SUNDAY 27 JULY: Animal Planet presents...

* disclaimer: this is a rather nasty article. The views expressed in this article are probably not fit for human consumption. The author, however, does not give a shit. Limitedtimeonlywhilestockslastbatteriesnotincluded.

Oh yes you DO need the right moves. What am I on about, you may ask? The mating rituals of the university/college student. Much speculated on, at last, some of the intrinsic inner workings of this intricate and little-documented courtship process are revealed, in a revolutionary study conducted from the deepest reaches of Tiger Tiger, UCT, Springboks, Tin Roof (yuck) and College House residence.

First of all, there are many different species of student and by proxy, many different criteria for selecting a mate. The student pecking order is largely determined by good looks, a fashionable wardrobe, a large bank balance, flashy car, and outgoing personality. In other words, students are much like those stupid but brightly coloured birds in the Amazon rain forest that attract potential mates by being colourful, showing off, and making a lot of noise.

The loudest and best-looking student therefore has the best selection of potential mates. There are many different displays that students engage in so as to attract potential mates:

Female students will often wear clothing that reveals their best assets, and cover their faces in colourful shades (called "make-up") to hide blemishes and accentuate their features. They also engage in "flirting" to attract the attention of a male, and seductive dance moves often play a large role. An intoxicated female student may even go so far as to engage in mating behaviour with other female students on and off the dance-floor, presumably to indicate to male students that she is so desirable even other female students are interested.

Male students, on the other hand, are far less subtle. They openly display their dominance and strength, usually by lifting heavy things, participating in sports such as rugby, and by physically abusing lesser male students. The most common mating ritual displayed by male students however, is what is known in naturalistic circles as "buying drinks". This involves the male student purchasing alcohol for the female student until she is intoxicated enough to mate with him. This is by far the most successful and widely deployed tactic.

It is important to note that the vast majority of students do not mate for life. In fact, some may choose a number of different mates in a single night. Or, multiple mates at the same time. This depends largely on the species of student. Some students do indeed attempt to mate for life, but this is actually an unusual evolutionary form of opportunism, as the student in question realizes that if he/she does not hang onto their mate, the chance to procreate might never come around again. This is most common in student sub-species from the Mathematics, Science and Geology faculties.

Students realise instinctively that their lifespan is a short but eventful one, lasting at the very most, four to five years. Therefore, students have a reproductive drive second perhaps only to the common rabbit. (Sylvilagus floridanus)This causes students not only to take multiple mates, but sometimes, (particularly in male students) to attempt to procreate by themselves. This behaviour is noted most regularly in students who are unable to find mates (i.e. students who are socially inept, cannot dance, have no fashion sense, or are just plain ugly.)

The actual reproduction of the student is cause for much speculation. There do not seem to be any discernible results (largely due to a substance known as the "morning after pill", something usually consumed by female students after mating) and most students cannot in fact themselves remember what actually happened. Thus, even further intensive study will need to be undergone in order to more fully investigate this aspect of student relationships.

However, as students are becoming ever more secretive about their mating habits, utilizing cleverly hidden places such as their roommates' beds, bathrooms in clubs, publicly parked cars and other clandestine locations, we shall probably never know the truth.

MONDAY 14 JULY: The Noble Spirit

MONDAY 14 JULY: The Noble Spirit

The day after the weekend. The worst. You’re not in the alcohol-tinged haze of a Sunday, but not fully recovered as on a Tuesday – you’re in that bizarre state of limbo where your liver, kidneys and central nervous system are all letting you know that right now you are persona non grata (although to be fair, the CNS doesn’t have a leg to stand on, considering that it sparked the idea of drinking in the first place, and facilitated the act.)

Which brings me to a burning question, (pardon the pun) something that popped into my head in the wake of a solid 10 day week of drinking, partying, too little sleep and general debauchery (and the yuppie flu that follows – I feel, to quote Marian Keyes, “as rough as a badger’s arse”)
Why do we drink? I mean there are a whole lot of good reasons: some drinks taste awesome, being drunk is fun, drinking lowers inhibitions and makes hooking up possible even for ugly and socially inept people, it’s a social thing to do, there was a R5 house brand special at Tiger on Tuesday… I don’t have to poll people to know that I’ll hear many answers, much like those.

However, when you think about the biological side of it, drinking seems pretty irrational – alcohol is toxic to the body, and everybody knows that. It puts strain on the liver and kidneys; kills brain cells and dehydrates all somatic cells (hence the more water you drink, the less hardcore your hangover will be. Seriously, it works! When you remember, anyway.)
You wouldn’t make a cocktail out of rat poison and brake fluid and drink it, so why down those 7 double rum and cokes? It makes about as much sense, and (surprisingly) drinking can be as fatal. You feel like shit the next day (and sometimes for several days, i.e. my experience, New Years day-3rd January 2008.) and yet, we all remain quite willing to get wasted over and over again.

Worse, alcohol can be embarrassing. I don’t personally suffer from “beer goggles” but I know many people who do – hooking up enthusiastically with the ugliest person in the room is NOT going to do much for your social reputation. Less so if your friends are armed with a camera and the evidence is put on facebook. Falling all over the place in a club, attempting to strip, suddenly pulling out dance moves circa 1957 (think “The Sprinkler”, “The Knock-Knee”, etc.), chundering your guts out in front of about a hundred people, and acting like a nymphomaniac on heroin are just a few of the cringe-worthy drunken exploits that people experience every time – so why do we keep on doing it?
There doesn’t seem to be a pro that weighs out the cons, yet we keep coming back for more.
It was suggested to me that “alcohol is just too good to turn down” – so I have decided, in my quest for answers, to rate a number of different alcohols that I and my mates regularly consume, in the hope of achieving some clarity.

