needed a repair done or something of the sort, you'd better have 2 months and a lot of time to wait on the phone to even hear back about getting it fixed. And don't even get me started on utility bills!
So, when I arrived in Johannesburg, I was prepared for a battle royale. Instead, my boss's assistant Debbie drove me to a flat on my first Monday, it was furnished, the landlord works at my work, utilities and repairs are included, and that's it. I can move in whenever, just have to sign a three page lease. Voila! Five minutes drive from work, 24 hour security, two pools, queen sized bed. In truth, we all know I usually sleep on the floor, so the bed will be for Taj (my stuffed tiger - don't judge). Yesterday I moved most of my things over from the hotel and was surprised to find that there are already dishes, towels, and lightbulbs there for me (and there is a maid/laundry service - my prayers are answered). Someone even left Marmite in the cupboard. Ew.
So today I'm completing the big move. My video games are already set up there so I will feel at home upon arrival. (I needed a step-down converter to play here - which is basically looks like Mother Brain from Metroid attaching itself to your television). Yesterday, while exploring the neighborhood I'm moving into, I got a little lost and hit a man with my car. Luckily I was only going about 15kph and I have a tiny car. He was selling flowers, so I decided to buy one and he seemed quite pleased - no harm done. But it was kind of a traumatic experience. In Johannesburg, every intersection floods with people when the light turns red and people sell everything from steak knives to internal organs (I haven't experienced this, but I know it must happen). It's kind of fun - it all feels very old-world market place - except that it takes quite a bit of labor for someone who doesn't pay attention very well when he drives to notice every single person in the intersection. So when I love-tapped this gentleman yesterday, I had flashes on being sued and having to furnish someone with fake-legs and feeding tubes for the rest of my life. Luckily, I just knocked him on his bum and gave him R20 (just under $4) for a rose that has since gone the way of Liz Taylor (wrinkly).
Anyways, I'd better get my butt in gear. I have to take one last jacuzzi in the hotel room before I go (the new place has a shower but no bathtub - sigh) and I need to pack up all of my clothes. I'm excited to move into The Algarve. Just as the USA has New England, I feel like South Africa has a kind of New Portugal thing going on. The primary settlements were of course Dutch, but I was not aware of the heavy Portuguese influence until I was down here, and I'm excited to have even a small part in it. If I live here and keep eating Nando's chicken, you might be referring to me as Michael Magellan by Christmastime!
Have a great Sunday - it is the best day of the week.
:) Mike
Apparently this strange sounding phrase, which sounds more appropriate for fashion week than for greetings, means "good day" in Portuguese! ("Did you see how fierce Tyra looks in Marc Jacobs? Bom diaaaaaaa!")
Why have I adopted Portuguese as my mother tongue today? While I have always had a soft spot for Ferdinand Magellan (mostly because of the dragon Magellan from Eureeka's Castle), I'm actually feeling Portuguese because I'm moving to a place called The Algarve this very afternoon. No - I'm not moving from a hotel in Johannesburg to a region in the south of Portugal (had to look that up - when I first read Algarve, I thought it was a cactus). It's the name of the apartment complex I'm moving into!
This will just be a quick post, but I want to draw attention to how much easier it is to find an apartment/flat in Johannesburg than it was in London. In London, it took weeks of negotiations, endless forms, security deposits, and pain and suffering just to move in (thank God I moved in to our flat between leases so I didn't have to go through the worst of it). Then, if - God forbid - you needed a repair done or something of the sort, you'd better have 2 months and a lot of time to wait on the phone to even hear back about getting it fixed. And don't even get me started on utility bills!
So, when I arrived in Johannesburg, I was prepared for a battle royale. Instead, my boss's assistant Debbie drove me to a flat on my first Monday, it was furnished, the landlord works at my work, utilities and repairs are included, and that's it. I can move in whenever, just have to sign a three page lease. Voila! Five minutes drive from work, 24 hour security, two pools, queen sized bed. In truth, we all know I usually sleep on the floor, so the bed will be for Taj (my stuffed tiger - don't judge). Yesterday I moved most of my things over from the hotel and was surprised to find that there are already dishes, towels, and lightbulbs there for me (and there is a maid/laundry service - my prayers are answered). Someone even left Marmite in the cupboard. Ew.
