Archive for March, 2009

DsTV - “So Much Less”

Thursday, March 26th, 2009

Well, the subscription to DsTV has just gone up yet again to nearly R500 and we all wonder ‘is it worth it?’.

And this of course after resolutely proclaiming that if it goes up just one more time we’re going to bin it. The answer of course is that it’s not worth it. Rather read some good books from the library for nothing. Take up a hobby like dancing. Anything rather than sitting like zombies in front of the box every night, complaining about there being nothing on. The most watched channel is the programme guide. Up & down and up & down all night trying to find something watchable.

There’s always something on and generally it’s of good quality but there are only so many dinosaur/shark/tornado/murder programmes that one can watch. Even that self opinionated great plonker Clarkson is getting predictable - OK? We often watch something that we know we have watched before, hoping to glean some additional ‘pleasure’ from it. Even worse, we dig into the DVD box and watch something really ancient from VHS days.

Sky News is the fallback channel but they’re in danger of being renamed Sky We run The Same Tired News For At Least Three Days - and it’s all bad news. I used to think that the local news channels inclined one to tear one’s own head off in frustration but Sky has got just as depressing. I wonder if the DsTV executives scroll up and down the programme guide saying ‘Oh. for Christ’s sake!’.

The final pathetic excuse for keeping the technological shambles is the sport. ‘Yes, yes, I’ll get rid of it just after the Super 14′. Then there’s something else and something else. I think that if the sport channels were removed, the subscription would halve.

Of course, I haven’t factored in the junior opinions. While still at their mother’s breasts, children can (silently) recite all the channels and their numbers. One day, they will emerge from the womb complete with remote. I for one would ban all cartoon channels - except of course for Tom & Jerry. If there are religious channels, I think that in all fairness there should be anti-religious channels, worshipping Satan or the empty waste basket in the corner.

The really sad thing about the general entertainment channels is that there is so much good material out there that we will never see. There’s the odd good film but the rest of the programming is dominated by thousands (because I am sure it is in the thousands) of straight to TV junk. The plots are predictable, the dialogue, execrable, the acting is atrocious and where there are special effects, there is an abundance of string. Rubbish.

Yet, perfectly sane and intelligent folk sit and watch this twaddle dressed up as ’side splitting comedy’ or some such night after night after night.

To add video insult to audio injury, there are the commercial breaks which are a mixture of commercials and DsTV promos. Without mentioning the banality of the former, I would like to say a word or two about the latter.

What in God’s name do they thinik they’re doing? Promos lasting well over a minute are thrust at us - advertising DsTV. We’ve got the bloody thing already! These wretched pieces of video pulp are shown thousands of times, presumably to save on programming time. Any of the documentary channels show only 36 minutes of actual programming per hour. The other 24 comprises the aforesaid insult to the intelligence, future programmes (which I understand), commercials and station IDs. 

Have you noticed that at the end of another sad queue of commercials, the station ID comes up - National Geographic is an example. Thousands who have muted the mind numbing junk see the station ID and suddenly all unmute the programme only to endure another 3 minutes of utter dross.

Like Save Energy Day, we should have an Unsubscribe to DsTV month. We’d all be better off.

 

Darfur and other Tragedies

Wednesday, March 25th, 2009

Something has often had me wondering about these catastrophies. They usually occur in Africa and involve chronic malnutrition - Ethiopia is another exsample from years ago. They don’t involve a natural calamity such as earthquakes and do usually involve inept and corrupt government.

The media exposure is usually of crowds of emaciated people, huddled together in rubbish-bag tents or under trees. The women are gaunt, with thousand yard stares whilst the kids - and the media love this - are pot bellied with limpid eyes. But where are the men? Rarely seen. And yet, where do all these kids come from? Not from immaculate conceptions surely. And there are thousands of them.

I have occasionally wondered whether the gaunt faces on the women was as a result of too little sleep caused by the sound of bones crashing together all night. Looking at their condition, you would think that it would take all their energy to get one foot in front of the other, yet they manage to reproduce. The males, one would think, must be in far better fettle than the women.

It is a sad commentary on the human species that seemingly no amount of deprivation amongst calamitous circumstances can diminish its fecundity. With other animals, adverse conditions bring about a cessation in reproductive ability. But not in humans. I swear that we are going to reproduce ourselves into oblivion the way we are going.

Women’s Handbags

Sunday, March 15th, 2009

What is it with women and their handbags? More specifically, the way they use them at supermarket checkouts. Over the years, I’ve stood behind thousands at the checkout and, almost invariably, they act the same way.

First, they put the stuff on the conveyor to be tallied and when it is all on, they watch the subtotal increase. When it comes to pay they then open their bags and rummage about in the depths, often up to their armpits in a container that you could hide a pig in.

After a short period when the purse is somehow located and dragged to the surface with a flourish like the result of some archeological dig, they then recheck the total and open the purse. A pile of notes is produced and riffled through. At this point, the woman decides that now would be a good time to reduce the 3kgs of change in this bursting purse so a few notes are presented and the others replaced. Another pocket is opened and a handful of silver and copper is counted out over a period that would make the Cretaceous seem like the blink of an eye. This pile is again rechecked and presented to the cashier who checks it again.

The other scenario is where R16.75 worth of purchases are made and again, after checking the total and the purse somehow located in the über capacious bag, a credit/debit card is produced. The woman then has to swipe it and enter a PIN if it’s a debit card - if she can remember it - and we all wait for the modem to spit out the statement and for her to sign the thing for R16.75.

A man - and I’ve stood behind thousands of those too - operates entirely differently. He knows approximately how much his purchases are going to cost and he has adequate cash out as soon as the last item is on the conveyor. He checks the total, proffers the cash, takes the change and is off with his purchase under his arm. You don’t see a credit card come out unless the purchase is significant. He doesn’t have a bag the size of a container and a purse stuffed like a piñata.

There is a deeper cause here and it’s to do with the way men and women shop.

Shopping is an experience for women - they have to gaze, touch, debate, agonize. The longer they take, the more they enjoy the ‘experience’. They all shop with a thousand-yard stare on their faces. The purchase is almost incidental and may only serve to justify the ‘experience’.

Men regard shopping as a job and a chore. The sought item is researched, compared with like and located. The man goes to the store, takes the chosen product to the checkout, pays for it (usually with cash) and goes home.

You only have to go to the mall at a weekend to see how many men enjoy sharing the ‘experience’. There they are outside clothes shops, looking bored, moving listlessly from one foot to the other while the wife touches, examines in some detail, looks at what other women customers are wearing, discards and deliberates  before emerging with a carefully crafted expression that is meant to convey to the husband that ‘I really tried - honest’. I think women’s clothes shops would do a far better trade if they provided some easy chairs and a paper - perhaps some girly mags to focus their attention.

If the ‘experience’ proves to be fruitless, the man is blamed because ‘How could I choose something sensibly when you’re outside with an expression like thunder? I don’t know why I bring you I really don’t ‘. The man doesn’t know either.

If I am compelled through a serious error of judgement to accompany my wife to the mall, I put up a good, concerned, involved husband show for 30 minutes and then tell her I’ll be in the Spur with a coffee and paper.