"I find that Governor Sarah Palin Abused her power by violating Alaska Statute 39.52.110(a) of the Alaska Executive Branch Ethics Act ... Compliance with the code of ethics is not optional..."

"The evidence supports the conclusion that Governor Palin, at the least, engaged in 'official action' by her inaction if not her active participation or assistance to her husband in attempting to get Trooper Wooten fired [and there is evidence of her active participation.] She knowingly, as that term is defined in the above cited statutes, permitted Todd Palin to use the Governor’s office and the resources of the Governor’s office, including access to state employees, to continue to contact subordinate state employees in an effort to find some way to get Trooper Wooten fired. Her conduct violated AS 39.52.110(a) of the Ethics Act...

"Governor Palin knowingly permitted a situation to continue where impermissible pressure was placed on several subordinates in order to advance a personal agenda."

Read the report: http://download2.legis.state.ak.us/DOWNLOAD.pdf

At the end of the interview, a reporter asks Palin: "Walt Monegan was called 'rogue.' How do you feel about that?"

To which Palin responds: "Rogue isn’t a negative term when you consider that in a cabinet you need a team effort going forward with a governor’s agenda. And our agenda has been to... make sure that we are serving the people of Alaska to the best of our ability given the resources that we have."

Using my simple, yet effective research tools... according to dictionary.com, the term "rogue" means:

- dishonest, scoundrel, michevious, to cheat, uproot or destroy etc...

Doesn't sound like someone I would want in my cabinet...

Go to this article to hear her evolving accent...

http://community.adn.com/adn/node/132625

She's so tough when she gets into a cab and the cab driver asks where she is going she says, "None of your bloody business!!!"

She's so tough she wasn't breast fed as a baby, she went straight onto cappuccinos.

She's so tough that when she was a baby she pushed her own pram.

She's so tough that she never needs to brush her teeth, she just lets the toothbrush tremble in her mouth.

She's so tough that when she eats Smarties, she eats the red ones first. (Smarties = M&M's.)

She's so tough that her answering machine doesn't answer to anyone except her.

She's so tough that when she goes to the beach she kicks sand in her own face.

She's so tough she's into Punk Yoga... That's when you stand on somebody else's head.

She's so tough Vitamins take her.

She's tougher than an English steak.

And this is a true story of our Johanna...

Three Englishmen were sitting together bragging about how they had given their new wives duties. Terry had married a woman from America, and bragged that he had told his wife she was going to do all the dishes and house cleaning that needed to be done at their house. He said that it took a couple days but on the third day he came home to a clean house and the dishes were all washed and put away.

Jimmie had married a woman from Canada. He bragged that he had given his wife orders that she was to do all the cleaning, dishes, and the cooking. He told them that the first day he didn't see any results, but the next day it was better. By the third day, his house was clean, the dishes were done, and he had a huge dinner on the table.

The third man had married our South African girl Johanna. He boasted that he told her that her duties were to keep the house cleaned, dishes washed, lawn mowed, laundry washed and hot meals on the table for every meal. He said the first day he didn't see anything, the second day he didn't see anything, but by the third day most of the swelling had gone down and he could see a little out of his left eye. Enough to fix himself a bite to eat, load the dishwasher, and call a landscaper.

That's our Johanna. Tough as nails... But don't just believe me. Believe the photo evidence...

You think Johanna is just standing there right? Looks like she is waiting for a bus right? Wrong. She is just standing because she wants to stand. In broad daylight. It might look like it is evening but it isn't. It is daytime. Because even the sun is sh*t scared of Souf Efrikan women like Johanna. And that isn't just a normal street light. Oh no. It's one of those fancy electric mosquito gadgets. The light attract mosquitoesand then zaps them. And it doubles up as a tanning salon for Johanna. Just look at the pose. That's the Johanna tan-under-the-neck pose. She's also waiting for dinner. The mosquitoes in Souf Efrika is so big that we eat them like chicken. Fried.

Johanna lives in Domdonnersemansvallei (Menarestupidbecauseisaidosville.) Locally known as Shutyourpieholeville. Where woman are strong and men wear body armour.

Johanna doesn't need a man to look after her. She doesn't need a man to feed her. She looks after herself. And feeds herself. And here you can see her catching her dinner...

No, not fish. She catches trains for dinner. See those tracks behind her? That's where she catches her prey... I mean food. Actually, this photo was taken from the last train a split second before she caught it. She's got a neat trick. She acts as if she's just fishing for some fish out on the sea to put the train at ease. And then when the train gets right behind her she swings that rod around and hooks the train. It's stops dead in its tracks. She used to stop it with her bare hands but she got really annoyed when she kept on chipping her finger nails. So she just spun her own string from her chest hairs to hook and hold the train - The chest hairs of Souf Efrikan woman are stronger than gravity... And stronger than the will to live...