So today I'm completing the big move. My video games are already set up there so I will feel at home upon arrival. (I needed a step-down converter to play here - which is basically looks like Mother Brain from Metroid attaching itself to your television). Yesterday, while exploring the neighborhood I'm moving into, I got a little lost and hit a man with my car. Luckily I was only going about 15kph and I have a tiny car. He was selling flowers, so I decided to buy one and he seemed quite pleased - no harm done. But it was kind of a traumatic experience. In Johannesburg, every intersection floods with people when the light turns red and people sell everything from steak knives to internal organs (I haven't experienced this, but I know it must happen). It's kind of fun - it all feels very old-world market place - except that it takes quite a bit of labor for someone who doesn't pay attention very well when he drives to notice every single person in the intersection. So when I love-tapped this gentleman yesterday, I had flashes on being sued and having to furnish someone with fake-legs and feeding tubes for the rest of my life. Luckily, I just knocked him on his bum and gave him R20 (just under $4) for a rose that has since gone the way of Liz Taylor (wrinkly).
Anyways, I'd better get my butt in gear. I have to take one last jacuzzi in the hotel room before I go (the new place has a shower but no bathtub - sigh) and I need to pack up all of my clothes. I'm excited to move into The Algarve. Just as the USA has New England, I feel like South Africa has a kind of New Portugal thing going on. The primary settlements were of course Dutch, but I was not aware of the heavy Portuguese influence until I was down here, and I'm excited to have even a small part in it. If I live here and keep eating Nando's chicken, you might be referring to me as Michael Magellan by Christmastime!
Have a great Sunday - it is the best day of the week.
:) Mike
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Jupiter: The Bringer of Jollity
My favourite suite of orchestral music is without a doubt Gustav Holst's Planets Suite. My first exposure to it came in 9th grade orchestra, where I was an extremely inadequate piano/bells player. We performed a movement from the suite, called Jupiter: The Bringer of Jollity (if you listen to this link, the recognizable parts start around 1:39 and especially 2:57). While it may sound unfamiliar, trust me, you've heard it before. It's been adapted in films ranging from Knowing to Sense and Sensibility. It was also the theme for The Rugby World Cup in 1991 if you follow that. Anyways, I often think of this suite, and more specifically Jupiter. It just seems so cool that someone wrote a whole series of brilliant music based on the planets and astrology. And poor Pluto didn't get a song because it hadn't even been discovered yet!
Why am I on this spiel about string music from the 1930s? Well, for starters, I've been filled with a lot of jollity as of late. And a lot of that is because of Jupiter. Not the planet, the company. Just over a week ago, I started a one year placement at a full-service South African advertising agency called The Jupiter Drawing Room. For those of you who don't know, I'm employed by an advertising conglomerate called WPP, and last February we bought a 49% share of Jupiter and its affiliates. As my job allows me to spend a year at three different WPP companies, Jupiter became an option once this deal was in place. After spending a year at Mindshare UK, a media buying company, I was ready for something a bit more artsy. So I packed my bags and headed down to here to the city of Johannesburg, and I began working on October 1st.
Jupiter did not get its name from the celestial body or from a piece of music. It actually got the name, appropriately for me as a writer, from a short story. The story goes like this: "The agency name comes from an obscure Guy de Maupassant short story. In a country house in Normandy, France, Madame Tellier and her young ladies 'entertained' the local tradesmen downstairs. The local dignitaries however, had a special room set aside for them on the first floor: The Jupiter Drawing Room." In addition to the wonderful distinction of being named after a house of ill repute, Jupiter has become renowned in the advertising world for another reason; that reason being that every piece of work advertising the company brand (so The Jupiter Drawing Room name, as opposed to the products it is hired to advertise) features a Chesterfield sofa. These elements, along with several other company rituals, give it an unavoidable old world charm that I found absolutely irresistible.
Why am I so happy here? Well, I've only had seven days on the job so I'm not going to start counting chickens just yet. But the primary reason is that I work for an absolute legend. My boss, Graham Warsop, is not just a giant in terms of South African advertising - he's a giant in the world of advertising as a whole. Now, if you know me well, you know that being famous isn't going to win me over just like that (unless you're Beyonce). But the thing I've enjoyed so much about my boss so far is that he is so eager to give people (more specifically, me - haha) opportunities. And also, while recognizing that advertising must move forward into digital areas and beyond, he maintains an unwavering allegiance to the mediums that helped shape the industry - most significantly, print advertising. I'll write more about him, and print advertising, at a later date. I will just say that I feel quite lucky to be sitting in an office with such an accomplished individual who is actually eager to share his experiences and also hear about mine. And he's a scrapbooking fan - what more could you ask for?
I'm not suffering from hero worship here. I'm sure the man has flaws. But the thing is, from a work perspective, you don't want to search out personal flaws. You want to look for qualities that, in a 9 to 5 setting, make you feel professionally challenged and fulfilled. Any problem I had with my last job at Mindshare, which is a fantastic company, came from feeling undervalued and like I was not given opportunities. I also felt that some people there were very eager to search out personal flaws rather than focusing on work and only work (although I have no personal flaws so I'm not sure what that could have been about - hahaha). At Mindshare I always felt like I was given the work that no one else wanted to do, or was asked for my opinion from people who had already made up their minds. I've already been asked for my honest opinion more times at Jupiter than I was in my year at Mindshare. I've been invited into the decision making chambers and allowed to analyze and argue with everyone else. And I feel like I'm performing well. And that confidence is making me work even harder.
