Once Upon a Time…

I have often stated, in previous posts, that the true definition of the word “student” is very different from what many people think. Some people still labour under the misconception that students go to varsity in order to study and learn things. This, I assure you, is almost never the case. However, to clarify what exactly a student is, perhaps the best way would be to tell the Ancient Legend of Student. This is the story of Student creation, which described how students actually came to be. And so it begins:

Long, Long ago, when the awesomeness that is UCT was still a distant dream, God saw that there was need in the world for learning. Man was a good and noble creation, but all he ever did was kill and eat animals, brew alcohol on which to get utterly wasted, and in this drunken state, fight with other men and procreate. Man lived in caves and walked everywhere he needed to go. Entertainment consisted of bashing things with a club. Women had leg hair. And so on.

God, imagining things like Ferraris, PVR, the IRB Rugby World Cup, highlights, electro, drugs, potato chips, HDTV, lingerie, Nandos, cane, Scrubs and MTV, decided that it was time to introduce man to something new: education.

So God went up to a young oke much like you and me, and said “I name thee STUDENT” in His big impressive, echoey God-voice. And Student looked up, and, with a gesture that would become the trademark of all students for millions of years to come, knotted his brows, scratched his head and with a puzzled expression on his face, said: “Huh?” And God smiled fondly down on him. Already, His new creation was beginning to take shape.

God took Student by the hand, and began explaining to Student the multitude of wonders that He had in store for the world. Student, incredibly excited, asked how he could come by all these things. And God said unto Student that he would have to follow a number of Commandments. Student rebelled against this attempt to tell him what to do, until God pointed out that life without rugby and cane was gay, and Student decided that perhaps the Big Man was on to something.

God said unto student that first, he would have to leave home and enter into a place of learning. Student got very bleak about this learning place thing, until God explained unto Student that this business of calling it an “institution of learning” for “tertiary education” was really just to give Student’s parents a false sense of security because they would not pay money for Student to travel away from home, get drunk most nights and spade hot girls if they knew that this was the idea. And Student thought that this was fully awesome.

Then God said unto Student that without a doubt, Student would spend most of his time asleep. Student would find places like Tiger that were cool on a Tuesday and Thursday, he would find places like Springboks and FTV that are awesome on Fridays and Saturdays, places that had Wednesday student nights like Bang Bang, and even Wadda, which would be open on a Monday. Student asked what about Sundays and God said that Student needed one day to rest and recover, but just in case Student was feeling particularly badass, He would create La Med and Café Caprice. And Student was very stoked.

God told Student that there would also be many activities at Varsity, like informal sports tournaments, Intervarsity and the Beer Run, where Student could spend more time getting wasted and spading hot drunk chicks. For this reason, God said, Student would have to sleep during the day, when classes were. But that this would be okay as long as Student did an easy degree and went to class every once in a while. And Student saw God’s infinite wisdom in this.

Student asked God if he should ever go to class at all. And God said that sadly, yes, Student would have to attend some classes because of DP requirements and because his parents would need some sort of reason for sending Student to Varsity, i.e. that Student gets some kind of education. And Student asked how much sleeping he would then actually be able to do during the daytime, and God said plenty, but that student would also spend time missing class for other reasons.

God told Student that in order to have clean clothes to wear on at least a few days of the week, Student would have to do laundry. And Student thought this was quite kak, but God pointed out that it would only be every 3 weeks or so, and that most clothes could be worn quite a few times over if you keep your food off them.

Then, God did something Great. He gave unto Student the Hoodie. At first, Student was confused about this new garment, but then God explained that it was the one item of clothing that never went out of fashion, could be worn over and over, looked cool and student-like and also featured a hood for protection against the sun when Student had phuza-face from the night before. And God told Student that he should have plenty of hoodies, of many colours and types, as they were indispensable. And Student saw that this was Good, and was well pleased.

God then gave unto Student a list of many other reasons to not spend his waking hours at his studies. God told Student that sometimes it would rain and he would not have an umbrella, and would thus have to skip class. God made the giant mistake of giving DC++ unto student, which resulted in Student spending endless hours downloading and watching series and movies off Varsity internet, and thus not going to classes for days at a time. God created Facebook and immediately Student saw another way to waste time interfering in the lives of other Students instead of studying. God told Student about bunking off to go the beach when the weather was nice. And about Xbox, PS3 and network games on Student’s PC, on which student would waste millions of hours of his life. And God saw that this was Good. And Student agreed.