SPIRIT COOLERS (i.e. Brutal Fruit, Smirnoff Spin, etc.)

The most pathetic of all alcohol types. Nice to enjoy on a day at the cricket or on the beach when you have an entire day of sunshine and drinking ahead of you and need to pace yourself, because it is nearly impossible to get drunk off coolers. On what authority do I base this statement? Spending a day at the cricket with my dad, aged 15, Strawberry Brutal Fruit was cheaper than cooldrink and, being installed near the bar for the afternoon, that was what he agreed to get me. After about 8 or 9 of these on an empty stomach in a few hours, I was still able to walk to the car and only passed out with “sunstroke” a while after we had gotten home. Pathetic.

BEER

Slightly better than spirit coolers. Although not great tasting according to me (I’m gonna get it from the boys for saying so though) it does the job when consumed in large quantities, is relatively inexpensive, and is available in jugs at Springboks on Thursdays. Also comes in many different (apparently interesting) types and flavours. Not my thing, but not half bad either.

APPLE SOURS

I’m not talking about the new Tang Bite 36% stuff, which, incidentally, gets a definitive 3 stars. I’m talking about good old apple sours. The stuff we all grew up sneaking on New Years Eve from our older siblings and cousins. It’s a nice-tasting, if only moderately potent shooter, not at all expensive, and combines very, very nicely with many other alcohols, (its greatest selling point!) However, there are two serious criticisms for apple sours going solo – firstly, for a shooter, its pretty weak and you need to hit a LOT of them to get properly pissed, and secondly, thanks to the ridiculous sugar content, a hardcore drinker is more likely to get serious heartburn before they get drunk. Thus, two and a half stars.

SOUTHERN COMFORT

Again, not a favourite of mine, having had some run-ins with SoCo punch and a game of Kings and the "acceptance rule". I don’t particularly rate the taste, even when combined with sprite (and God alone knows what else) in a punch bowl, although it is tolerable with lime. And it definitely gets the job done! Even though I don’t like it, a well deserved 3 stars.

BRANDY

A favourite from my home ground behind the boerewors curtain, this drink has kept generations of boerseuns and plaasmeisies happily drunk around the braai after the rugby on a Saturday afternoon. Although not as popular with their English counterparts, it is nonetheless a universal South African drink. While a couple of “klippies-en-colas” (brandy and cokes) will get you pleasantly drunk, a few too many will usually result in one of two outcomes: belligerence (hence the Afrikaans nickname “bakleiwyn”) or tearful drunken melancholy (in Afrikaans, “dronkverdriet”). All in all, a very entertaining experience, although I can think of nicer, more palatable ways to get drunk.

VODKA

An old favourite, from my first days of illicit underage drinking. There are few drinks as simultaneously potent and tasty as a double vodka, lime and lemonade. Vodka is relatively inexpensive and easy to disguise as water or plain cool drink as it has no colour. It goes well with practically any mixer, even fruit juices (hail vodka and OJ!) and it definitely gets you pissed, with a tolerable hangover the next day. One downside is that one seems to build up a steady tolerance to vodka if you drink it regularly, making it a potentially expensive habit for you (or your boyfriend/string of male admirers) to maintain.

CANE

Ah. The noble spirit. A thoroughbred in a stable of carthorses. The Leonidas of white alcohol. I cannot praise this majestic distillation enough! Cane has been my friend through many good times, my consolation in the wake of shitty tests and law exams. I have often fallen asleep on drunken weekends, cuddled up with my trusty friend, Cape to Rio. Cane is awe-inspiring: anybody who has been to a house-party hosted or co-hosted by yours truly will cringe in horror at the words “cane punch”. (It’s called “punch” for a reason. Literally.)

Cane is wonderful, in so many ways – which inevitably merits the mention of that beautiful, unbeatable combination: cane and creme soda. Is there a more amazing twosome anywhere in the known universe? I highly doubt it. Nothing brings me more joy than the sight of a barman carrying a brimming cane and creme soda jug my way on a crowded jug night at Springboks.

Cane is awesome because when mixed, it magically becomes almost tasteless. Cane and creme soda, therefore tastes like creme soda, even at triple strength. Thus, you get drunk really easily, almost without realizing it. In fact, you can get wasted without any conscious effort on your part! How marvelous! Cane is also a charitable drink – it has been getting ugly drunk people laid since time immemorial. It’s quite strong, and makes THE most AWESOME punch (even if you make less lethal varieties than our infamous “traffic light punch”). The much admired C&C combo (aka “green mamba”, or “green ambulance”) is delicious, refreshing, and smooth on the palate, and where value for money is concerned, cane is definitely the cheapest quality hardtack around. Which makes the slightly more vicious cane hangover a gladly made sacrifice.

I could go on for many more paragraphs, but the virtues of cane have been extolled over and over by my colleagues in UCT journalism, so I will say nothing more than this: four and a half stars. (Five, if you’re brave enough to drink it neat.)

TEQUILA

Oh shit. That’s the first thing that goes through my mind when I hear the word “tequila”. The undisputed king of shooters, hell, of alcohol in general. If you think it tastes good, then you are either a figment of Clive Cussler’s imagination, or a drooling idiot (i.e. you have already had a few tequilas and can no longer feel your mouth, let alone your taste buds.) This stuff is mean. 3-5 tequilas will generally set you up for the night; more than that and you are on very shaky ground. Personally, (thanks to a legend called Papa Jo) I best enjoy my tequila ice cold before breakfast on a Saturday.

