Laments of the unfit

Those of you who know me are well aware of my general aversion to exercise. I am not what one would call a "gym enthusiast"; in fact, I'm not a get-out-of-bed enthusiast. If I had my way, I would spend the rest of winter hibernating under a pile of feathery duvets, with the occasional excursion to use the bathroom or make a cup of tea. I love my bed. I love tea. I do not love exercise.

However, my aversion to exercise has unfortunately started to show. Since moving into a new digs, last year's 20min walk to campus has been shortened to 5min. Since moving out of res two years ago, the amount of food I eat has drastically increased. Gone are the days of grey cauliflower and undercooked chicken schnitzels in the res dining hall; in digs, I can make myself blue cheese pasta, or lemon chicken with roast potatoes, or as much toast as my tummy could handle (how I love toast...). Nom nom nom. However, the lack of walking and the indulgence of my long-inhibited foodie side have led to weight gain. And so, with great trepidation, I finally forced myself to join the gym.

Now, I do understand that one does not need to join the gym in order to exercise. I could quite easily throw together a little routine to do in the comfort of my own flat, or download a variety of home work-out videos with sprightly women in Spandex who would march purposefully on the spot and encourage me to join in. But deep in my heart, I know that I would never actually do it. It would be too easy to fob off exercise with excuses like "I have too much work", "I'm too tired", or "I should be studying". By joining the gym, I force myself to exercise. Why? Because otherwise I've wasted R580. I paid for it; I may as well get my money's worth.

For further motivation, I convinced my significant other to join the gym too. I suspect that we've both slid into a bit of a relationship rut when it comes to exercise, along the lines of "Why bother getting sexy if I already have someone?" Luckily for him, his lack of exercise has not led to the same worrying wobbliness that I've experienced. But I managed to convince him, and so we joined together. I even managed to convince him to get up early for a morning session. Those of you who know him may understand what an achievement this was.

The first session went as expected. I hopped on a treadmill, surrounded by girls in lycra tights who were pelting along as if their lives depended on it. Determined not to look like an outsider, I marched through my minute-and-a-half warm-up walk, and then started at a comfortable jog. Three minutes in, I was congratulating myself on not losing my fitness. Five minutes in, I was puffing. By the time my ten minute jog was up, I believe I may have been dying.

But R580 is R580, so I wobbled off the treadmill on jelly legs and staggered determinedly upstairs to take on the machine from hell: The Elliptical.

I hate ellipticals with a burning passion. They are horrible machines. In fact, I strongly suspect that I simply do not have the legs for elliptical workouts. Even at the height of my fitness (which, admittedly, was not particularly high), I struggled to survive a session on these things. As I tried to block out the burning in my thighs I also resisted the urge to kill the girl next to me out of sheer envy. She had set her machine at a much higher resistance than mine (come on, we all check these things...) and was happily trundling away while carrying on a conversation with her friend. Damn her and her toned thighs.

From the elliptical it was on to what my sister calls "the slut machine". I don't actually know the name of these machines; I just know that they're awkward to use. Modestly turned to face away from the rest of the gym, these machines either force your thighs apart or together, leaving you to press against the weights. It's like two opposing moral forces; one thrusts your legs open while you struggle grimly to resist the temptation; the other wedges them together so that you struggle to push them apart. (Delightful imagery, I know).

Thankfully I was spared further torture when my significant other appeared and said that he was done for the day. We wobbled out together, with me waxing lyrical about how fit I was going to be by the end of the month.The post-workout endorphins were flowing, and I was convinced I was going to be as toned as a Greek god. This self-satisfaction lasted until the following morning, when I tried to stumble bleary-eyed to the bathroom. As I rolled out of bed, I felt the faintest tweak of warning in my calves. I ignored it. But as I stood up, my legs shrieked in protest and I nearly pitched backwards onto the bed again. Aching stiffness radiated through every inch of my poor, muscle-less legs. As I hobbled to the bathroom, straight-legged and aching, I reminded myself once again why I hated exercise. Sometimes I suspect that just getting fat would make me so much happier...

The psychology of socks

This evening, I realised for the first time that I've been working too hard lately. How did this realisation occur, you ask? I tried to throw my socks away.