Then, God told Student that unfortunately, res food would be crap, because He could not do everything for Student. And Student was seriously miffed, until God pointed out that near every Varsity in the world there would be a strip of fast food restaurants like Steers, Nandos, Mc Donalds, Wimpy and St Elmos. Also, God created the Chicken Burger Man to sell awesome chicken burgers on UCT upper campus. And numerous, numerous coffee outlets all over campus. So Student would not have to risk food poisoning at every meal. And Student thought this was Rad, and was less miffed.

Student then asked God if there were any fringe benefits to going out and getting drunk all the time. And God said unto Student, with a little chuckle, that yes, Student would get laid a lot. And Student was seriously amped. God told him that there would be wasted chicks lining up to go home with Student every single night in Tin Roof, and that if Student played his cards right at Intervarsity, he might even hook a threesome with some Stellies chicks. And Student was so keen, he grabbed a brew and started to drink immediately until God reminded Student to also grab some of those cheap free condoms in every faculty bathroom before he got too happy, because He might know where all those girls have been, but Student does not.

Student was now seriously freaked out, because he realized that there was no way he would spend enough time near class to get enough free condoms to spade chicks all the time, and no way that he would have enough money to buy condoms after spending all his parents’ earnings on booze and fast food and coffee, but God pointed out that Student Health and Wellness Services was cheap, nearby and completely confidential so Student’s parents need never find out that he once contracted genital herpes from a girl in a bathroom stall in Terrace.

God now adopted a somber look, and told Student that all this drinking and fast food would have a serious downside. And Student was very bleak when God told him that he would put on lank weight thanks to fresher spread, and even if he actually had the money or the energy to go to the varsity gym, that fresher spread was inevitable anyway. And now Student was actually starting to feel very over the whole thing, until God reminded him that he had hoodies under which to hide his spreading waist and new fat rolls, and that drunk girls wouldn’t notice these things anyway until Student took his hoodie off, so that should only happen under the cover of darkness. And Student felt just a little bit better.

Student now asked God if sleeping and varsity sport were the only Varsity activities Student could use to escape having to go to class. And God said no, there are lots of societies to join, too. And Student was stoked, but God said unto him that societies were not actually there to participate in. God explained that Student should sign up for a few societies, but never go to any activities or meetings because that’s just gay. And Student nodded wisely, and agreed that meetings were very gay indeed.

God then said unto Student that He had a great wonder to show Student but that if Student used it wrongly, ever, for any reason, God would smite him mercilessly. And Student, wondering what could possibly be worse than DP requirements and Fresher Spread, was greatly afraid. But God told Student to suck it up and stop being a wuss. And then, showed him the Library. Student saw many, many books and was afraid again, but God said unto Student that under no circumstances ever was Student to abuse the Library by using it for educational purposes other than printing, which could be done nowhere else.

God explained that the Library was in fact a place with unlimited free wireless internet, where Student could spend all day surfing the net, Facebooking and downloading new music and series with DC++ on his laptop. Also, that this was a cool place to just chill and chat to friends. The Library, God said, was also a good place to sleep when Students’ roommates were being super noisy and annoying. And Student was eternally grateful to God for this great Gift, and would have kissed His robe if he was still able to bend that far, damn Fresher Spread.

Student couldn’t help but wonder how he, in his fat, unfit state was going to get around until second year when he could park on campus and res. And then God gave unto Student the Jammie Shuttle, a bright blue bus manned by ex NASCAR drivers used solely for transporting Student and his UCT friends around. And Student was even more stoked when he learned that Jammies were free, as long as you were willing to risk your life every time you stepped into one. But Student rated that a Jammie bus-surfing accident wasn’t any worse than alcohol poisoning, and told God that He was a kiff oke. And God agreed with Student, for once.

Finally, God unveiled the last, and greatest gift of all: Jug Night at Springboks. Where student, for a mere R40, could buy an entire jug of cane and creme soda. There was no entry fee, which guaranteed that Student could buy tons of booze, definitely find lots of hot drunk chicks to spade, and since Springboks was such a chilled venue, Student would be able to wear hoodies, take leaks against walls and chunder anywhere he pleased. And Student was reduced to tears of gratitude by this amazing gift. And God smiled indulgently down on His fat, lazy little creation and was pleased with what He saw.

And it was all good.

I Drink, therefore I Am

Society is horribly judgmental, it’s a fact. Some of us are more judgmental than others. I judge you for your poor grammar, loser BA degree, badly dyed two-tone greasy hair, emo kid look, poor fashion sense, muffin-top inducing, too-tight jeans, lack of friends and a social life, and so on… however, a very telling piece of info about you is what you drink.

What you drink says a lot about you. It’s not just the fact that the personal choice reflects who you are deep down inside, but what you drink (if you drink as much as the average student) is a part of you. And I don’t just mean 30% of the composition of your blood. Its part of your ethos, your inner being. You are what you drink. That said, I rate I’ve identified a few telling personality traits from one’s poison of choice, presented here for your viewing pleasure.

