Retarded Marketing Skills

Feel intimidated by the fact that you are a complete dumb-dud in the face of magical but scornful careers such as “Marketing” and “Sales Consultants”? I fail and flail miserably in this competitive environment as I can’t sell goods and let alone stand being told anyone can sell...

Some are born with The Marketing & Selling Spoon and others like me, should be left well alone in their stupidity about silver and pewter spoons...

I'm almost sure that we all know someone who do quite well in the Department of Retarded Excellence. This so-called "Retard trade-list" is as long as the longest list of everything in the world and the qualification(s) comes without formal papers. One don't even have to buy them at fraud machines; they come for free.

To think of a few people that I know, there is The Technical-, Sexist-, Parental-, Boozing-, Bike-riding-, Intellectual-, Pitiful-,Brass-, Neurotic-, Employer-, Social-, Computer- RETARD and so on...

Furthermore: The Sales Retard (me) was asked to investigate into a company selling a German factory machine. A RAMPF. Don’t move on to technical matters now, as I can’t honestly not tell if this thing has anything to do with WW I or II or neither.

In final cheerful spirits, I wrote: May the highest bidder win...
Reply: The first bidder will win. Not a hard selling tactic, I promise.

Wow, who would believe that? Not a hard selling tactic... Heh? Don’t some of you find salesmen enthusiasm and confidence just a tad bit unnerving, boorish or even horsy and come to think of it, tacky?

As a Technical Retard (list getting longer), I may even qalify under the section Silver, Pewter, Brass, Copper, Chrome and whatever-other-metal retard. Retarded PA too, and Retarded Bidder...Retarded smart-pants & the one I like most: Dumb Dud When The Occasion Suits...

Sticking To One's Guns

Shortly after I started working at a European machinery company, I overheard staff members discussing “How the guns ought to be packed."

Stiff-necked and –legged I sat on my chair, trying not to keel over from shock. So instead of making a dive, I sat frozen to the core staring ahead into the distant vicinity of where my PC screen was stationed.

Had my ears gone loony - a company trading in guns?!

Alarm bells such as this would GONG soundly and loudly in any law-abiding citizen’s psyche. And such a matter-of-fact discussion! Absolutely mind boggling unbelievable...

Weeks later I discovered during a demonstration, that the “guns” were of a type used when working with resin and glue. It comes complete with cartridges and the whole katooti and plastic tubes which easily can be mistaken for a similar variety from extremely adventurous types of “toy shops”.

I could soon be selling guns too...

Wafer-thin Records

It has been spluttered that I am jotting down somewhat extra-ordinary worryingly weird topics these days. Okay, since State Presidents can now be de-elected as a weekend-leisure activity ànd because I didn't take my medication regularly, things had been slipping somewhat.

Let's then reflect on the following somewhat "mundane" topic: Wafers.

Not terribly addicted to wafers, my interest in it was sparked when I recently read the lovely novel The Italian Quarter' by Domenica De Rosa.

So, where do wafer cookies originate from?

The author wrote about the “dirty” (always immaculately clean) Italians starting ice-cream ventures in London during the days of Mussolini and Semitism in its height. Shortly after ice-cream ventures, wafers followed...

I did a quick search and found the following:

Description: a thin crisp cake, candy, or cracker

Biscuits can be traced back to the second century in Rome. It was then hard and thin wafers, which had a low water content and ideal to store, as they wouldn't turn to mould quickly."

Century A.D. - The earliest cookie-style cakes are thought to date back to 7th century Persia A.D. (now Iran), one of the first countries to cultivate sugar (luxurious cakes and pastries well known in the Persian empire).

Among noted eaters have been: Chopin, Wagner, Goethe, Edward VII of England.

"Cacao wafers, intended to be dissolved as needed, were issued to
soldiers, in order to fortify them during marches and in battle."

By the end of the 14th century, one could buy little filled wafers on
the streets of Paris. Renaissance cookbooks were rich in cookie
recipes.

From the 1596 cookbook called Goode Huswife's Jewel by Thomas
Dawson. One of the earliest cookery books for the growing middle
classes in Elizabethan England. This is a square short-cookie enriched
with egg yolks and spices, baked on parchment paper. A Wafer?