Seriously.

I got out of the shower. I dried myself. I put on underwear, pants, and a top. Then, for some reason known only to my subconscious, I walked into the kitchen and threw my socks in the bin.
OK I didn't exactly throw them in. By the time my hand was over the bin the awake part of my brain had managed to alert the rest that something had misfired and I was in danger of losing some hard-earned clothing. For a moment I just stood there, staring at the socks and trying to work out what I was doing wrong.

And I am genuinely relieved that I did not throw my socks away. Good socks are hard to come by. Perhaps I am alone in this problem, but my socks have a tendency to wear away at the toes and heels, leaving my tender footsies partially exposed to the biting Grahamstown cold. When I was little, my mom told me that as long as my feet were warm, the rest of me would be warm. I like to think that there is a scientific reason for it, and that she didn't just brainwash me into believing it.

Of course, not all of my socks have disappointed me (I sound like an overachieving parent...). Fluffy socks never fail me. I can wear them day in and day out, for winter after winter, and they continue to be warm, fluffy and - most importantly - whole. I have three pairs of cherished, much-loved fluffy socks, and they continue to snuggle my toes to this day. As exams loom, the wind howls and I despair over the stressful LLB life, my fluffy socks are a constant point of reference in my life.

Perhaps that's why I tried to throw my socks away tonight. My overworked and exhausted subconscious was trying to send me a message: it needs the comfort of fluffy polka-dot socks if it's going to continue to function. My psyche is desperate for the cosy delight of coddled tootsies.

Or maybe I just need more sleep.

The most taboo word I know (TOTALLY PG 16!)

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The Advantages of being a short-ass

I recently came across a page on a website which listed 16 problems with being short. They included the usual: not being able to get things off high shelves, being mistaken for someone's little sister, and so on. While being short has its disadvantages, I truly believe that the advantages far outweigh the disadvantages. For girls, anyway. :P

1. People think you're younger than you are
I've lost count of the number of times bartenders and bouncers have asked for my ID because they don't believe that I'm over 18. Worse, I was once almost kicked out of a bottle store because the owner thought I was 14. I was 19 at the time.
This may be a pain in the ass now, but it'll be a blessing when I'm older. My mom, who barely reaches 5"1, looks much, much younger than her current age (which I will not reveal because she will kill me :P ). So one day, while my friends are becoming wrinkly and ancient, I'll still look like a young spring chicken. Although maybe slightly less springy-er.

2. People pick you up ALL THE TIME.
I cannot stress this one enough because it happens far more than one would think. Especially when people are drunk. I have been carried across Somerset on two different occasions, as well as down New Street, through Friars' bottom bar, and across Pirates. Guys - especially the bigger ones - think it's hilarious to pick me up and toss me over their shoulder, or lift me under their arm like a little sack of potatoes. After a while, it gets old.
But on the bright side, it makes me feel small and delicate. I don't have to walk across/down the street. The guy gets to show off his muscles. Everybody wins :)

3. You're adorable.
Now this has always been my pet peeve, and close friends will know how much I hate the word 'cute'. Why? Because when you've spent the last two hours trying to make yourself look sexy as hell, it's very depressing to have someone pat you on the head and go "Awww, you're SO CUTE." Short people struggle to be sexy, because no one takes us seriously.
HOWEVER, this is possibly the biggest advantage. Why? Because we can never be ugly. Short people are always cute, regardless of how skinny they are or how attractive their faces are. We're a bit like puppies: even if it's a really ugly puppy, it's still adorable.

4. You can date guys of any size
There are no problems with this one. If you're a girl and you're only 5 feet tall, you can date pretty much anyone because EVERYONE is taller than you. The majority of guys (not all, admittedly) like to be taller than their girlfriends. And while there are certain practical difficulties with dating a guy who is a foot taller than you, it's not nearly as awkward as having to bend down to kiss your boyfriend. The guys I have dated range in height from the same height as me to about 6"4. And they all loved that I was short :)
(But I suppose if you like short guys, then trying to find a guy shorter than you would be problematic...)

5. You never have to duck.
Low-slung branches, small doorways, low roof beams...being short means never hitting your noggin on anything. Or rarely hitting it, at least.