I think that sometimes both teachers and employers forget that the best way to get people to excel is to allow them to discover what they're good at. I'm not saying I know it all, or anything for that matter, but it seems to me that negative criticism can just pile up until a person is crushed under the weight of it. By the end of my year at Mindshare I had started to wonder if I was capable of good work. Lack of confidence had never been my problem before - what had happened? You see it in sports all of the time. An athlete can be on top of the world and then a string of bad results can leave them reeling. I often think of Karrie Webb, the golfer. Through the end of the 1990s through 2002 she was the world's best female golfer, regularly beating Annika Sorenstam. Then came a couple of bad results. Instead of taking some time to reevaluate, she kept hitting tournaments and going home early. Eventually, she was on the verge of retirement. A big break, an evaluation of her skills and weaknesses, and some hard work allowed her to come back a few years later and put in some great seasons. But what had happened? Why had the wheels fallen off?
A field like advertising likes to see itself as similar to professional sports. An industry of superstars. The problem is, the thing with stars and comets is that they eventually (a) crash or (b) blow up. Occasionally you'll get an insane cult riding your wake, but pretty soon you're all alone at there until everyone tunes in to watch you explode. Advertising has so many big minds and big personalities that when someone suffers even a minor meltdown it becomes a huge problem for that person and the people around them, just like professional sports. My hero Serena Williams, you may recall, recently went on a tirade against a judge at the US Open. Apparently she said something about shoving an "f-ing ball" down the judge's "f-ing throat." Okay, so this is aggressive language. However, not aggressive enough in my opinion to be talked about in Sports Illustrated, Regis and Kelly, Good Morning America, CNN, BBC, NPR, and beyond for days a and weeks to come.
Okay, that was a bit of a tangent. But I hope you see the point. When the wheels fall off in advertising, as in sports, they fall off in a big way. I feel like I lost my wheels for a bit. But, so far, The Jupiter Drawing Room has gone all Forza on me and put me back in racing mode. This is not just because of Graham. Everyone at Jupiter, from the guys at the security gate to the creative directors to the little lady who makes up the coffee trays, has been absolutely splendid. They've welcomed me just like a family. It's also so multicultural. I know that there is serious racial strife in South Africa. However, even with the tension, it is so nice to be in an office with people of myriad backgrounds and skin colours. It's almost like a little glimpse into the future, as I certainly hope that one day every office in the world is filled with people of all different races and origins.
Actually, most of the people I've met in South Africa have been completely welcoming. No one had been more welcoming than Graham's PA, Debbie, who also sorts things out for me as well. She in an hysterical woman in her late 40s/early 50s who loves white wine, cigarettes, and long lunches. She's also treated me just like I'm a long lost nephew. She found me an apartment, rented me a car, and has also peer-pressured me into quite a few glasses of very-necessary wine at the end of the day. I am so blessed to have her around and it gives me confidence - if Graham surrounds himself with such great people, he must think highly of me as well.
I'll be writing more about work in the year to come, but I wanted to give a background for (a) what it is we do, and (b) why I've been so happy since I've started working down here. I am sure I'll have my ups and downs but I can't help but feel optimistic in this world of sunshine and smiles.
Have a magical weekend!
Mike :)
Why am I on this spiel about string music from the 1930s? Well, for starters, I've been filled with a lot of jollity as of late. And a lot of that is because of Jupiter. Not the planet, the company. Just over a week ago, I started a one year placement at a full-service South African advertising agency called The Jupiter Drawing Room. For those of you who don't know, I'm employed by an advertising conglomerate called WPP, and last February we bought a 49% share of Jupiter and its affiliates. As my job allows me to spend a year at three different WPP companies, Jupiter became an option once this deal was in place. After spending a year at Mindshare UK, a media buying company, I was ready for something a bit more artsy. So I packed my bags and headed down to here to the city of Johannesburg, and I began working on October 1st.
Jupiter did not get its name from the celestial body or from a piece of music. It actually got the name, appropriately for me as a writer, from a short story. The story goes like this: "The agency name comes from an obscure Guy de Maupassant short story. In a country house in Normandy, France, Madame Tellier and her young ladies 'entertained' the local tradesmen downstairs. The local dignitaries however, had a special room set aside for them on the first floor: The Jupiter Drawing Room." In addition to the wonderful distinction of being named after a house of ill repute, Jupiter has become renowned in the advertising world for another reason; that reason being that every piece of work advertising the company brand (so The Jupiter Drawing Room name, as opposed to the products it is hired to advertise) features a Chesterfield sofa. These elements, along with several other company rituals, give it an unavoidable old world charm that I found absolutely irresistible.