BEER

Beer is the quintessential man drink. No man is a real man unless he enjoys cracking open an ice-cold brew after a long hard day doing whatever it is he does (usually, nothing). Beer is so essential to manly manhood, that it sponsors all the manly sports, i.e. cricket and rugby. And beer is, coincidentally the drink of choice at said games. Men who drink beer are good, solid okes. Boitchies who are for real. Who, depending on gym membership or lack thereof, may also have a large beer gut to show for it. But at least you can rest assured that they are definitely straight, and definitely cool.

Girls who drink beer on a regular basis are known as “ladettes”. One of the lads, but with boobs and no mickey. This is the girl who probably comes from an all-male family and will do ANYthing to fit in with the boys. She sings loud vulgar drinking songs, denies even knowing what menstruation is, and probably says “c**t”. And never, ever wears a skirt with heels.

It’s pretty much a case of just trying too hard, which is sad. But perhaps one day, every ladette will (a) get a fairy godmother style make-over, learn that she has breasts for a reason, and start being a real girl, or (b) meet a JGE (Just Gay Enough) man with serious mommy issues who wants a demanding bossy woman in his life to monopolize the TV remote and yell at him to fetch another beer.

WINE

There are three types of wine drinker. Type A, the Boer, either comes from somewhere in the Boland and was raised on Cabernet Sauvignon, or is just plain Afrikaans and has been taking a cooler of papsak to Nikitas and langarm-dancing the night away since Tin Roof was called Green Man.

Type B is the child of semi-alcoholic parents who is so used to a glass of wine with supper, lunch, and breakfast that they get shaky at the thought of an empty wine cabinet. There is a wine bottle or two in all their family photos and there are wine glass rings on every surface they come into contact with. Trying to explain that wine is not more important that oxygen for sustaining the human body would be a wasted task.

Type C is the super-pretentious wannabe snob. This person is identifiable by the fact that they loudly and obviously proclaim through talking and waving their wineglass around, the fact that they are partaking of a fine vintage (and holding an invites-only dinner party next week) even though said wine is only a Woolworths house red. The lesson here? If you have no culture, no amount of wine-faking will make you cool. Just go live in the Boland for a few years or something.

SPIRIT COOLERS

If she’s a girl, she’s a very girly girl. Or just broke for the night. Or, one of those people who can’t ever afford to buy her own drinks. Either way, everyone knows that spirit coolers are way, way feminine. They just SCREAM girl. In fact, many people know coolers as “chick beer”. If you see a guy drinking coolers, start worrying. If you see your guy drinking them, its time to own up to the fact that he does wear your underwear when you’re not around.

BRANDY

You’re Afrikaans. Or have Afrikaans heritage. Or, for some strange and unfathomable reason you really, really wish you were Afrikaans. Or, the bar has a special on double Klipdrift and Coke and you’re pretty broke. If you drink brandy, chances are you love rugby, loathe tennis and the English, and bar-brawling is your professional hobby.

APPLETINI

Appletini drinkers are quintessential gossip girls. In fact, people like them are the inspiration for the entire series. They wear a lot of pink and white, and love ridiculously short skirts and dresses. They have a posse of girls and all of “the girls” greet each other with a double-barreled cheek kiss and lots of giggling and high-pitched squeaking. They almost definitely study a BA course. Sometimes they’ll even use their hands to make “friendship stars”, take photos, photoshop a cutesy title like “friends forever!” in pink onto the photo and use it as their profile picture on facebook. (insert vomit here)

They all have perfect nails and perfect hair, under which a desolate wind blows around the vast empty space normally occupied by a brain. They find nothing wrong with saying “that’s hot!” and have probably owned/still own a small dog which has been forced into their handbag on any number of occasions. Thankfully, such people either marry rich husbands and disappear until replaced by a younger model, or become typists or other sorts of office fodder and disappear into a dingy office complex forever. Except of course for those times when they hit Caprice with their girls for appletinis.

CANE

Cane-drinkers are direct genetic throwbacks to the inhabitants of ancient Sparta. These people party HARD. Always. Every night out is an epic, filled with enough sex, action and violence to make a Hollywood blockbuster. They always drink in massive quantities, hit the dance floor like a tornado in Kansas and are generally held in legendary regard. These are the kind of people who will make your night absolutely unforgettable, even if it is because you caught a really hairy full frontal when one of them started arm curling your dog, naked.

Cane drinkers almost certainly have massive early-onset cirrhosis and have probably halved their IQ in two years of regularly attending Springboks Jug night. However, they are the most singularly awesome people you will ever meet, guaranteed to change your life – if you get hold of them before they pass out, that is.