Souf Efrikan woman are also unbelievable entrepreneurs. And Johanna is the Bill Gates of them all. Or rather, Bill Gates is the Johanna of men worldwide. She can make anything into anything. Her latest business is "building" escalators. Well, she doesn't really build them. She forced normal steps to turn themselves into escalators. By using her willpower. You can see it from this photo. She just grabs that railing and pulls herself and the steps higher up. And the steps starts moving all by themselves. And they dare not stop until she tells them to stop. That's our Johanna... She turns steps into escalators. She once turned coal into diamonds by blowing it on it. And she gave Superman a wedgie...

Look, Johanna is so tough she believes that the only things that should be red are her toenails and the blood showing on her knuckles. Yeah, she is one tough cookie. She smokes Marlboro reds - Sort of. But she hated the red packets. It clashed with her ice-cool blue eyes. And her dress. So she made Marlboro make a special packet of her type of reds just for her. In blue. It is not sold over the counter. Because her smokes are banned in every country in this world. Even in smoke capitals like China, France and Russia. One whiff of her smokes can kill a bull from a 100 yards. They say that the Russians gave up the Eastern block when she sat on the Berlin Wall having a smoke. It has been declared a WMD in most countries. Even in North Korea. Dubya knows that she carries these WMD's with her but he is too sh*t scared to do anything about it.

And that 2 finger salute? It's saying, "Eim gonna get myshelf u man wif too balls enda kut dem out enda put dem in dese too plestik kups eye heve rite here". (Accent included - I'm going to get myself a man with two balls and cut them out and put them in these two plastic cups I have right here.) Apparently, she is not into sweet talking much.

You ever wondered how tough Souf Efrikan woman "catch" a guy? This is how. You stalk them and then jump them from behind. Also known as a rugby tackle. This poor guy tried to run but no luck. When Johanna has her sights on a man... Okay, maybe sights isn't the right word. She only uses that at what she calls the "breakup" - when she uses the telescope or "sight" on her gun. Let's rather say that once she has her eye on a guy... No, wait. She only "eye" guys just before she hits them between the eyes. Mmm... When she wants to date a guy and not "take him out" in any other way than in a loving relationship, then she hunts him down the way a lion hunts her prey. And you know who wins that fight... Johanna has a much higher kill success rate than a lioness. But once she is in a "relationship"...

She is all loving. Hugs and kisses all around. Hum... Not to the guy! To her 6 cats and 2.3 dogs. The guy gets it Johanna style. You think this photo is all loving and stuff? Ha! Try again. She has him in her grip called the "Jaws of life". There is no way of escaping from this. When Johanna's hand locks over her palm like that nothing can break it. Unbreakable - Like a hyena's jaw. You can try a crowbar. No luck. Not even a ton of dynamite will break that grip.

You want to know why she has him in this grip? Look at the clock. You see the time on it? Just past 12:15... No, not in the morning. In the afternoon. And he left at 12 to go and buy some milk and bread. He said he would be back by 12:15. Look at the time... And where is the milk and bread? Do you see any? DO YOU SEE ANY MISTA? Her head is tilted slightly back... Or drawn back. She is ready to give him a kiss. A Souf Efrikan kiss... A headbutt... On the bridge of his nose.

That's our Johanna. She's tough and rough. She's a woman. She's a Souf Efrikan. That's a double whammy. Johanna, a Souf Efrikan woman. What did you expect?

Interviewing her for This Morning, which he hosts once a week, he was struggling to understand her accent, when he inquired at her surname: " 'Hayek doesn't sound very Mexican." She responded by saying that she was half Lebanese.

"You're a lesbian?" he responded, thinking she was coming out.

"No – Leb-an-ese", she said slowly, spelling it out for him.

"'Oh sorry, i thought you were half lesbian. Forgive me."

In 2007, Penelope Cruz laughed off the idea of a lesbian affair with Hayek, who the same year was named by The Hollywood Reporter as the fourth most powerful Latino actors.

She has also been named Hollywood's "sexiest celebrity" in a major poll.

Take today's victim friend... He gave me 3 photos. Was he crazy? He could have given me one corner of one half a photo and I could have pointed it out to him. Hell... This guy is so Souf Efrikan that even Mandela calls him boet. I bet you he has the typical 1, 2, 3 of Souf Efrikans - 1 liter brandy, 2 liter Coke and 3 liter Ford. That's Souf Efrikans for you. As easy as 1, 2, 3...