Why am I so happy here? Well, I've only had seven days on the job so I'm not going to start counting chickens just yet. But the primary reason is that I work for an absolute legend. My boss, Graham Warsop, is not just a giant in terms of South African advertising - he's a giant in the world of advertising as a whole. Now, if you know me well, you know that being famous isn't going to win me over just like that (unless you're Beyonce). But the thing I've enjoyed so much about my boss so far is that he is so eager to give people (more specifically, me - haha) opportunities. And also, while recognizing that advertising must move forward into digital areas and beyond, he maintains an unwavering allegiance to the mediums that helped shape the industry - most significantly, print advertising. I'll write more about him, and print advertising, at a later date. I will just say that I feel quite lucky to be sitting in an office with such an accomplished individual who is actually eager to share his experiences and also hear about mine. And he's a scrapbooking fan - what more could you ask for?
I'm not suffering from hero worship here. I'm sure the man has flaws. But the thing is, from a work perspective, you don't want to search out personal flaws. You want to look for qualities that, in a 9 to 5 setting, make you feel professionally challenged and fulfilled. Any problem I had with my last job at Mindshare, which is a fantastic company, came from feeling undervalued and like I was not given opportunities. I also felt that some people there were very eager to search out personal flaws rather than focusing on work and only work (although I have no personal flaws so I'm not sure what that could have been about - hahaha). At Mindshare I always felt like I was given the work that no one else wanted to do, or was asked for my opinion from people who had already made up their minds. I've already been asked for my honest opinion more times at Jupiter than I was in my year at Mindshare. I've been invited into the decision making chambers and allowed to analyze and argue with everyone else. And I feel like I'm performing well. And that confidence is making me work even harder.
I think that sometimes both teachers and employers forget that the best way to get people to excel is to allow them to discover what they're good at. I'm not saying I know it all, or anything for that matter, but it seems to me that negative criticism can just pile up until a person is crushed under the weight of it. By the end of my year at Mindshare I had started to wonder if I was capable of good work. Lack of confidence had never been my problem before - what had happened? You see it in sports all of the time. An athlete can be on top of the world and then a string of bad results can leave them reeling. I often think of Karrie Webb, the golfer. Through the end of the 1990s through 2002 she was the world's best female golfer, regularly beating Annika Sorenstam. Then came a couple of bad results. Instead of taking some time to reevaluate, she kept hitting tournaments and going home early. Eventually, she was on the verge of retirement. A big break, an evaluation of her skills and weaknesses, and some hard work allowed her to come back a few years later and put in some great seasons. But what had happened? Why had the wheels fallen off?
A field like advertising likes to see itself as similar to professional sports. An industry of superstars. The problem is, the thing with stars and comets is that they eventually (a) crash or (b) blow up. Occasionally you'll get an insane cult riding your wake, but pretty soon you're all alone at there until everyone tunes in to watch you explode. Advertising has so many big minds and big personalities that when someone suffers even a minor meltdown it becomes a huge problem for that person and the people around them, just like professional sports. My hero Serena Williams, you may recall, recently went on a tirade against a judge at the US Open. Apparently she said something about shoving an "f-ing ball" down the judge's "f-ing throat." Okay, so this is aggressive language. However, not aggressive enough in my opinion to be talked about in Sports Illustrated, Regis and Kelly, Good Morning America, CNN, BBC, NPR, and beyond for days a and weeks to come.
Okay, that was a bit of a tangent. But I hope you see the point. When the wheels fall off in advertising, as in sports, they fall off in a big way. I feel like I lost my wheels for a bit. But, so far, The Jupiter Drawing Room has gone all Forza on me and put me back in racing mode. This is not just because of Graham. Everyone at Jupiter, from the guys at the security gate to the creative directors to the little lady who makes up the coffee trays, has been absolutely splendid. They've welcomed me just like a family. It's also so multicultural. I know that there is serious racial strife in South Africa. However, even with the tension, it is so nice to be in an office with people of myriad backgrounds and skin colours. It's almost like a little glimpse into the future, as I certainly hope that one day every office in the world is filled with people of all different races and origins.