WHISKEY

The type of person varies according to the type of whisky. Either you’re a siff hillbilly from Kraaifontein, or a gentleman with class and distinction. Whisky drinkers are mostly men, or just very, very masculine women with moustaches and a crotch bulge. In fact, whisky drinking men are much like cane drinkers except for two vital ingredients: self-respect and class. And they definitely have money – while a bottle of Cape to Rio costs R38 at local retailers, a bottle of Johnny Blue will set you back a cool R1200.

Whisky drinkers are the kind of awesome people you want to hang out with when you want a crazy party, but don’t want to be collecting your friends off the rooftop at 2am, where they are tearfully reciting garbled bits of the Any Given Sunday “Inch by Inch” speech, naked.

MALIBU AND COKE

Nothing says “party girl” like a Malibu and coke! These girls may also be part of the Appletini crowd, but are often simply their more intelligent, ever-so-slightly less immaculately groomed sisters. Often you’ll find that by day, they study a real degree, keep giggling to an absolute minimum and while travelling in groups, never refer to the group as “my/the girls”. They seem like your slightly hotter-than-average, normal ladies.

By night however, they transform into the gossip girls’ sophisticated sisters. Most of the time, the Malibu and cokes are generously donated by sweaty half-smashed men who just got some serious standing-up-lapdance action on the dance floor when the Tiger Tiger DJ played “Low” (or any Akon song) for the 50000th time this month. These girls, as you may well know, nocturnally inhabit Tiger and can be identified as the large all-female group trooping onto the dance floor en masse for the lollipop song and “Valerie”. And once they’ve emptied the wallets of Tiger’s sad and single man-crowd, they hit the road, playing Cascada on the car stereo and laughing all the way home.

TEQUILA

Tequila is the alcoholic equivalent of a marriage proposal. Tequila drinkers mean business. They are serious about what they do, which is mostly getting utterly shitfaced, and passing out in their own puke before waking outside the club at 5am, sans wallet, cellphone and dignity.

Tequila drinkers are total and complete exhibitionists. They live to be hardcore and get noticed for it. After all, since you can’t bring your Mini Cooper Sport (with racing stripes) into the club, nothing says “I’m cooler than you” quite like a row of Josés lined up on the bar counter. This leads to the conclusion that tequila drinkers are manifestly stupid, because they are guaranteed to lose whatever coolness they have gained by projectile-chundering all over themselves and nearby people, or falling into a public toilet later in the evening. But, you can’t be all things, I suppose…

ABSINTHE

Suicidal. Utterly and completely suicidal. That’s all I have to say.

A day in the life of a res student

I’m always hearing about how crap res is, how manky the showers are, how disgusting the food is, how pathetic security is, how dodgy your res mates are, how some people who should NEVER take their clothes off walk naked around the bathrooms in all their never-been-waxed, cellulite-covered glory…
So I decided to go undercover for a day at UCT and see what all the fuss was about. Masquerading as a res student is easier than it looks. While Nicki stayed at her boyfriends’ place, I took her student card and seeing as we are nearly identical (in other words, brunette and of average height), the security guard and door receptionist barely even glance at me. Okay, so I’m in. I have a room key and a student card. And… its 23H30, Thursday, bed time.

23H40: someone next door really, really, REALLY likes hip hop. Just the one song, though.

23H50: someone next door has actually played the same hip hop song, seven times (and counting) at a volume loud enough to rattle my windows.

00H05: eleven times. And counting.

00H10: I get up off the lumpy cardboard-filled mattress and thump on the wall with my fist. The music gets turned down. I return to bed. Except now that the music is no longer assaulting my eardrums, I can hear the thuds and booms of what must be Heroes (how many people sound like Hayden Panettiere in a panic?) playing somewhere upstairs. I now understand why so many res students are chronic alcoholics.

05H00: Something, somewhere is ringing. Loudly!! Siren. Fire drill. Fuck this. Its 5AM in the MORNING. I hide out, as instructed by Nicki, because the wardens might recognize that I am not in fact the real resident of 104. Funnily enough, nobody bothers me, despite the fact that I am signed in. I wonder how many people burn to death annually in res fires?

07H20: feeling really, really tired and grumpy. I meet up with a few friends and we hit breakfast, still in our PJs. I am presented with yoghurt and some fruit. This could be a lot worse, I don’t see a problem with res food at all! I grab a lunch voucher for campus, too. So far nothing to complain about in the dining hall…. Except the people in it. There’s a girl who looks like the bowl she’s eating out of hasn't been washed since it was bought at a Tupperware party in 1997. And another one who clearly wants a protein component in her breakfast, because she’s picking flakes of dandruff out of her dirty blonde hair and eating them. I now understand why so many res students have chronic eating disorders.