The wafer cookie was awarded with a gold metal for best baking product at the Paris World Expo of 1900

Herewith a introduction to a long list of Wafers:

Guittard white chocolate wafer - French
Benne wafer – South carolina
Tunbridge Wells Wafers (a result of wartime and post-war rationing)
Sugar Free Wafers
Quadratini Wafers - dark chocolate
Anzac wafer (now Anzac Biscuit)
Benne Seed Wafers (Africa)
Tarecos de Amendoim (Italian Peanut Wafers)
Cornmeal Butter Wafers
Ginger Almond Wafers
Jan Hagel (Cinnamon Almond Wafers
Cream Parisian Wafers
Lemon Wafer
lérias (Portuguese dessert wafers)
Cream Wafer
Ivin's Spiced Wafer Cookies.
Vinilla Wafer Cookie
Brandy Wafer Cookie
California Wine Wafer Cookie
Alaska Wafer Cookie
Strawberry Wafer
Gourmet Wafers
Cheese Coins (Savory Cheese Wafers)
Venetian Cafe Cream Wafer

In my view: Long live the The Pink Wafer

Embrasser Avec La Langue...or just Snogging

The Language of the tongue - and the French have ever been so robust and romantic.

- Snogs & Bands

A band named "Snog" was formed by Australian musician David Thrussell, along with Tim McGrath and Julia Bourke, in 1988. The band name is a reference to "kissing and cuddling," which, according to Thrussell, symbolizes the Marxist concept of destroying barriers between people.

Origin Melbourne, Australia
Genre(s) Experimental music
Intelligent dance music

Some song names:
Karmic Hit
Black Lung
Dark Side of Berlin
So Fuckin' Jazz
Veruschka


Snog have a snug and cozy ring to it IF executed expertly and with deadly precision.
It is a British slang usage for "French kiss" when the participant's tongue touches the other's tongue (Wikipedia doesn’t say much here) and usually enters his or her mouth (what else?).

Can any kind of snogging match French kissing however?
English: Monk kissing Nun
Italian: Tongue Twister Sustantivo
Spanish: Tongue-in-cheek
Russian: Russian Roulette
English-French: Tongue-tied (adjetivo tímido)

The Web World is like a mega-thesaurus with descriptions of “How To Snog”.
Yahoo Answers!
How to Snog a Pillow
Tongue Trouble
Boing-Boing (?)
Moist lips...
Kissing and Tongue falls out (uh?)
The Ditch And Snog Blog (www.country-couples.co.uk)
and so on...

My idea of wrong snogging:
Frantically poking the tongue down a throat and sucking tonsils like an untidy dentist performing an esthetically complicated root-canal.

Snogging is also known as:
tongue kissing, pash, hooking up, mugging it up, making-out, macking on, necking, getting into, snog, slipping the tongue, popping tongue, sucking face, swapping spit, deep kissing, getting off with, pulling, tongue wrestling, tonsil tennis, tonsil hockey, Frencher (Quebec) and frenching.

Pigfaceshitholebastards

Apologies for the rude subject line.

Herewith some laments for women being treated badly by men.

An arsehole not worth the title "man" that my sister had been keen on is getting married this coming weekend. Thank you for miracles and small mercies...

We warned her against this horrible beastly thing which can’t possibly be classified as a human being but a dis-compassionate box (explanation to follow another time). The heart is a strange thing however and she did not listen to her dysfunctional family which now turns out to be a pretty normal, warm and caring family.

This conspicuous waste of space prat-man pursued her blatantly and with surprising arrogance not dissimilar to a sty-pig unawares of its true status in the social circle. So his High & Mighty Low Scum Nutter hop-skipped & jumped away completely unscathed.

The knob (a literal debatable subject) pretended for months that he was very ill and going to die soon and relied heavily on her for emotional support. He did not die...

The myopic poisonous bug allowed his BAPISS vicar (well done for my sister who still can’t manage to say Baptist) prophesizing that SHE is EVIL. Oh not a terribly vicar-y thing to say, eh? Two pug-faced broods. I must admit to never having set eyes on this man (gladly so), but I have also never seen face to face with the species of unfortunate dogs called pugs.