Actually, most of the people I've met in South Africa have been completely welcoming. No one had been more welcoming than Graham's PA, Debbie, who also sorts things out for me as well. She in an hysterical woman in her late 40s/early 50s who loves white wine, cigarettes, and long lunches. She's also treated me just like I'm a long lost nephew. She found me an apartment, rented me a car, and has also peer-pressured me into quite a few glasses of very-necessary wine at the end of the day. I am so blessed to have her around and it gives me confidence - if Graham surrounds himself with such great people, he must think highly of me as well.
I'll be writing more about work in the year to come, but I wanted to give a background for (a) what it is we do, and (b) why I've been so happy since I've started working down here. I am sure I'll have my ups and downs but I can't help but feel optimistic in this world of sunshine and smiles.
Have a magical weekend!
Mike :)
Friday, October 9, 2009
The Circle of Life
All I can say is: thank God for The Lion King. I have serious trouble living in any area that has not been the location of a Disney movie. Luckily, my hometown of Meadville looks enough like provincial France that I could identify it with Beauty and the Beast. Townsville, Australia was straight out of The Little Mermaid (not to mention The Rescuers Down Under), so I was all set there. London was a bit trickier - while I believe 101 Dalmations was set there, I didn't have a dog, so I couldn't get into that groove. Mary Poppins wasn't really my thing. Robin Hood was a bit north of London (and a bit weird, if you ask me). How was I supposed to adhere to a lifestyle of animated good-vs-evil, happily ever after, love-is-the-answer wonder if I had no Disney template to follow?
Well, when I left London last week after two years of high-highs and low-lows, I was ready for a new chapter. And luckily, I have a Disney outline ready and waiting: The Lion King. I don't mean that the people in South Africa are like talking animals, or that I find myself heir to the throne of King of the Jungle. What I mean is that South Africa is a place of wonder, discovery, and joy - but there are also sinister rules and divisions - some that need to be taken into account and some that need to be broken.
Before I even arrived in Johannesburg, people were telling me "high murder rate" and "AIDS everywhere" and "watch your back." It was a little overwhelming, actually. I arrived on guard. After knocking myself out on the flight with a potent combo of red wine and anxiety-induced-coma, I arrived in Joburg bright eyed and bushy tailed but also wary of everyone. Instead of being greeted by gun-wielding deviants, however, I was met with smiles and "welcomes" from everyone. I bought a ham sandwich at Wimpy and was bowled over by the kindness of the service. (Two years in London may leave you expecting the worst). And then, my lovely Avis driver met me with a car and drove me through Johannesburg to Rivonia, a suburb just north of the city. In a wonderful twist of fate (God must have known I needed some help), my driver's name was Rufus, which is also the name of one of my beloved dogs at home.
Looking out the window on my drive through Johannesburg was a wonderful experience. The sun was rising over the red earth and there were buildings and people as far as the eye could see. My driver was so friendly and was pointing out all of the landmarks and buildings and neighborhoods - I felt like I was in a whole new world. And right away I thought of The Lion King. It was just like the opening of the film, with The Circle of Life playing in the background. Minus all the singing animals, unfortunately.
We arrived at the hotel - Chislehurst House, my home until I find an apartment - and I was taken aback once again by how friendly everyone was. I was also taken back by how amazing my room was. My room, the Walsingham Suite, features a full kitchen, a garden, a king-sized bed, a "honeymoon jacuzzi," a bidet (yikes), a dressing room, and daily replenishing of the cookie jar. Score! The owners were away, so the staff showed me the ropes with everything as I immediately felt at home. Then my car was delivered. Eeek.
I had heard that people mostly drive manual-transmission ("stick") in South Africa, but I didn't realize that the car work would rent for me would be one of these creatures. However, when I sat down in my lovely little Hyundai Atos Prime, turned the key (screeching ensued - should have been my first hint), and went to change the stick from "Park" to "Drive" it dawned on me that the wobbly little shaft (no giggles) in my hand was not going to simply "Drive" - it wanted to know if it should be in 1,2,3,4,5, or R. I knew what R meant and that was about it.
My only experience with driving manual was my first summer job in Greendale Cemetery, where the John Deere tractor I had to drive was a stick shift. However, it has been seven years since then and there is also the small fact that I crashed the tractor repeatedly and never actually figured out how to turn it on on my own. I searched my mind for movie and book references to manual driving - certainly pop culture could solve this problem for me! The only thing that came into my head was the Twilight movie, where Jacob tells Bella to "double pump the clutch" when starting her truck. That seemed like a good start - pumping the clutch while starting the car. I then had flashes back to the graveyard days - you have to hold in the clutch to shift gears! Now we're rolling. I started the car, pushed in the clutch, switched to the "R," hit the gas, and....whump. The car stopped.