Aside from the ability to make a bull elephant blind drunk in 10 minutes flat, tequila has the rather disturbing property of bringing out the animal in females of all kinds. While alcohol in general lowers one’s inhibitions, tequila somehow unleashes the beast in the ladies, me included. I have witnessed normally timid, socially inept, romantically hopeless girls (i.e. The Grinch) become ravenous man eaters after a few tequilas… not a pretty sight, I assure you. But interesting, overall...

For sheer rat-faced drunkenness, you cannot beat tequila. That warm, burning “oh shit!” feeling… 5 stars and my sombrero off to you!

STROH RUM

My personal experience of this stuff amounts to exactly one shot – that’s because I’m violently allergic to it! I kid you not, I, drinker of many tequilas, broke out in hives, started sneezing, streaming eyes, the works. However, I do remember that it also knocked me sideways and set my trachea on fire. And I have seen many a hardcore drinker projectile-chunder all over the nearest surface after only a shot or two. The proverbial stroh that broke the camel’s back, in JR’s case… I know only one man who takes honest pleasure in drinking the stuff, but nobody gets him, so I won’t even try. Disgusting. 5 stars for sheer brutality, but I say stick with tequila.

ABSINTHE

You thought five stars was as good (or bad) as it gets? Think again. I will never, EVER forget my first absinthe, consumed at a nameless bar in Hermanus long, long ago – largely because I don’t remember a damn thing after that! Despite it being only my second shot of the night. The stuff is pretty much pure alcohol, absolutely disgusting, highly flammable and guaranteed to f*** you up, no other way to put it! I still can’t understand why people will voluntarily drink this crap. You wouldn’t decant Domestos or industrial bleach into shot glasses and drink it, so why drink absinthe? Revolting, liver and soul-destroying, but even if it causes you to puke up your spleen, absinthe is one of those things you should try at least once in life. A gut-wrenching, unparalleled, 6 stars.

Well..... I'm still not completely sure why I, and almost everyone I know continues, and will continue to line up in front of bars in clubs and pubs around the world to damage and physically poison themselves, while paying good money for the privilege... but at least I now have 10 good, thoroughly analysed and rated reasons to do so! Cheers! ;)

SUNDAY 22 JUNE: Its crunch time - bring your A-game.

SUNDAY 22 JUNE: Its crunch time - bring your A-game.



The lesson to be learned from the above (other than that random cartoons of stick men are hilariously funny, but less so when your psycho flatmate does cheap copies of them in lectures and you’re obliged to laugh. Ahem.) is that taking action and preparing is essential.

Where, you ask, did one such as myself come by this nugget of eternal wisdom? EXAMS. There. I said it. Stop cringing.

That horrible time of year, now just past, when you experience more stress collectively than the rest of the year combined (excluding those times you were late with a crucial-for-DP assignment, or asked a total hottie out) Yeah, its pretty crap. You either stop eating entirely (big plus if you’re a girl, not so much if you’re a guy) or you begin eating like a pregnant hippo carrying sextuplets (bad all round), your hair falls out, your nails start splitting, your wardrobe goes from trendy and chic to baggy tracksuits and slippers – its just a manky state of affairs.

And then, there’s the fact that you actually have to study. It’s a much-discussed topic for me, but for all those people who STILL labour under the misconception that students go to university to study, you’re wrong. I’m sorry. It has been empirically proven that students are genetically incompatible with studying. It’s like putting a fish in middle of the Sahara Desert and asking it to not only survive, but make a success of itself, work hard, have no social life and leave said desert with a degree and several job prospects. Just not gonna happen. Fish chokes and dies. (Much like the current Italian football team)

Of course there are exceptions to every rule (like those freaky disgusting catfish they had on the news the other day that can actually survive out of water for a few hours and “crawl” across land to new rivers, etc.) and some students not only like studying, but thrive on it. They hate sunlight and loud music and much prefer the quiet, dimly lighted interior of a library to the beach or a club. They have few friends and less of a life and so, studying is their natural ally – an excuse as to why they never go to Tiger, or socialize at all, but sit in bed reading Sci-fi/varsity textbooks or playing DotA on a network all day. These catfish people, luckily, are rare, and seeing as they inhabit the library, you probably won’t have to deal with them much.

The name “student” is intrinsically misleading – it should really be “young person who escapes parental authority by leaving home for digs/res and likes to party and drink too much and get in trouble with the law for doing socially inappropriate things with friends/members of the opposite sex in public”. But that’s far too long to put on an application form under “job description”, so “student” it is.

That said, every year at a certain time, for every subject our parents have paid through their necks for us to (not) study, we students must be examined on the material we have so-called learned during the year. These exams, traumatic though they may be, are necessary to test our learning (read: force us to pick up and read a book for four or so collective weeks in a year) to make sure we are prepared for our eventual employment.

Many students employ different coping methods for exam stress. There are the comfort eaters, who go through roughly a truckload of biscuits and hot chocolate Monday to Friday, and gain at least 12 kilos over exam time. This is a decent litmus test if you’re wondering which of the perfect stick figures in your class has really good genes and which ones just pray to the toilet gods several times a day. (Hint: the ones who rapidly go back to normal after the exam time weight-gain fall into the latter category.)

A certain awesome friend of mine, known only as “Weird Steve” (not because he’s in any way strange or weird, that’s just his name) has a great coping mechanism: Nonchalance. (Rinse. Repeat.) Nothing fazes the guy! The biggest, meanest exams can come and go, but Weird Steve is chilled. He laughs in the face of International Law papers, while the rest of us gnaw on our stationery and look ill. The guy is my hero, but despite trying to be like him, I’m still a wreck before every single paper. Bummer.

Then you get the all-nighters – people who literally drink 15 cups of coffee a day, and do not sleep for 3-day periods while frantically catching up on work that they’ve missed during the semester, sitting hollow-eyed, surrounded by mounds of copied notes and loaned textbooks until the library closes at night, clutching empty, gnawed-on, Styrofoam cups.