6. You have a better sense of balance.
As you are short, you have a lower centre of gravity. Thus you are much better at balancing. (Note that I say 'you', not 'we'. I am the exception to the rule, and can fall over simply by trying to stand up on my toes.)

7. A shirt can be a shirt OR a dress
Like that button-up shirt in Mr Price? Buy a small and wear it with jeans! Buy a medium and wear it with tights! Buy a large and wear it with a belt and high heels. :P

8. Guys' clothes look cute on you.
In line with numbers 3 and 7, wearing a guy's oversized hoodie always looks adorable on you. Why? Because even if the guy is short, his hoodie is STILL oversized on you and makes you look small, adorable, and fragile.

Obviously I'm not trying to take a hit at tall girls here - I'd kill to be 5"9 with legs that go on for miles. But as height goes, I'm pretty happy being a short-ass. The view of the world is pretty good from down here. And of course, I've developed my own defence mechanisms. As many people have learned, if you pat me on the head I'll bite your fingers off.

Rhodes Heroes

After the recent water crisis in the Makana Municipality, Vice-Chancellor of Rhodes announced on StudentZone that he intends to put emergency water plans in place. To ensure that this happens, he has also established a team to deal with water-related issues around the university. This team has been named...

(drumroll)

EMERGENCY WATER ACTION TEAM!

Known as "EWAT" for short, this team will "kick into action" when water problems occur at Rhodes. Not only do I admire the Vice-Chancellor's immediate response to the water problems (no sarcasm, seriously, he's really tried hard), but his exciting Emergency Water Action Team (Da da da DAAAAAAA!) has inspired me to create a few of my own Rhodes Superheroes. I present to you: The Super Rhodent League!

NAPS MAN
Naps Man is the leader of the Super Rhodent League. Dressed in dirty Rhodent overalls, he can be found sauntering around town looking for damsels in distress on Friday nights. He is drawn to drunkenness, girls who were recently dumped, and the Friars dancefloor, and it is rumoured that he hides in Jan Smuts during the daylight hours. His super powers are too explicit for this PG blog.

THE GREAT SHUSHER
The brains of the Super Rhodent League, the Great Shusher haunts the libraries of Rhodes. He can be found hunched over dusty, cracked books in the furthest corners of the library, and wears a constant expression of fierce concentration. He also wears his glasses on a string and his pants around his armpits. His super powers include expertly shushing anyone who walks past him too loudly, vicious glares at those who ask him questions, and the ability to vapourize anyone whose cellphone rings.

THE PATRIOT
The Patriot is the only Rhodent (other than the SRC) who wears purple on every possible occasion. He arrives at every Rhodes-related event, knows every Rhodes war-cry and supports every sports event. His super-powers include screaming at impossibly high volume, melting seamlessly into a crowd, and knowing every Rhodes event on the calendar. He is rarely seen, but can be tracked through the half-empty jars of purple paint and faint scent of Black Label that he leaves behind.

FIRSTIE
Firstie embodies everything that is a first year at Rhodes. She can usually be found in the dining hall, loudly complaining about the food and eating endless amounts of toast. Her arms are often covered in permanent marker comments, like "OMG Jenni loves you!" and "Yeah bitch, I'm single!" She drinks a lot of crackling. Her super powers include sleeping all day and partying all night, downing five shots of vodka in a row, and being able to attend lectures no matter how much she drank the night before.

Of course the Super Rhodent League is still in its early stages, so more superheroes will no doubt join when they realise how awesome the League is. But of course, every League of superheroes must have its villains...

PEDANTIC MAN
Pedantic Man is the worst villain of them all. He hides at the back of lecture theatres and tutorial rooms, waiting for the moment when the lecturer/tutor is about to let everyone out early. Then his hand shoots up with super-human speed and he asks an in-depth, meaningful question. Ten minutes later, the class is still there.
His greatest weakness is duct tape.

THE PROTESTOR
We all know that sometimes protesting is the only way to get your point across, but The Protestor takes it to a whole new level. This energetic villain attends every protest, be it against animal cruelty, violence against women, or getting more fruit in the dining hall. She will bore you to death with loud monologues about her latest vendetta, and then shame you into joining her in her naked run/dirty protest/dance marathon for diabetes sufferers.
Her greatest weakness is debate teams.