Simba didn't have to learn how to drive a freaking car in The Lion King. He got to ride birds and elephants and other magical beasts. My Hyundai would certainly not qualify as a magical beast. I decided to try it again and keep the clutch held in. Success! Kind of. The car started to inch back in reverse, though the screeching noise maintained a steady presence. I started taking my foot of the clutch a little bit and sure enough, the car moved a bit faster. It hit me that the clutch, like the gas, had something to do with the acceleration of the car. Einstein moment, Michael. Ugh.
Shifting to "1" seemed like the logical choice, both in terms of numerology and bicycle riding. However, I couldn't seem to shift without the car dying. The girl who had shown me my room had apparently been watching a laughing from the window and she came out and said "hold in the clutch, put it in first, and hit the gas as you let off of the clutch. If it starts to rumble too much, push down on the clutch." Seemed easy enough. Though the car kept it's screeching up, I managed to get the car up the hill, out the front gate, and onto the road. Onto the road! It was only once I was on an actual street that I realized - "I'm driving on the left side of the road!" - how I had failed to notice that I was driving from the right side of the car instead of the left is beyond me, but falling into traffic on the left side of the road was quite the wake up call. Quickly I was at the end of the road, faced with a right turn (the equivalent of a North American left turn - that dreaded demon) - and still chugging along at 10kph in first gear. These were dire times.
I did what any sensible novice would do. I put on my blinkers and pretended to be broken down. Once everyone had passed me and the street was deserted, I through the car back in first, pulled a quick u-turn, and drove back to the hotel. The screeching of the car was worrying me but I just pulled into the parking spot, turned the car off (where was the "Park" gear, I wondered) and leaped out. After this trial, I needed a nap.
My first day was swiftly coming to an end and I had another realization - I had no food in my room. Considering I was staying in a Bed and Breakfast I figured dinner wasn't part of the equation. I asked one of the staff where I could find food and she said there was a gas station just up the road. I could drive there. Ha! I nodded yes and then decided to try the journey on foot.
Half an hour later, I was standing on a dirt path on the side of a highway, looking across four lanes of traffic at a gas station that seemed to be out of From Dusk til Dawn. Whoopsie Daisy. Now, I had been warned not to walk around because only black people walked. I could not understand why this was a problem and I found that it was not a problem at all. On one hand, it was weird to be the only white person walking around because I'm not used to standing out so much. However, every single person I passed smiled when I smiled, said hi, even gave me directions. I did not feel threatened in the slightest - in fact, I felt welcomed. I can see how walking into the wrong neighborhood or walking around at dark could be an issue, as it would be in any city anywhere, but walking on a main road in the early evening felt comfortable and even a little festive. It was the end of the work day for most of the other walkers and there was that "done for the day" bounce in their steps.
I had to rely on my fellow pedestrians to get to the gas station across the highway. "How did the chicken crossed the road?" - well, he waited for two elderly women to cross the highway and rode the wake. I comforted myself by thinking that no one would run over a granny, let alone two, so I must be safe.
The food at the gas station left a lot to be desired, so I ended up with biltong (kind of like South African beef jerky) and a can of mixed veggies for dinner. Food is food - and I felt kind of cultural while munching the biltong. I made it back to the hotel using similar methodology and quickly ate and passed out.
I won't ramble much longer, but I will say that the following day I decided to "sink or swim" it and drove out onto the highway. I stalled 42 times in my 3 hour drive but I felt relatively confident by the time I had finished, though the car had screeched the entire time. And the other drivers had all been very considerate - only 1 person honked at me throughout the whole ordeal, and that may be because I nearly backed into his Porsche. Picky, picky.
Later that day I decided to drive to my new office just to get a look. As I pulled into the parking lot, the security guard at the gate had me sign in. During this time, I stalled once again. When I started it up again and the screeching began, the guard reached into the car through the window. I assumed he was frisking me, which was fine - I understand the need for security measures. The I saw him grasp a lever next to me and push it down. He smiled and said "You'll drive better with the parking brake off" and ushered me through. Turns out the screeching had come from the darned parking break - I also found myself able to accelerate much more easily, and I didn't stall nearly enough. A week later, I am almost a stick shift pro!
I'll write again with more observations on my so-far wonderful experience and about the first few days of work (which have been awesome). But I think I've filled up enough space for now.
I'll close by saying that I'm not completely naive - I do understand that there are real threats here in Johannesburg. But, by far, the people have been so welcoming that I do believe a lot of the hoopla is unwarranted. Sure there are problems - when I asked my PA at work (a native of Johannesburg) where I should go to get some dinner, she said, completely serious, "You could go to McDonald's, but go through the drive-through or else you'll be mugged. You could go to the Shell station, but at this time of night you'll be mugged." You could try Woolworth's, but make sure to pay the parking attendant or else you'll be mugged. Maybe you should order in?" However, I choose to look at the bright side. So often in life I am overwhelmed by choices - should I go here? should I go there? - and I find it quite nice to have my options winnowed down a bit. Choosing dinner is now that much more simple - go to the grocery store in daylight or else get mugged. Helps me schedule my day perfectly!