Some people, like another mate of mine, get through it by looking good, which by proxy, makes them feel good and combats bad vibes and stress. Of course, it helps when you have the looks and wardrobe of a male model, like said friend, but it’s worth giving some thought to. Have tried it out once, my reasoning being that if I was going to fail, I might as well do it in style, and the paper actually went really well…. The secret to my mate’s success, perhaps?

Some people find the best way to cope is to vent your frustration and stress as naturally as possible. I WISH I could find the girl who walked out of my Psychopathology test venue and screamed her lungs out as soon as she had shut the door behind her, and shake her hand. Well done. My best girlfriend just goes to kickboxing classes (not that she needs any more lessons on how to kick ass!)

The fact of the matter is, whether you cope by some arcane means, or whether you, like me, become a caffeine addicted, socially isolated emotional and intellectual wreck for the 2-3 weeks of exams, its something that cannot be avoided. As the 80’s rock band Killer Pussy (they’re real, google it!) say in their song Teenage Enema Nurses in Bondage “It’s not a very pretty job, but someone’s gotta do it”. And as everyone (except catfish people) knows, cane and cream soda or a huge jug of beer never tastes sweeter than the night after you finish a killer set of exams. The Thursday after Constitutional Law June paper, and the third worst cane hangover in recorded history, is testament to that.

Another lesson learned.

MONDAY 16 JUNE - The R-Word

The R-Word
I am white. And I’m proud to say it. Why shouldn’t I be? I don’t baulk at the thought of filling in the “race” column on a form any more than I do the “gender” or “marital status” column. Its simply part of who I am, something that sets me apart as an individual and defines something of who I am, the same way as being female, brunette, and a law student sets me apart from many other people. Why then, do some people still get so touchy at the mention of words such as “black”, or “white”? Or refuse to fill in a race on forms, stating that in the new Rainbow Nation everyone is equal and having to fill in such a column is prejudicial and offensive to them? Race has practically become a swear-word (unless used in the context of F1 or the J&B Met.)

Wake up, South Africa – Apartheid died a long time ago. Sure some people (of all ethnicities) are still stuck in that time, and some are still justifiably hurting over what happened, but the vast majority of South Africans no longer view one’s race as a means of deciding one’s status or worth as a human being. Seeing people of all races occupying a multitude of different positions, from car mechanic to State President, and noting that one’s race does not affect one’s ability to do well (or not to) at such jobs, its hard to believe that anyone who wasn’t born into Apartheid can still harbor such outdated ideas and beliefs. And yet, people get remarkably touchy when defining their race becomes an issue.

A good example of this is that tired old chestnut that seems to rear its head every so often in UCT student conversation – the apparent “segregation” of UCT students socially. We’re a racially integrated campus, and yet if you observe students in a social setting, you notice that white people hang out with white people, black people with black people, coloured people with coloured people, and so on. Why is this a problem though? In my experience at UCT (bearing in mind I come from a Northern Suburbs predominantly white conservative neighbourhood) you learn very quickly, (no matter how you grew up) to open your eyes and your mind, and race actually ceases to become an issue. You don’t look at the skin colour of the people around you as much as their manner, style and generally whether you do or don’t have something in common - which is pretty much the way you would analyse a stranger of your own race. That said, it’s quite natural that some segregation on a cultural basis would take place – people who have grown up in a similar environment tend to have similar social behaviours, and since we are attracted to people with whom we perceive we have something in common, it’s only natural that there would be some degree of racial segregation among students.

However, that does not mean that students of different race groups shy away from each other on a negative basis such as prejudice, or hatred. It has everything to do with similarity on a personal basis – this explains why I am great friends with Themba and Nwabisa, but not with Sibusiso or Andile, why I often talk and socialize with Raihan, Junayd and Nadia, but can’t really identify with Fatima or Fawaaz . Those of us who are friends have similar upbringings, similar values and similar personalities, whereas the people I don’t get are just too far removed from who I am, not because of who they are in terms of skin colour, but because of who they are.

Why are we South Africans so afraid of the r-word? Your race is as intrinsically part of you as your culture, your name and your religion. Without it you wouldn’t be who you are! Anyone who has ever stood still for a moment in a cosmopolitan city such as Cape Town, Johannesburg, London, or New York and observed the panoply of people, each with a different skin colour, bearing, attitude and style, walk past will appreciate how empty the world would be if there was no such thing as race and we were all variations on the same old theme. We should celebrate our diversity and be able to appreciate it without being afraid of causing offence or being thought bigoted or racist – I am fortunate to be in a circle of friends where jokes about “whiteys” (usually directed at me) are taken in good humour, (as is a reply such as “nigga, please!”) and we can comfortably express our differences knowing that we think no less of one another for it.

This, I believe, is what Nelson Mandela truly meant when he spoke of a “Rainbow Nation” in a New South Africa – not a country where, because of the horrendous wrongs of the past, people are afraid to celebrate the uniqueness bestowed upon them by their race, but where everyone can be themselves knowing that we are no longer burdened by the shadow of what was, where we can express our differences, ask our questions, make a few jokes and accept each other without inferring or conferring prejudice, malice, or bigotry. Our motto is “Unity through Diversity” – if we have no diversity, we cannot even attempt to be the multicultural, multiracial democratic nation that the leaders of the past foresaw.

At the end of the day, what should be holding us together – in unity – is our citizenship, the privilege of belonging to this country, South Africa. The diversity is what we ourselves provide, in all our creeds and colours, black, white, brown, whatever…. We’re all different, and we should be proud of that. What binds us together is the fact that as South Africans, our destinies are inextricably linked, no matter what we look like, where we come from, how we dress or talk or conduct ourselves. And that is unity through diversity.