07H45: Varsity time. Wait several hours for a Jammie. No Jammie. Decide that walking to middle campus will be quicker. I am passed by a Jammie halfway there. I really, really hate res right now. And I’m late for my first lecture.

14H00: done for the day. Wait 20 minutes and catch a Jammie back to res. Time to relax. I chuck myself down on the recycled wastepaper mattress and prepare to digest an entire season of Heroes. Except my neighbour needs to borrow a pen. Sure. And the person above me wants to lend a mug. Okay. And some other person possibly not even from this floor needs a pencil DESPERATELY to finish her drawings for a tutorial at 3. Fine, no problem.

16H25: I finally clear the last of the visitors out of Nicki’s room. I have an idea I will never see my stationery or that mug again. I settle down to watch Heroes, when my neighbour starts the hip hop again. A different song. Over, and over, and over…. I now understand why so many res students are suicidal.

17H30: some girls I don’t know burst into my room. Its jaboolie (informal water polo league) tonight and their boyfriends’ team is in the semi-final playoffs. They want to paint me green. I say no thanks. They insist I need a coat of green paint. I say that I’m not going to jaboolie. They think about this for about two minutes, and then paint a green heart on my face anyway, and give me a slug of vodka out of a bottle they have with them. The combination of lack of sleep and annoyance make me decide its nap time. After I pour myself a drink.

18H45: I get woken up by the hip hop neighbour for supper. Supper is…….. Well, how do I describe it? The menu says macaroni cheese. "Mush" would be unfair, because it’s pretty liquid, but it’s not quite soup either, because the macaroni (or what’s left of it) isn’t floating exactly…. It’s roughly the consistency of oats porridge. The best I can come up with is that it looks like what you’d get if someone ate macaroni cheese with a lot of tomato slices in it, and chundered, roughly four hours later. And put it on your plate. I now understand why all res students get fresher spread from constantly eating take out. I hop in a friends’ car and grab some Nandos instead.

20H00: back in res, and its shower hour. I know this because I wait for 20 minutes to get a cubicle. The bathroom smells of damp and Jeyes fluid. Now girls’ bathrooms are generally quite clean, and this one isn’t too bad for something that was obviously built sometime around 1652. There’s a bit of green mossy mould-like stuff that has clearly become resistant to industrial cleaner, but mostly the place looks good. You feel grateful for rubber flip flops, though.

20H35: I step out of the shower and there's an eclipse... no, wait, the lights have been blocked out by the most massive girl I have ever seen in my life… the fact that her legs could actually support her was nothing short of a miracle. I was expecting cracks to appear in the floor as she walked past. And that was when I noticed… oh God no. She was stark naked. Not that you could see much over all the rolls and jiggling cellulite, but it was Ms Never Been Shaved herself, that much I can tell you. I ducked for a toilet cubicle and for the briefest moment wondered if this is how Sechaba caterers get that macaroni cheese dish….

21H00: I’m so knackered that varsity homework is out of the question. Maybe I’ll go have a few drinks with some guys from College House…

01H00: stumble up stairs. Spend approximately 20 minutes opening padlock on door. Fall over laughing at myself a few times. Get into room. Pass out in clothes on lovely soft comfy bed.

04H50: I wake up with the Berlin Symphony Orchestra’s percussion section banging away in my head, and a mouth full of dirty cotton wool. I rate a toothbrush and a shower will do me wonders. I stagger down to the bathroom and notice that someone is showering, at 5am. Weird, considering it’s a Saturday. And the shower curtain is wide open… which is when I realize that it’s not just one someone, but two of them. One of whom definitely does not belong in a girl’s res. And they‘re definitely not just showering, either. I stumble to the opposite end of the bathroom and, ignoring the moans and grunts coming from the shower, content myself with just a tooth brushing, then.

08H00: I am rudely awoken by someone shouting something about breakfast. Don’t care. I shout rude things back at them and go back to sleep.

08H17: my hip hop neighbour has now moved onto the third track on her CD. Over, and over again. I consider homicide, then suicide, but decide I’m too tired for either of them. Instead, I put on Greys Anatomy S3. I now understand why res people get through so many series.
11H00: I meet Nicki outside, who is looking refreshed, showered and happy. I gladly return her keys to her, and am about to explain about the mug when she says that she has 5 more of the same mugs for exactly that reason. I rub at the flaking lime green smudge on my cheek and climb gratefully into a friend’s car.

My own bed in my own house, miles away from hip hop fans with broken stereos has never felt more like heaven.