Apparently, the tag line for The Lion King was "Life's greatest adventure is finding your place in the Circle of Life" - I didn't remember that. That is how I'm treating my year in Africa. I know I'm not going to find all of the answers here in South Africa - heck, I might not even find one answer - but I am already so enchanted by this country that I know it is going to be a wonderful adventure no matter what.
Sawubona!
Mike :)
Well, when I left London last week after two years of high-highs and low-lows, I was ready for a new chapter. And luckily, I have a Disney outline ready and waiting: The Lion King. I don't mean that the people in South Africa are like talking animals, or that I find myself heir to the throne of King of the Jungle. What I mean is that South Africa is a place of wonder, discovery, and joy - but there are also sinister rules and divisions - some that need to be taken into account and some that need to be broken.
Before I even arrived in Johannesburg, people were telling me "high murder rate" and "AIDS everywhere" and "watch your back." It was a little overwhelming, actually. I arrived on guard. After knocking myself out on the flight with a potent combo of red wine and anxiety-induced-coma, I arrived in Joburg bright eyed and bushy tailed but also wary of everyone. Instead of being greeted by gun-wielding deviants, however, I was met with smiles and "welcomes" from everyone. I bought a ham sandwich at Wimpy and was bowled over by the kindness of the service. (Two years in London may leave you expecting the worst). And then, my lovely Avis driver met me with a car and drove me through Johannesburg to Rivonia, a suburb just north of the city. In a wonderful twist of fate (God must have known I needed some help), my driver's name was Rufus, which is also the name of one of my beloved dogs at home.
Looking out the window on my drive through Johannesburg was a wonderful experience. The sun was rising over the red earth and there were buildings and people as far as the eye could see. My driver was so friendly and was pointing out all of the landmarks and buildings and neighborhoods - I felt like I was in a whole new world. And right away I thought of The Lion King. It was just like the opening of the film, with The Circle of Life playing in the background. Minus all the singing animals, unfortunately.
We arrived at the hotel - Chislehurst House, my home until I find an apartment - and I was taken aback once again by how friendly everyone was. I was also taken back by how amazing my room was. My room, the Walsingham Suite, features a full kitchen, a garden, a king-sized bed, a "honeymoon jacuzzi," a bidet (yikes), a dressing room, and daily replenishing of the cookie jar. Score! The owners were away, so the staff showed me the ropes with everything as I immediately felt at home. Then my car was delivered. Eeek.
I had heard that people mostly drive manual-transmission ("stick") in South Africa, but I didn't realize that the car work would rent for me would be one of these creatures. However, when I sat down in my lovely little Hyundai Atos Prime, turned the key (screeching ensued - should have been my first hint), and went to change the stick from "Park" to "Drive" it dawned on me that the wobbly little shaft (no giggles) in my hand was not going to simply "Drive" - it wanted to know if it should be in 1,2,3,4,5, or R. I knew what R meant and that was about it.
My only experience with driving manual was my first summer job in Greendale Cemetery, where the John Deere tractor I had to drive was a stick shift. However, it has been seven years since then and there is also the small fact that I crashed the tractor repeatedly and never actually figured out how to turn it on on my own. I searched my mind for movie and book references to manual driving - certainly pop culture could solve this problem for me! The only thing that came into my head was the Twilight movie, where Jacob tells Bella to "double pump the clutch" when starting her truck. That seemed like a good start - pumping the clutch while starting the car. I then had flashes back to the graveyard days - you have to hold in the clutch to shift gears! Now we're rolling. I started the car, pushed in the clutch, switched to the "R," hit the gas, and....whump. The car stopped.
Simba didn't have to learn how to drive a freaking car in The Lion King. He got to ride birds and elephants and other magical beasts. My Hyundai would certainly not qualify as a magical beast. I decided to try it again and keep the clutch held in. Success! Kind of. The car started to inch back in reverse, though the screeching noise maintained a steady presence. I started taking my foot of the clutch a little bit and sure enough, the car moved a bit faster. It hit me that the clutch, like the gas, had something to do with the acceleration of the car. Einstein moment, Michael. Ugh.