I give to you Koos Baardman (Chuck Beardman)... Oh, he thought he was Keven Bennet from Seattle, but we know he is Koos Baardman from Sonderwater (Withoutwater). But let me give you a bit of background on Koos...

Every year millions of Souf Efrikans go down to the Cape for a holiday. Those Vaalies, or as we call them, Klipkakkers (Hum... Rockshitters...) come down in their numbers. Getting away from the craziness of living up at high altitude. Only problem is that they are the crazy people and they all gather down at our place. And guess what happens? It's the same crazy people doing the same crazy things - but just with a better view. Ja, bleddie Klipkakkers...

We have a few of the farmers coming down as well. Bringing their caravans, sheep and mother-in-law with them. That is also the order of importance. Koos does that. He is a farmer. He rents a place right next to the sea every year. Okay, what he defines right next to the sea. It's about 5 miles in and right next to the sewerage plant. But that's no problem. Five miles is just enough for the mother-in-law to go missing for the whole day. Or whole holiday. And the smell of the sewerage plant remind him of the kraal (enclosure for sheep and cattle) back home. He is from the land where men are men and sheep are scared...

So here we have Koos at his little place by the sea. Let's see what evidence we can find. A bit of a tester today. Try to match the red arrows to the statement of his Souf Efrikan roots...

The afdak... (The lean-to) 

Every good Souf Efrikan has got one. An afdak. But not just any afdak. There are certain things that tells us this is a Souf Efrikan afdak...

Now, let's match the arrows... Join the dots... Check the lines... You get what I mean?

1. A roof made of old blue overalls and stitched together by his lovely wife Ant Bettie. (Blue overalls are the standard outfit for farmers in Souf Efrika.)

2. Leg of blue overall still hanging down the side of the afdak.

3. Old school lawnmower for when the last sheep is on the braai but the grass still needs to be cut.

4. House at the back where mother-in-law is locked up at night. (Just to keep her away from the booze and boys.)

5. Window Aunt Bettie uses to shout instruction like, "Pulls up yor pents Koos. Duh hole nayburhood dusn't neet to see yor builders cleavage." (Proper accent included.)

6. Forest for feature braai wood. It used to come right up to his back door. Yes, Koos likes to braai. Often. And big.

7. Pipe to let the steam out from the "braai". It isn't really a braai. It is a home made mampoer factory. (Mampoer is the strongest drink ever made. And it is home brewed. Not to be used close to an open flame. But can be used as a paint stripper. Made from fruits. Any fruits. We Souf Efrikans aren't too picky...)

And... Did you see the generator driven computer in the background? That's to keep up with what's going down with AA! Fox News for Africa. Unfiltered and unbiased... Hah!

The workshop...

But you would think the guy will stop there right? That he won't give me any more reason to "show him the way"? He did...

1. The stick part of a broom used to poke the coals, chase the bloody dog who just grabbed the meat off the braai and also to flip the dog turds off the grass like a professional golfer. (Was once used to keep Ant Bettie away when Koos by "accident" had an "accident" in the kitchen sink after too much mampoer.)

2. A telly to watch the rugby and cricket on. This is cricket you see because no true contact sport for men will really have so much padding or wear helmets. The motto of rugby players... "Real men don't wear helmets" and "it doesn't hurt if you can stitch it back on".

3. A coffee mug. Koos's favorite coffee mug. He drinks everything from this mug. It says, I Love Mum. Not allowed to be washed, only rinsed, as Koos believes the residue of coffee, mampoer and braai sauce leaves a nice aftertaste. Also known to repel flies from the braai area. And cats won't even crap close to it. (Currently has mampoer in it.)

4. Wooden fence to keep the noisy neighbors out. Especially the mother-in-law.

5. Bag of charcoal. Only to be used when wood runs out or when you need something hard to chuck at the dogs crapping on the lawn but you don't really want to get up from the chair.

6. The "Mampoer Bucket". Used for any type of residue left after making mampoer. From the leftover fruits to the brown and green stuff that grows at the top of the liquid or the yellow watery stuff that comes from you after consuming too much liquid. Once the bucket is filled... Used to kill ants and bees in the garden. And stop the dogs from crapping on the lawn. And makes a mean mix with some ice and a lemon. Not sliced. Called Souf Efrikan Cocktail.

7. Chair taken from the rubbish dump and welded together again by Koos. He made his whole dining room set this way...

8. Big bag of crisps hiding behind the chair. Ant Bettie doesn't want him to eat so much crisps. But he needs his fix. Also used to store biltong when Ant Bettie isn't looking. And spare beer.