SUNDAY 25 MAY: Varsity Speak, bru.

SUNDAY 25 MAY: Varsity Speak, bru.
Day rating: 7/10

This post is dedicated to the amazing ability we students have to create our own dialect of English. In fact, it’s a mishmash of English, Afrikaans, Yiddish, and any number of African languages. Throw in the odd Spanish word, and you have student-speak in Cape Town.

The difficulty with student speak is that nobody else understands it, largely (as I have previously said) because certain words have multiple meaning, depending on the context and tone in which the word is said. For example, “lank” can mean very (that’s a lank kiff oke), or nice (lank sweater bru) or it can be used to express any escalation in degrees of comparison. “Hundreds” can refer to a large number of people (hundreds of people on Jamie stairs) or that something is acceptable (that’s hundreds) or that you are feeling particularly great (I’m feeling hundreds after that surf!)

These are but two examples in a dictionary so uniquely student and South African, which is so rich and vibrant it’s a pity we don’t all speak it. Here are a few more examples to get you started:

Action: any form of sexual gratification, including kissing
Af: disgusting
Amped: excited, keen anticipation
Arb: strange or random
Awe (pronounced ah-WEH): greeting, similar to “hello”, used mostly by coloured students.
Bleak: not good, unfortunate
Bliksem: to hit (I bliksemed him) also an exclamation of anger or used to refer to someone you dislike intensely (the bliksem!)
Bro: term of reference when referring to a male friend
Bru: unisex term of reference, usually referring to a male friend. Often used in conjunction with “awe”.
China: loosely used to refer to a friend, usually male. Used almost exclusively by jocks.
Check: synonym for “look” e.g. “check those hot chicks!”
Chick: loosely used to refer to any female, usually an attractive one
Chop: synonym for “idiot”
Chunder: to throw up, or (n) actual puke.
Cockblocker: (adj) ugly friend of a hot chick who tries to prevent said friend from getting any action
Dack: well-built, muscular
Dig: to like (I dig your shoes)
Diss: (v) to insult, (n) an insult (what a diss!)
Dog: a male slut
Doos: asshole/idiot
Dop: alcoholic beverage
Dude: unisex term of reference, although usually male
Eish: expression used to indicate exasperation or commiseration
Fluff: silly, airheaded female
Game: degree of success with members of the opposite sex
Gatvol: tired of something (expression of annoyance, similar to “fed-up”)
Gay: usually used to indicate homosexuality, but when used by jocks, usually taken to mean lame or pathetic.
Guns: large arms/biceps (male)
Gunshow: when a dack guy wears clothes that show off his impressive biceps
Guy: any male person
Harsh: refers to an unpleasant situation. Expression of commiseration.
“Heavy days”: phrase indicating a serious situation/matter. Appropriate response to someone else’s bad news.
Hectic: degree of comparison (hectic cool night) or an exclamation of amazement (hectic, bru!)
Heya: greeting, similar to “hello”
Hond: (pronounced “hawnt”) someone really ugly or otherwise worthy of degradation
Hoodie: bulky, hooded jacket, usually bearing the name of a university or clothing brand
Hook up: (to have) some kind of sexual experience. Often refers to kissing.
Hot: attractive
Hottie: any attractive person
Jammie: refers either to UCT shuttles/buses, or to Jameson plaza
Jammie stairs: stairs above Jameson plaza, popular place for socialization and skipping class.
Keen: synonym for amped. Can also refer to a nerd, someone who takes academic work too seriously (he/she is keen) or can be used to indicate a positive level of interest (I’m keen to go out)
Kiff: synonym for “cool”
Knob: refers either to the male reproductive organ, or as a colloquialism for “idiot”
Kotch (pronounced “kawtch”): to throw up. Also, as an adjective, meaning disgusting
Lag (pronounced “lugh”): laugh. Usually used in the context of something/someone being pathetic or amusing (what a lag)
Lank: see above paragraph
Las: (v) to leave (las it, bru) or (n) an annoyance or burden (what a las!)
Los: immoral, usually used to refer to chicks who sleep around
Mack: depending on context, to make out with/have sex with (I macked her last night)
Manky: ugly, usually used to refer to persons but also used to indicate general unpleasantness usually relating to something being dirty (manky top that he hasn’t washed all week)
Miff: disgusting
Nada: nothing
Nasty: ugly/unpleasant
Naaaaat: inserted at end of sentence to make it funy/sarcastic. As used in the movie Borat.
Nort: bastardisation of the Afrikaans “nooit”. Used to express surprise/disbelief (ah nort bru!)
Oi: synonym for “hello” or an expression of annoyance/alarm (Oi! Stop that!)
Oi vey: expression of exasperation/despair
Oke: any male person
Over it: state of not caring about something (I’m over it)
Owned: a state of having been convincingly dominated
Parry: stressed, worried
Parrying: worrying, stressing about something
Pissed: depending on context, angry or very drunk
Plank: stupid person
Porky: fat
Proper: extreme degree of comparison (I was proper over it/we were proper fighting)
Ride: car or other vehicular transportation
Rough: harsh or unpleasant (I had a rough night)
Ruggas: the sport of rugby
Siff: very disgusting
Shag: (v) to have sex with
Shot: synonym for “thank you”
Shweet: synonym for “good” or “nice” (shweet ride, bru!)
Six-love: indicates a state of total unconsciousness (he drank 7 tequila shots and passed out, six-love)
Skank: girl with loose morals
Skinnys: skinny jeans (exceptionally tight jeans)
Slops: flip-flops/sandals
Spade: to have sex with (exclusively used by males)
Stoked: happy/excited
Suck: to be uncool/unpleasant (exams suck/this sucks)
‘Sup: contraction of “what’s up”, enquiry into a state of affairs, someone’s wellbeing, or just a general greeting
Suss: to check out (I sussed out the new club, its pretty cool)
Tanked: drunk
Tigering: the act of going out to Tiger Tiger
Tool: stupid person with no sense of originality
Tripping: on drugs/crazy
Vibe: (n) a state of being (good vibe), indication of someone else’s mood/intention (getting a vibe) or indication of plans/mood (what’s the vibe for tonight?)
Votch: disgusting, nauseating or the need to/act of throwing up
Wanker: idiot/asshole
Wasted: usually refers to state of advanced drunkenness, can also be used to mean tired or to refer to a particularly violent death or defeat (I wasted him in ProEvo Soccer 2)
Whipped: a state of giving in to all of a female’s demands because of overwhelming sexual desire and fear that she will withhold sexual favours if displeased
Yaaaasis: (alt spelling “jaaaasis”) exclamation of indignation/frustration/surprise.
Yoh: synonym for the above
Yo: greeting, similar to “hello”