30 SEPTEMBER - Walking the Line

Why is it okay for guys to do some things, but not for the ladies? And no, I’ not referring to peeing standing up, playing rugby or saying c**t. (see? I just CAN’T say it!) I’m talking about simple things. Like making out with or sleeping with a couple of people. If a guy does it, he’s Captain Awesome. At the very worst, he gets a rep as “a bit of a dog” after he had two separate threesomes between 1 and 5am on Saturday after the ruggas… If a girl even KISSES too many guys in one night she’s a slut. Which translates into “cheap stupid girl crawling with AIDS and other nasty STDs who’s probably had at least three abortions this week and is thus okay to use and throw away cos she has no feelings at all and is just a piece of meat in a minidress”.

Mind you, some slutty girls are exactly that. But kissing four guys in one club after four tequilas on an empty stomach does not make you a slut in the abovementioned sense. Neither does having slept with a few guys in your lifetime of 20-0dd years. However… the boys will tell you differently. When they behave badly, they’re just being boys. When a girl does it, she’s a slut, a ho and out of control.

On the flip side, if a girl behaves well, dresses a little more to the conservative side and will never, EVER be seen dancing on a table at Bokke, or smooching a random at Tiger, she’s boring. Guys don’t want to know her at all. Lame, clearly a total cockblocking bitch. No fun.

So where do girls get off? We have to walk a really, really thin line.

How to understand this phenomenon? Well, being at varsity, I thought I’d ask someone who studies anthropology, i.e. people. BAD, BAD idea. I wind up with someone who DEFINITELY fits the above description (glasses, looooong peasant skirt that was fashionable for over-40’s five years ago, greasy hair) who launched into a speech so long and boring, I was praying for someone to paint a wall so I could watch it dry. However, in between wondering if I should just throw myself off the balcony in Leslie Social, watching the epic battle going on in her mouth (about 6000 teeth, fighting like Spartans to get in front of each other) and checking my makeup in those ultra-thick reflective specs, I did glean a certain gem of knowledge.

Apparently, guys can behave like animals but girls can’t because it’s hardwired into our DNA. Excuse me? Yep, when we were cave-people back in the day, guys evolved into animals to ensure they spaded as many cave-ladies as possible, to ensure the survival of the species, and girls were programmed to chill and stay home, not get eaten by a saber-toothed tiger for 9 months and then raise a kid, ensuring the survival of the species. Ohhhhhkay. So why is this still applicable? Right, DNA. (Dodging flecks of spit which were flying like catapult ammo from out of the Tooth War) But if we’re smart enough to have figured out that it’s a genetic thing that applied like, 50000000 years ago then why are we still bothered?

No, I’m not going to launch into some hairy-legged feminist burn-your-bra rant about how men are manipulating the entire world to suit them and pushing womenkind down, blah blah blah. The abovementioned bra is from La Senza, and aside from my cardio-pulmonary organs, is the most precious thing I own. However, it does bear some thinking about… so here’s my submission:

Dear men, guys, boitchos, brus and okes

Even though you are all very awesome and smart and hot and to DIE for sexy in your grubby jocks and Super 14 rugga jerseys with beer stains, we think you should know something that, in your important and complicated lives, might have slipped your attention just a little bit. You like us looking sexy, yes? And being naughty and giving you action, yes? Well…. It might be best if you stopped calling us sluts for minor misdemeanors. Cos calling us sluts just makes us really unlikely to have that threesome with you and your team mate ever again! Because if you call girls sluts, the whole world hates us for no reason and without needing any proof at all since they “heard it somewhere”. And that means we all have to “change” and start acting like boring girls which means that you won’t like us anymore. And eventually, there will be no bad girls left at all except the really siff ones who DO have AIDS. And the Clap. So please, awesome, wonderful boys, think about yourselves here and make some changes regarding how you speak about us and why!

We love you always!! Mwah mwah mwah! x’s and o’s!!

The Girls

MONDAY 8 SEPTEMBER - In or Out?

In or out? No, I’m not talking cricket here, that’s just too depressing right now if you come from SA. I’m talking about the social setup at varsity. Because, to be perfectly honest (and grammatically incorrect at the same time) there are cool and uncool people all over the world, but nowhere is the divide more blurred than at varsity, or more clear, depending on which side of the fence you stand.

I’m a big fan of fitting in on your own terms. I’ll just never understand people who willingly shoot themselves in the foot just to be “original” and “non-conformist”. Why on earth would you want to make yourself completely unattractive to the opposite sex and the world at large, just to prove a point? Examples include emo kids (who do, granted, sometimes find and make out with their own kind, but how much fun can that be?!), morons who die their hair in different colours, grow dreadlocks for no specific cultural reason, pierce their face so many times they attract small magnets or my personal pet hate, those weird environmental science/biology students who walk around in shapeless clothes and ugly trainers/hiking boots (or God forbid, sometimes barefoot) with unkempt hair and a ratty old backpack.