Yeah and the Devil wears Prada so our "sick" friend better watch out for angel Gabriel and his army appearing unexpectedly one soppy rainy day...

So, having said this I feel better and able to breathe again. Letting go of this dis-concert-undigested-conbobbledybob on a lovely chilly pre-weekend day.

Do you think I will get away carefully selecting, wrapping and sending a jar of poisonous chillies to this living entity as a wedding gift?

Soup-à la-Spare-Ribs

Ever tasted sumptuous spare-rib soup?

An eighteen year old school leaver landed a waitress job at a restaurant named The Pink Lady. Regardless of the name, it used to be an up market diners on the outskirts of a town called Aliwal North; an agricultural South African hub which is famous for its hot mineral springs.


Herewith a saucy tale of Improvisation:

A gentleman in his forties once decided to dine at The Pink Lady - accompanied by two guards and Doberman dogs waiting outside. Presumably a high profile or politician of sorts.

Our à la carte waitress managed a superb act of flair and competency managing to get everything right form the tip of her fingers to pouring the wine. Removing the empty dishes after he finished his main meal, she hesitated as she stared down at a small bowl filled with contents similar to brown onion or minestrone soup. A thoroughly confused frown furrowed between her eyebrows as she asked:

“Sir, but aren’t you going to eat your soup?”

Giving her a nonplussed look slowly followed by a broad grin, he then calmly replied:

“Well, I’m not at all sure about that. But if you want, you can have it.”

Horror of horrors, slaughter of the innocent, exploitation of the dimwitted such as in Black Humor novels and films... Turned out the ‘bowl of soup’ had been a concoction of liquid produced when people have rinsed their hands in it after finishing off a messy sticky meal of pork spare-ribs.

Our waitress earned a fat tip from our customer that night.

The dishonest greedy old restaurant owner however also took his unfair share and thus our girl ditched The Pink Lady which resembled a life of swimming around in bowls with some seriously dodgy contents.

For thàt reason and another: A neighboring town doctor presumably suffering from Torret Syndrome, once went ballistic following a thunderstorm which left The Pink Lady cozily huddled in darkness and soft candle light...

Cape Town Storms Aug-Sept 2008

Lately Cape Town has been beaten by severe gales going hand in hand with flooding, High and Low Pressure systems colliding and a mini Tsunami. One can easily think winter arrived only now, on the doorstep of what is supposed to be middle-spring.

Conversation amongst people is as dull as the outlook these days;

It goes:

“Can you believvvvvvve the weather?”

"Not at all! Got work on the freaking roof."

"What, did you say a Leaking Roof?”

“Yeah, but others lost their roofs and pets during the latest storms.”

"Ahh, so stray lost cats & dogs all over the mother city - this is becoming a disaster and humantrian crisis."

"And I floated to work in my car yesterday."

"Really? Guess that happens all the time these days."



OR:

“Yet another cold front moving in on the Peninsula."

Sarcastic question: "Only ONE?"

Disappointment: "Oh, that's just GREAT!"

"Wouldn’t say that!"



OR

“Extra-ordinary weather, eh?”

"Unbelievable - all of it happening in Africa..!"

“You surely mean ‘Cape Town’ only?”

"Eh..?"

“I said, it’s all bloody happening in Cape Town only!”



OR:

“Do you think we will ever see the sun again?”

"Well, how long do you think a piece of string is..?"

“What do you mean?”

"I said: How long is a freeking river of string...?!



OR:

Two ladies in the shoe repair shop: “My shoe got water.”

"Oh, mine too."

“All this flooding, you know...”

"Floods, Flu, Filthy washing..."

“And other provinces are getting their swimming pools ready.”

“Perhaps its time to consider emigrating."

"Well how will you do that - all roads to the airport are closed and flights diverted to George or Port Elizabeth."

"Oh hell, what's this - Waterworld?!"

"Ja, I'm Gatvol too."

Man owning the shop saying:

"My-my, but aren’t we ALL blossom and GLOOM today!"