There you have it; four wonderful Rhodent super heroes and a few villains for them to take on. Now that you know the secret, keep your eyes peeled for these fantastic specimens around campus; you're bound to spot them as they perform dastardly deeds or leap to the rescue of a Rhodent in need.

And maybe when I'm bored and have more time on my hands, there will be an epic battle between the two...
For now, I look forward to seeing the Emergency Water Action Team. I really, really hope they have matching costumes.

The Hipsters Descend

I have never been fortunate enough to experience the joys of the Grahamstown Arts Festival. When I was in highschool my school would annually send a group of students on tour to the Fest. Unfortunately these were art and drama students, and by Gr10 my subjects were decidedly scientific. I didn't qualify for the tour.

This year was the first time that I happened to still be floating around Grahamstown while Fest preparations were underway. And I can safely say that I've rarely seen our delightful little Gtown looking so crowded. But, unlike O-week and Trivar, these crowds were not made up of drunken students staggering through the streets in unwashed overalls and getting hit by cars. Instead, the arts capital of South Africa opened up its heart and disgorged its many, many inhabitants.

The Cape Town hipsters flooded in.

Now I'm not saying that everyone from Cape Town is a hipster. I'm simply saying that Cape Town probably has the highest hipster quota in South Africa. And boy do they love the Grahamstown Festival. Everywhere I went, I found myself walking past these strange beings and catching snippets of deep, meaningful conversation. So, to help those poor Rhodents who may find themselves overwhelmed by the influx of Fest guests, I have compiled a brief guide Surviving the Hipster Invasion.

The Hipster Apocalypse Survival Guide
1. Recognising the Hipster
Firstly, a Hipster is likely to be carrying a backpack or oversized bag of some kind. Like any tourist, they have travelled a long way and need to keep essentials nearby.
Secondly, their clothing is easy to spot. Look for skinny jeans, sneakers, oversized jerseys and beanies. Hairstyles are usually stylishly messy. Another sure-fire sign is the giant black-framed glasses, with or without glass.

2. Hipster Habits
Hipsters tend to travel in small packs of four or five. They are often found in coffee shops, sipping designer coffee and typing rapidly on their iPads or netbooks. They also like to engage one another in meaningful conversations about art, dramatic performance, modernist literature and indie bands that no one has ever heard of.

3. Aggravating Hipsters
While not recommended, there are several possible ways to aggravate a Hipster. Try:
1. Proving that you knew about an obscure band before they did. "The Flaming Willows? Yeah, the lead singer lived next door to me while they were still a garage band."
2. Laughing when they tell you that they don't like Nicki Minaj/Justin Bieber/anyone remotely commercial.
3. Telling them that installation art is stupid.

4. Placating Hipsters
If you have accidentally angered a Hipster, try the following methods to calm the waters again.
1. Buy them a cup of rare Civet coffee.
2. Ask them what they think of post-modernist poetry.
3. Admit that you've never heard of the band/poet/artist/director that they've mentioned.
4. Ask where they bought their skinny jeans.

5. Poking fun at Hipsters
Yes this entire guide is done as tongue-in-cheek and not meant to offend. To prove it, I shall end off with some mildly offensive Hipster-related jokes.

What's a hipster's favourite number?
It's an obscure number. You've probably never heard of it.

How did the hipster burn his hand?
He changed the lightbulb before it was cool.

So there you have it. Enjoy Fest, party hard, and don't get eaten by hipsters. :P

PS: THIS IS THE 100TH POST ON THIS BLOG. WHOOOOOOOO :D

Why you should date a law student

1) Everyone looks hot in a suit.

2) They're used to staying up all night (wink wink).

3) "You should totally be studying law instead!" said no law student ever.

4) Getting screwed during exams is expected.

5) Getting 'S v Johnson' drunk is a good thing (unless you're actually Johnson I suppose).

6) Latin can be super-sexy: numquam ubi sub ubi ;)

7) Their greatest goal is getting to the bar. AND STAYING THERE.