I weep for those kids. Some of them, with a hair cut, wardrobe change and some makeup would actually be quite attractive. So why punish yourself like that? None of those people can possibly walk past a mirror in the morning and go “wow I look good today”. Ever. Do they even own mirrors? I wonder. I just can’t understand what the point is of making so much effort to not fit in. People mock you. Nobody really likes you. Girls like me sit on Jammie stairs in small groups applying lip-gloss and laughing at you. I just don’t see the benefit! How can you look like that and feel good about yourself?

I’m not saying that everybody should be a mindless zombie and fanatically follow fashion magazines and buy a new outfit every other day… but you can be yourself without looking like Jane Goodall in the middle of Darkest Africa! What irks me the most is that we normal people are actually looked down on by these freaks. They chastise us in their sad little lunchtime groups and on their sad, vegetarian anti-consumerist blogs for being mindless trend-followers with no personality or brains.

Give me a break. We’re the people who fit in. It’s an essentially human trait to want to belong, to desire to fit in – don’t tell me that these ugly, nerdy people don’t feel that somewhere deep down. But no, they say, we are the ones who deserve pity for not being able to see further than the next YDE sale. But how unfair is it for these so-called free spirits to generalize about us?

I wasn’t the only popular, normal person who sacrificed an entire weekend to attend a seminar on social justice and the law. I know rugby and water polo jocks who are well read and study business degrees, the girls I discuss Cosmo magazine and knock back appletinis with are the same girls with whom I discuss politics and Constitutional law… my best mate is a trend-following, fashionable and popular guy who is also the most knowledgeable, most widely read and most intelligent guy I know… I’m not saying that some of the cool kids aren’t as dumb as bricks (sorry Jordan, Simone and Craig) but it’s unfair and narrow-minded to equate stylishness, hotness and popularity with being stupid and shallow. In fact, it’s [pretty stupid and shallow to make an assumption like that. Which makes those people stupid, shallow AND ugly. Oh snap!

There’s a pecking order in this world, and lets face it, hot people who are liked by other people are at the top of it. If a fairy godmother appeared out of nowhere and offered to turn you into either half of Brangelina, you’re not going to say no, are you? Everybody wants to be attractive, popular and successful, as well as achieving meaning in their lives. To some people, being attractive, popular and successful IS the meaning in their lives. Me, I’m happy finding meaning in finishing a law degree and one day pursuing social justice through litigation for the underprivileged. But I also enjoy liking what I see when I look in the mirror, having friends and hitting clubs to get drunk and make out with other hot drunk people.

If that makes me a sheep… well at least I’m a socially accepted, good looking sheep. I don’t suffer from an inferiority complex or pangs of jealousy which make me say hateful things about hot, normal people. In, or out? Whether you admit it, or hide behind your siff badly dyed hair and non-conformist attitude, you know you want to be in.

TUESDAY 12 AUGUST: Outwit, Outplay, Outlast

I have just finished watching the first episode of the latest series of Survivor. And I think that I have a suggestion for the next season, seeing as they seem to be running out of locations for survivor (there are only so many tropical islands left in the world, although I think North Korea should be seriously considered) they should host a Survivor: UCT.

I mean, surviving at varsity is no joke. Especially UCT. If I was Mark Burnett, this is how I’d do it:

DAY 1: 19 castaways are dropped on middle campus at 08:00. The Cafeteria, with its life-giving supply of coffee and croissants is closed due to a COSATU strike!! (Cue dramatic music) Participants have no umbrellas, are dressed for only one climate and have fashionable, yet uncomfortable shoes. The first reward challenge will begin as the participants arrive – the challenge will be for them to actually find the registration office and get helped before closing time. The winners get a student card (impossible to survive without) and some croissants and coffee.
The losers (at least 16 of the original 19 castaways) will have to endure the arduous climb up Jammie stairs to the CPS office on upper campus to secure a student card for R60.

The winners get to catch a Jammie to upper campus. All castaways meet on Jammie plaza at 5pm to be divided into two tribes. One tribe has to make camp near the South Side Jammie stop and the Centlivres building, and the other on the opposite side of campus, near RW James. Both campsites are (thankfully) located near Jammie stops.

DAY 2: Being at UCT, our castaways are by now either overheating or freezing because the weather constantly changes with absolutely no relation to the actual season, time of year, time of day or surrounding weather conditions.