Shifting to "1" seemed like the logical choice, both in terms of numerology and bicycle riding. However, I couldn't seem to shift without the car dying. The girl who had shown me my room had apparently been watching a laughing from the window and she came out and said "hold in the clutch, put it in first, and hit the gas as you let off of the clutch. If it starts to rumble too much, push down on the clutch." Seemed easy enough. Though the car kept it's screeching up, I managed to get the car up the hill, out the front gate, and onto the road. Onto the road! It was only once I was on an actual street that I realized - "I'm driving on the left side of the road!" - how I had failed to notice that I was driving from the right side of the car instead of the left is beyond me, but falling into traffic on the left side of the road was quite the wake up call. Quickly I was at the end of the road, faced with a right turn (the equivalent of a North American left turn - that dreaded demon) - and still chugging along at 10kph in first gear. These were dire times.
I did what any sensible novice would do. I put on my blinkers and pretended to be broken down. Once everyone had passed me and the street was deserted, I through the car back in first, pulled a quick u-turn, and drove back to the hotel. The screeching of the car was worrying me but I just pulled into the parking spot, turned the car off (where was the "Park" gear, I wondered) and leaped out. After this trial, I needed a nap.
My first day was swiftly coming to an end and I had another realization - I had no food in my room. Considering I was staying in a Bed and Breakfast I figured dinner wasn't part of the equation. I asked one of the staff where I could find food and she said there was a gas station just up the road. I could drive there. Ha! I nodded yes and then decided to try the journey on foot.
Half an hour later, I was standing on a dirt path on the side of a highway, looking across four lanes of traffic at a gas station that seemed to be out of From Dusk til Dawn. Whoopsie Daisy. Now, I had been warned not to walk around because only black people walked. I could not understand why this was a problem and I found that it was not a problem at all. On one hand, it was weird to be the only white person walking around because I'm not used to standing out so much. However, every single person I passed smiled when I smiled, said hi, even gave me directions. I did not feel threatened in the slightest - in fact, I felt welcomed. I can see how walking into the wrong neighborhood or walking around at dark could be an issue, as it would be in any city anywhere, but walking on a main road in the early evening felt comfortable and even a little festive. It was the end of the work day for most of the other walkers and there was that "done for the day" bounce in their steps.
I had to rely on my fellow pedestrians to get to the gas station across the highway. "How did the chicken crossed the road?" - well, he waited for two elderly women to cross the highway and rode the wake. I comforted myself by thinking that no one would run over a granny, let alone two, so I must be safe.
The food at the gas station left a lot to be desired, so I ended up with biltong (kind of like South African beef jerky) and a can of mixed veggies for dinner. Food is food - and I felt kind of cultural while munching the biltong. I made it back to the hotel using similar methodology and quickly ate and passed out.
I won't ramble much longer, but I will say that the following day I decided to "sink or swim" it and drove out onto the highway. I stalled 42 times in my 3 hour drive but I felt relatively confident by the time I had finished, though the car had screeched the entire time. And the other drivers had all been very considerate - only 1 person honked at me throughout the whole ordeal, and that may be because I nearly backed into his Porsche. Picky, picky.
Later that day I decided to drive to my new office just to get a look. As I pulled into the parking lot, the security guard at the gate had me sign in. During this time, I stalled once again. When I started it up again and the screeching began, the guard reached into the car through the window. I assumed he was frisking me, which was fine - I understand the need for security measures. The I saw him grasp a lever next to me and push it down. He smiled and said "You'll drive better with the parking brake off" and ushered me through. Turns out the screeching had come from the darned parking break - I also found myself able to accelerate much more easily, and I didn't stall nearly enough. A week later, I am almost a stick shift pro!
I'll write again with more observations on my so-far wonderful experience and about the first few days of work (which have been awesome). But I think I've filled up enough space for now.
I'll close by saying that I'm not completely naive - I do understand that there are real threats here in Johannesburg. But, by far, the people have been so welcoming that I do believe a lot of the hoopla is unwarranted. Sure there are problems - when I asked my PA at work (a native of Johannesburg) where I should go to get some dinner, she said, completely serious, "You could go to McDonald's, but go through the drive-through or else you'll be mugged. You could go to the Shell station, but at this time of night you'll be mugged." You could try Woolworth's, but make sure to pay the parking attendant or else you'll be mugged. Maybe you should order in?" However, I choose to look at the bright side. So often in life I am overwhelmed by choices - should I go here? should I go there? - and I find it quite nice to have my options winnowed down a bit. Choosing dinner is now that much more simple - go to the grocery store in daylight or else get mugged. Helps me schedule my day perfectly!
Apparently, the tag line for The Lion King was "Life's greatest adventure is finding your place in the Circle of Life" - I didn't remember that. That is how I'm treating my year in Africa. I know I'm not going to find all of the answers here in South Africa - heck, I might not even find one answer - but I am already so enchanted by this country that I know it is going to be a wonderful adventure no matter what.
Sawubona!
Mike :)
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