WEDNESDAY 14 MAY: The Year of the Dog

WEDNESDAY 14 MAY: The Year of the Dog
Day rating: 8/10

Why such a good day? Minimal encounters with the Grinch, and romance. Aside from that, study slogging sucks and definitely going to fail everything on Friday. But right now, too tired and over life to care!

One thing you can be certain of on campus (besides anorexic girls from ‘maritzburg, and rain) is that sometime in your illustrious varsity/college career, you will encounter a dog. No, not the friendly, four-legged, tail-wagging kind – I’m talking about the guy who wrings his fun out of life by making out with and sleeping with as many girls as is humanly possible, and breaking the hearts of most if not all of his conquests.

The dog, much like his animal namesake, comes in several breeds. The most prominently noticeable is the Jock. Now, to be clear, not all jocks are dogs. But a certain type of dog disguises himself as a jock. The Jock is your quintessential manly man: he plays rugby, water polo and other manly sports, he wears Lacoste golf shirts, baggy three-quarters and Guess sweaters, he gyms continuously and if not on steroids, is at least a regular consumer of creatine and protein shakes.

He is ruggedly good looking and usually quite loud and vulgar, and can be heard a mile off conversing loudly with his “boys” in “jock-speak”, for example: “yaaaasis bru, I got so wasted last night! Got home and I was chundering everywhere bru, my folks were so bleak, I passed out six-love, but I woke up this morning and felt hundreds.”

The Jock also has a string of female admirers – he may have a girlfriend, but will cheat on her regularly and sadly, she often accepts this as her fate. He completely objectifies women and considers them interchangeable at best. His masculine good looks, deliciously ripped body and sports prowess unfortunately mean that he has a never-ending supply of smitten ladies trailing in his wake for him to seduce, use and throw away.

Then there’s the Smooth dog. This guy could charm the pants off Ellen DeGeneres. He knows exactly what to say, and when to say it. He seems to know every woman’s idea of a perfect date and will take you to watch beautiful beach sunsets followed by sundowners, sushi and cocktails; he will bring you flowers (and not those crappy ones they sell at Spar, a proper bunch of roses) and he will bring your mother flowers, he’s educated and stylish but definitely masculine and he showers you with attention – until he gets tired of you, that is.

Suddenly, he doesn’t sms, he doesn’t call and he doesn’t reply to any attempt to contact him. You cant seem to find him on campus and are beginning to wonder if alien abductions are real, when you spot him, wrapped around a gorgeous blonde who seems to be holding… no…. yes! A BUNCH OF ROSES. Your only consolation is that she, too, will be replaced in a week or so.

The Chameleon might sound more reptile than dog (which is not far off) but don’t be fooled – he’s the sneaky one. This guy flies so far under the radar it would take a frigid SS Gestapo fraulein to even come close to spotting him. He’s good-looking in an unassuming, scruffy (adorable) way and to outsiders, appears to think he has no game at all. He doesn’t flirt, and is self-effacing, allowing you to do all the flattering and accepting complements with a shy, VERY sexy smile.

He seems amazed that you even notice him. He will protest his uselessness right up until the point where you make out (or whatever else happens) and then, once he’s had enough of you, will drop you like a ton of bricks and in about 3 hours, all of campus will know how awesome you think he is, the nature and content of every complement you ever paid him, how you assured him multiple times that he’s devastatingly hot, and that he just dumped you for someone else. Bastard.

The Politician is probably the biggest asshole of them all. This guy is arrogant and completely obsessed with power. He’s much like the Smooth dog in that he’s a real charmer, but whereas the Smooth dog’s world revolves around himself, the Politician is all about climbing the success ladder. This guy only targets women who can advantage him or his career; if you’re a somebody on the varsity newspaper editorial staff, or are involved in the students council or student political parties, beware.

Although not your conventional hottie, he is good-looking, but what really sells him is his self-assurance and the air of confidence he projects. He sometimes dates random women for their trophy status, but this never lasts, and he mostly targets girls he thinks will get him somewhere, or who need to be gotten out of the way. Either way, once he has what he wants or your reputation is history, so is he.

Finally, there is the most dangerous dog of all. The Swiss Army dog. He is so named, because much like those Swiss army pocket knives everyone had about 10 years ago, he has a combination of skills that allow him to do anything and everything. He is a mixture of the best parts of all types of dog, and as such, is the most dangerous of them all.

