Well, it’s Halloween and even though Halloween is not a ‘thing’ in South Africa, I am in currently in NYC it would be downright rude of me to ignore it. So, for your edification and creepy delight – here are five rather fine celebrations of that totally terrifying holiday.
Month: October 2015
My Sunday night (not so) guilty pleasure is settling on the couch with human and canine family members and spend an hour inside the head of Carrie Mathison. The heroine of “Homeland” is a CIA operative who spends most of her waking hours fighting terrorism. This is the short version. Oh, she is also bipolar. Despite the criticisms of employing Arab actors of the wrong ethnicity and an all around portrayal of Muslims as terrorists, the show is nonetheless enormous fun, mostly because of the complex character Claire Danes embodies.
We have the most wonderful grapefruit in SA – fat, pinky-golden orbs that are a far cry from the green-yellow mouth puckering ones I remember from my childhood. Ok I know that’s probably what grapefruit should be like – but time and genetic tinkering have wrought changes to the mighty sour-citrus: happy ones I think. So, when I saw a half-dozen of the pink variety being hawked in a string bag at the side of the road, I knew I had to take them home with me. Partly, because I immediately fancied a grapefruit g’n’t (introduced to me by Gav’n’Goobie and adored ever since), but also because I suddenly had a craving for the burnt sugar-crunchy, hot, grilled treat I used to make as a kid. Back when sweets were something we only ate on Sundays, but grapefruit and white sugar were available all week.
Being diagnosed with breast cancer in October is a double curse: it’s breast cancer awareness month, the time of the year when pink ribbons are trotted out, sob and inspiring stories fill the airwaves and surgeons are paraded on radio and tv to, in effect, market their hospitals. It’s inescapable. And yes, I am very aware.
As I was tithe-ing my salary to the God of Bad Eyesight the other day, I shared with the optometrist’s assistant the reason I need two pairs of reading glasses: “It’s my fear of being kidnapped”. Not because of the solitary confinement, but because the kidnappers would probably take my glasses, or they would get lost in the scuffle when they lift me and I wouldn’t be able to read or see anything up close. Which would drive me crazy. But, if I had two pairs, I would do my utmost to secrete one of them somewhere on (or in) my person, and thus would be sorted.
Should the situation ever arise.
So here’s the thing about discovering that your friend has cancer – you feel infuriated. Not at her – because god knows this particular friend has always looked after herself rigorously and anyway cancer is so fucking random even if she hadn’t, it wouldn’t be her fault. You’re infuriated that the universe has seen fit to throw this other spanner into the already multiple-spannered works of her year. So you have a little rail. And then, once you are done shaking your fist at the sky – your next thought is: “Ok, so what can we do about this?”