Let's just hope that one day in the cloudy future, Spring will bring a rainbow along...

LEMON-BUTTER-POT BOOKS & NUTSHELLS

Reading a well-written story of 2nd hand books recently, my mind skimmed over the value of books. They are friends and I feel comfortable and safe with them. In this case it counts for "The more there are, the merrier”!

Libraries and charity shops have a distinctive atmosphere – it can be difficult to leave once you’re in and the last to leave.

My favorite place of books is at The Bosnian Shop on the main street of Lochgilphead, a Scottish town situated at the head of Loch Gilp. Brightly lit with fairy lights it is the busiest place pre-Christmas for those last minute presents and X-mass cards. The most popular place for bargains and even beats the Safe Way Shop a few steps further up the road.

A space reminiscent of a shoebox this dingy shop offers its heart with old and new to young and old. I even got a lined black coat there for a mere £5. One always hears the door bells jingle. First thing to catch the eye is someting like a 1970 reading lamps or potato chip cutter. At deeper investigation a Dutch Wall Hanging Clock pops up, or a hairdryer, workman toolboxes, clothes, Oil lamps and Storm lanterns, nearly complete English Cutlery set with a Hallmark Crown logo, Antique Sock Knitting machine or a Vintage Crosley Wood Radio. Plastic crockery and BRISTOL china stuff, outdated tapes, records and cd’s, posters and jewellery...

Can-fruit bottles with their original lids, Sugar & Butter Pots or Sugar Tongs & Salt Spoons, Small Teacups with patterns or pictures painted on them – peeling or cracked and with a missing saucer.

In the archives of BOOKS: Lesser known jewels such as old David Attenborough books, Oceanography, Gardening, Natural Healing Recipes (curing everything under the sun from nits to nose-drips), Indian-, Chinese-, Cornish-, English or The Hebrides Cookery books. Ambushed by an army of romantic novels by authors dominating the scene at Lochgilphead’s Bosnian Shop: Barbara Cartland, Maeve Binchy, Rosamunde Pilcher, Danielle Steele, Stephan King, Dick Frances and inevitably Wilbur Smith. Pocket size dictionaries and translation books keeping their own on a shelf, children’s games, dominoes and even computers in good working order.

I found notes falling out of books - recipes, postcards of visits to foreign lands, leafs, photographs... Some smelling of dog hair or smoke, others had blotches which I presume came from reading in the kitchen, bathroom or eating ice-cream whilst lying back on a sofa?

"Notes found in books” - our lady friend at the library told me the following tale: A few months ago a member returned a John Grisham book. The next day she rushed like a whirlwind through the doors; a bus-ticket to the north for her mother’s 80th birthday had been missing. She thought it had been stuck between the pages of John’s book and she needed it for that exact evening! They headed to the far end where the book was kept and there amongst the pages was the Bus Ticket in one piece! The daughter was relieved out of her skin. How does a child explain to a parent that they had lost a bus ticket for their 80th?

A lovely story with a beautiful end – I thought.

Spider(web) stories

A few friends mentioned that one of my previous blogs titled "Rockspiders" confused them a little. Maybe someone (me) had been lost in the threadbare paths of dewy spider webs and forgot to add a little explanation?

The ever polite and generous Colonial descendant, from an unbroken line of "Rockspiders" four generations later, I will now try to clear up the apparent mystification:

Rockspiders in earlier years was an INSULTING nickname for the WHITE COLONIALISTS SETTLING IN KENYA.

Why using such a description - I really don't know!

It seems this particular spider species then emigrated southwards to other parts of South Africa - where most of them decided to pitch camp and prolong their stay. Some other species did not all together seem to be too happy about this occurrence...

One can easily compare events that followed to an intriguing documentary by Sir David Attenborough appropriately called "Life In The Undergrowth". The Rockspiders started multiplying on the African Continent, thus contributing to a colourful African canvas of hierarchy, history, politics and inevitable fireworks as they were seen as invaders and competition to native neighbouring species.

As for other possible meanings to the word Rockspider: I had a suspicion that it had other darker and sinister meanings as well.

Turns out it does.