The Swiss is very difficult to spot, not only because he often uses the self-effacing “I don’t really have game” tactics of the Chameleon, but also because he doesn’t completely conform to any of the known dog types. He is all of them and none of them at the same time. He is enough of a jock to attract any woman with hormones, but not offensively masculine – chances are, he plays for the second, or even third rugby side. He is ruthlessly efficient, combining the Smooth dog’s cunning and charm with the jock’s masculine arrogance, the Politician’s confidence and the Chameleon’s “I don’t really have game” attitude in exactly the right mixture – he’s irresistible.

Unlike the Jock, who is discernible by his complete lack of academic concern (read: intelligence), the Swiss usually studies a moderately difficult course – BA politics, economics and philosophy, or a Bcom degree are good indicators. Chances are he’s well known around campus for his involvement in a society and/or sport, and is moderately well-read. He seems to know exactly what you want, but unlike the Smooth dog, he messes up sometimes – but never too seriously, and he’s always so apologetic that you can’t stay angry for long.

His one downfall is John Tucker syndrome, something that many dogs develop as a result of becoming too confident in their super-seduction abilities. For those of you who haven’t seen the movie I’ll make this quick and painless: a dog suffering from John Tucker syndrome has the belief that he can juggle several girlfriends at once.

This often works for a short period of time, but he inevitably trips up somewhere, and winds up alone. Sadly, the Swiss dog is increasingly developing the ability to bounce back from such a disaster – he finds women who feel sorry for him, and pretends to turn over a new leaf. Little do they realize that the Swiss dog thinks only of himself, and is completely incapable of seeing a woman as anything other than a piece of meat.

By now, you’re probably wondering if I’ve ever been taken in by a dog. Honestly, yes, I have. I was targeted by a Swiss dog not too long ago, and if I hadn’t recognized him just in time, would have had my heart shattered. Luckily, thanks to his amazing guide I saw him for what he was – I recognized his Chameleon tactics and even though (thanks to the influence of one too many double cane-and-cream sodas) things got hairy, I managed to keep it all in perspective. And completely flatten his ego the next day when he tried to exert his evil dog-influence over me and get some action. He’s still waiting for me to get back to him, and you know what? Its never gonna happen. I can’t say I’ve vanquished him, or that he even cares about me in the face of the overwhelming female interest he receives, but my dignity and pride are still 100% intact. In fact, some people have suggested that I used him. It’s a nice thought.

Wait……… what does that make me?!

Tuesday, 13 May – Ice, Ice, Baby… its Varsity life.

TUESDAY, 13 MAY – Ice, Ice, Baby… its Varsity life.
Day Rating: 7.5/10

What made today great? 3 lectures… being very over all the tests I’m gonna fail on Friday… the fact that we saw blue sky in Newlands for the first time in a week (I’m not kidding, really) and the fact that I had some time to enjoy that wonderful thing called student life.

Being a student is like stepping into your favourite high school TV show. If you play your cards right, you can have the life you only ever dreamed of, free of parents and all other responsibilities (except for a collective total of about 42 days a year where you are forced to put ink to paper or study. But hey, you can’t have it all!)

Student life…. Suddenly, one meal a day supplemented by unhealthy snacks from the cafeteria becomes perfectly acceptable nutrition. If your parents didn’t supply 3 square meals a day it was child abuse, but now, freed from the shackles of parental constraint and given night-sweats at the thought of having to eat your residence’s idea of Irish stew, something clearly concocted out of Friday’s vegetarian option and something not quite dead, that single daily meal plus 4 bags of popcorn, coke, chips and those omniscient croissants seems perfectly adequate.

If you’re in digs, you suddenly realize how much food costs (and in my case, that you’re gonna have to figure out a way to nail your rents for a whole lot more money if you wanna drink and party without starving to death at the same time) You also realize that contrary to popular belief, food actually takes time and effort to prepare, and even more shockingly, that you cant make steak in the microwave. Also, that statistically, the time it takes to cook a meal increases proportionally with its tastiness. I think I do alright, but some okes I know are subsisting off braai, 2 minute noodles, fried eggs and bread. Which is perfectly alright.

Then there’s this misconception that students actually go to university to learn educational stuff. There are just far too many pitfalls for anyone but Indiana Jones (or the Grinch) to actually make it to lectures! I mean, what were they thinking putting a cafeteria filled with cosy tables and chairs and the smell of freshly brewed coffee on the way to every lecture theatre? You saunter in, spot a few of your friends, pull up a chair and the next thing you know you’ve been discussing rugby, varsity gossip and Grey’s for 2 hours. Woops.

But there are lesser reasons for missing class. For example, the fact that no sane person walks from middle to upper campus in the pouring rain. Or across upper campus for that matter. Nothing said in a lecture venue is THAT important. Even worse, if you’ve forgotten your umbrella, you can’t even go between a few buildings – what’s the point of getting soaked, catching flu and missing lectures anyway?! And then there are the late nights. How often has a student pulled an all-nighter on an assignment or piece of homework, only to sleep through the class its due for… or missed lectures because you just cant do 9am after a Tiger Thursday… or missed lectures because of a lesser hangover… or because you just had to get some new drum and bass/series from a friend… and then missed the next one sitting on the stairs talking to said friend… oh, the list is endless.