Our castaways have to fight off ravenous birds in an attempt to eat their burgers from the Chicken Burger Man in peace, and scavenge half-broken umbrellas from the bins on campus to shelter from the bucketing rain. Hare Krishnas roam the campus freely, draining people’s time, energy and will to live with their constant pamphlet-delivering and tenacious speech-making. Things are looking grim. Luckily, those castaways who explore will discover the Awesome Shop Under the Library, which sells everything a student could ever want – stationery, tissues, plasters, clothing, calculators, jewelry, flash drives and more….

Challenges are numerous and will include things like:

• Having to find parking for an 8am lecture less than 30min walk away from campus.


• Finding a working soap dispenser in a ladies’ bathroom.


• Navigating across Jammie plaza to make it to a lecture on Thursday at Meridian. (virtually impossible)


• Attempting to eat res food without throwing up/dying of food poisoning (more like Fear Factor, I know)


• Registering for all the correct courses and de-registering from the courses you are mysteriously wrongly registered for in one week.


• Finding a free computer in Southside/Com labs


• Finding a working printer on a Monday morning.


• Finding a specific book in the library.


• Jammie-surfing down Woolsack Drive to lower campus and returning in one piece.


• Finding space on a notice-board to actually put up a varsity-related notice among all the ads.


• Finding a condom in the Geology Department.


• Crossing the road through middle campus.


• Keeping a res room tidy.


• Doing the climb from middle to upper campus in the rain.

Eventually, we will be left with one sole survivor who will win a million rand….. Naaaat! Nobody could actually do all that. But it would be fun to watch them trying. Will submit this off to Mr. Burnett tomorrow... watch this space!

MONDAY 4 AUGUST: Strike a Pose

More annoying than Tom Cruise. More insidious than the psychopathic Hare Krishna pamphlet distributors on Upper Campus (see previous post). And about as hard to miss as a Gay Pride parade on Adderley Street. What am I referring to, you ask? Posers.

You just can’t escape them – people who try to camouflage themselves in the fabric of campus society, more or less successfully, depending on their skills and the amount of research they are prepared to undertake.

You see, posers are not cool people. They only try to be. If they really were cool, they wouldn’t be trying so damn hard. However, not content to be catfish people (see “Its Crunch time – bring your A-game”) they insist on trying to integrate themselves into campus life, making friends and even trying to score. And it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that they’re trying just a little too hard.

There are a few different types of poser. The most rare, most difficult to identify and annoying is the Amoeba. The Amoeba has no personality. None whatsoever. The Amoeba’s defining characteristic therefore, is their apparent ability to morph into whichever type of person they think the situation demands. If they are with jocks, they will pretend to be sporty. If they’re trying to fit in with the studious crowd, they’ll act like a nerd…

However, the Amoeba’s success depends on their people skills, (which are usually sorely lacking or they wouldn’t have to be posers in the first place!) and so, they often get it wrong. I had the cringe-worthy experience of watching my socially inept ex-flat mate (The Grinch) trying to act like a skanky girl to fit in with what she thought my girl-friends were like. Fail! The Amoeba’s other failing is the fact that people inevitably get to know them. You can’t manifest multiple personalities and expect people not to notice. So thankfully, Amoebas often get busted before they’ve annoyed too many people.

Then you have the Dirty Harry, or DH. Probably the most annoying poser of all. Done it? The DH has done it five times. Gone bungee jumping? The DH jumped off that same bridge without safety ropes when they were four years old. Twice. Had an awesome vacation? The DH had a better one. Hunting wolverines with his uncle. In Alaska. With a frikken’ 12 gauge! Gosh! You get the picture.

The DH is usually male, and insists on insinuating themselves into every conversation within hearing range, trying to sound as awesome, experienced and worldly-wise as possible. Thankfully, the DH is usually pretty obnoxious and sooner rather than later, somebody will snap and tell them (not so politely) to go and play in the traffic. Or, they will eventually stoke their claims up to something so ridiculous they expose themselves to everyone. Bonus free laugh.

The Re-Hash is usually someone who comes from somewhere far away, and has no previous acquaintances on campus. This poser was quite obviously a huge nerd in high school, because they spend all their time talking about how popular and awesome they were back in Calitzdorp High. So much so that you wonder how one single person managed to captain every first team sport, get 8 A’s in matric, be elected Head and Deputy Head student, Valedictorian, most popular student and sleep with his English teacher who was a biological clone of Joanna Krupa.

That’s because he didn’t.

Thankfully, due to facebook, most Re-Hashers get busted before they can do too much damage. Anyway, there’s no way someone with acne and thick bifocals banged their English teacher if he/she was that hot…

Yes, posers come in all shapes and sizes… however, I think that at the end of the day, you have to brush it off and have a laugh. Its just another colourful aspect of varsity life.