The list of what you do learn, however, is even more extensive. And this is not tertiary education, but life experience, the kind of things that you will use and pass on to your grandchildren someday (provided your liver can survive years of Tin Roof drinks specials). Things like:

• The fact that certain foods explode spectacularly when microwaved without a cover.
• You can make goldfish drunk by pouring half a shot of vodka into their tank.
• Textbooks are actually just very expensive doorstops, seeing as you pay R400 for 1300 pages and only actually need to read 3 chapters.
• If you should, however, try to subvert the system by not buying textbooks, the courses you take will automatically become completely textbook-based and you will fail miserably.
• You can open your car door with a wire coat-hanger/large pair of scissors/plastic ruler.
• Campus parking mysteriously fills up at 8am sharp. (Where all these people go and what they do there at 8am, nobody knows.)
• If you forget your umbrella, it WILL rain.
• There is ALWAYS a reason to drink
• Coco pops are perfectly acceptable as breakfast, lunch or supper. Or all three.
• Some things last indefinitely in the fridge. Milk is not one of these things.
• At Tin Roof, anybody and everybody can score for the price of a tequila shot.
• The only place to purchase a desk planner is the stationery shop, and they are permanently sold out of desk planners.
• Doing the dishes while drunk is a bad idea. Electrical kitchen appliances and water do not mix.
• The answer to EVERYTHING is on Google or Wikipedia. If you can’t find it there, it simply doesn’t exist.
• The floor gets so dirty that you actually have to dust your feet off before putting socks on or climbing into bed.
• The only way to find a missing R485 textbook is to buy a new one. Once you have, by some superhuman feat, managed to find the money to do so, the old one will magically reappear. This somehow causes the new textbook to drop to a fifth of its original value when you try to re-sell it.
• 24-hour pizza delivery is your friend.
• It is not unusual to miss your lectures because the closest parking you could find was 30 minutes walk away from campus.
• It is physiologically impossible to go out for “one drink”. Was this to actually happen, it would cause a rip in the fabric of the time-space continuum, but luckily, is not even near achievable by students at present.
• Attending rallies/protest marches means free clothing. Which means more space between laundry days. Which is another excellent reason to miss lectures.
• Lecture venues change at random. Lecturers do this because they are malicious and vindictive and enjoy your confusion. This is why they became lecturers in the first place.
• Boys can actually spend 12 hours at a time playing network games with other boys.
• On the few days that you actually do make it to varsity by 8am, lectures will be cancelled (unless you are a law student).
• You can NEVER have too much caffeine. A coke/coffee and an energy bar constitute a balanced breakfast.
• Series becomes your life – you miss lectures to watch Grey’s Anatomy all day. You invite friends over to miss their classes so they can watch Grey’s with you all day. Offering to share series with someone is a popular indication of one’s approval and desire for friendship.
• Students speak their own language and this is indecipherable to everyone from off campus. This is because in student language, the same word can have up to 8 different meanings depending on the inflexion, tone and accent used.
• There is a question kid in every lecture. You come to understand, through this kid, why things like the Virginia Tech shooting happen.
• Every bathroom on campus has a free condom dispenser. Except in the Geology department.
• It is normal to find that you have loaned/borrowed clothing to such an extent that you now have your roommate’s complete wardrobe.
• Dishes and laundry do not, in fact, do themselves.
• Hare Krishna pamphlet distributors are like vampire leeches and are completely immune to insults/brush-offs. They are faster and more agile than Bryan Habana. The only proven method of dislodging one once it has you is to claim that you are a Satanist and are only on campus to find a virgin sacrifice for the coming of the Antichrist.
• Drunken people do fall over balconies at digs-warming parties unless you tie them to the door.
• Your ability to parallel-park increases dramatically if you don’t have a parking disc.
• Chicken really does need to be cooked properly.
• Food poisoning is not fun. (see above)
• Members of the opposite sex do not find erudition sexy. If you waste an entire day on Jammie stairs flirting and catching a tan, your chances are WAY better than if you were in the library/at lectures.
• Your significant other will adopt a pattern of study/job that only allows him/her to see you after 11pm at night. This means that all early lectures are written off for the following 2 days.
• People like Napoleon Dynamite really do exist. They dwell in the Geology, Maths and Chemical Engineering buildings.
• Steam irons are ornamental things, for decorative purposes only. They look best in their packaging, in the back of a cupboard. Any item of clothing becomes un-creased enough to wear if you hang it long enough.
• Kittens and stationery do not mix. The stationery is always the loser.
• “Internal League rugby” and “informal water polo league” are in fact euphemisms for “excuse to get shitfaced drunk on Wednesday nights”.
• Power cuts generally happen (a) as you are about to make supper, or (b) as you are about to start writing an essay/assignment.
• You WILL run into the person you didn’t mean to make out with last night, and this will be while you are looking sleep deprived, badly dressed and hung-over.
• Printers malfunction in direct proportion to the number of people who have essays to hand in.
  
• Even if you make it to your lecture, the chances of you actually learning anything are minimal. Most lecturers are brilliant academics who have written at least 5 books and many more papers on their subject, and speak English as a fourth language. Then there’s the fact that on any given day of the week you are probably overtired and/or hung-over. Or, you are listening to awesome new drum and bass.
  
  If you take notes on a laptop, there is the temptation to play solitaire, a game so complex and engrossing that you are guaranteed not to take in a word of the lecture. If the lecture theatre has wireless, you sit on facebook and IM instead of taking notes, absorbing knowledge, as most students seem to do, by osmosis. Seeing as there are widescreen TVs in the food court showing all big sports events, you can keep track of the score all morning and afternoon while eating sushi and missing lectures. If you were actually awake by 12pm to get a seat, that is.
  
  Indeed, when you’re a student things like laundry and dishes and general cleaning only get done when there are no more clean dishes/clothes. Much like studying. In fact, another reason to miss class is taking the day off to catch up on all the work you’ve missed by skipping class. It is a well-known fact that on that day, every single friend you have will either drop by for a chat or have free tickets to something cool or phone you with a major relationship crisis, meaning that you pretty much get nothing done at all. Of course, your parents don’t need to know any of this. Nor do they need to know that more money will be spent on the destruction of your liver than on your eventual degree.
  
  But, it’s all worth it. Your student days are the best days of your life, something to remember and dwell on fondly on your old age. Well, maybe you won’t remember all that much….. But you catch my drift.