9. Huge bowl of dip for the chips. Currently covered in tinfoil. Key ingredients... Onion, salt and the stuff from the mampoer bucket.

10. Grass where the dogs crap. No matter what you do there will always be fresh crap in the morning.

11. Big cooler / small paraffin fridge to keep the beers cold. Always stocked full. Because you never know when the "Big Wind" of '78 might hit you again. That was when Ant Bettie made bean stew and forced Koos to sleep outside for a few days until his "Big Wind" passed. And passed completely.

12. Spare canister attached to braai / mampoer factory to hold extra cold beers while waiting for the mampoer / braai to be done.

13. Tools hanging from braai. These tools are proper antiques and the London Museum has offered Koos loads of money for this already. They want to use it as part of their Neanderthal display. But Koos said his dad gave it to him and he has fond memories of those tools. And he can show the scars on his butt to prove it.

Koos himself...

You think that is enough? How Souf Efrikan can he be? Much more...

1. Neck. Made for playing rugby. Take no prisoners! Real men play rugby and real men have real necks. Not rednecks.

2. Hair shaved for the holidays. Generally covered in big floppy farmer hat. Good to get a haircut once a year. Gets rid of all the things that live there. At least 3 previously unknown species was found by the Nobel prize winning group of scientists who make this yearly pilgrimage to what is known in scientific circles as "The Haircut". (It is not known whether any of the new species will be able to survive outside the Koos habitat.)

3. Fence also used as spare wood for really big braais. It used to be 60 feet long. But then, Koos had a couple of really big braais since then.

4. The bakkie... Like every good farmer Oom Koos drives a bakkie that is diesel and the smoke it creates when you start it can be seen from space. Rumored to have led to the invasion of Iraq as the bakkie was seen as a WMD. But he drove it back to SA quickly once he filled his oil drum (now used as a braai / mampoer factory.) The US never suspected a thing. Oom Koos is good in that way. Or maybe Rummy was just bad in that way. And yes, when Oom Koos drives the bakkie it can also be heard from space.

5. The kraal where the sheep stay during the holiday. Barren because the sheep have eaten almost all the grass. Not a problem because Oom Koos have eaten almost all the sheep already. Yes, Oom Koos and Ant Bettie have been there on holiday for almost a week already.

6.  The towel used to wipe bloody hands when Koos slaughters the sheep. Also used to dry himself after a swim at the beach.

7. The path to freedom. Or at least to the outside toilet known as his "office". That's the right turn where he makes his number 2's. Number 1 is done on the grass like all good Souf Efrikan men do. Koos turns left for his 1 and 2. 1 Liter brandy and 2 liter Coke. The shop is just around the corner. Oom Koos is known to be more inclined to go left than right. It's a natural thing for him to lean towards the left.

8. Braai made from an oil drum. You know, the one he got in Iraq. He cut it in half and just welded a few spots together. High tech for a Souf Efrikan but then, he is known for his edgy attitudes towards braaing. He was once seen braaing chicken! What the hell is a salad doing on the fire? A question asked by the many onlookers. If it's not red it's not meat. If it's not meat you can't eat.

9. Rooster to place the meat on. The rooster (grill) is a key component of any braai. It leaves nice lines across the steaks. Best place to get a rooster is to cut one out of the frame of a grocery trolley. And it's shiny too!

10. Battery backup for the mampoer factory. The clamp is used to charge the battery that runs the mampoer factory. At the moment not on as the braai and mampoer can't be done at the same time. Koos generally empties the mampoer into his mug for "safe keeping" while he braais. No one knows how safe this really is. Not this close to an open fire in any case. Koos uses it instead of fire lighters. No, he doesn't pour it over the coals. He just breathes over the coals. So strong that no matches are required either. The term "spontaneous combustion" was named after Koos and his fire lighting abilities.

11. Tongs used to grip the rooster. Koos is also known as an expert in grabbing thongs with his tongs. The screams of surprise and the horror when they see him can also be heard from space. Koos doesn't mean anything with this. He just needs something to cover his hands when he grips the tongs. They get hot. Unlike the girls he gets his thongs from.

12. Meat and fish pot. Koos is famous for his daring braai techniques. You can see the pot where he mixed fish and chicken together. Men call him names because of this. Names like "traitor", "Mr WTF" and "stupid doos", but Koos doesn't mind as he is a Renaissance man. Just don't call him a maverick... Let me just clarify Koos being famous for this dishes. Infamous might be a better word for it. Eating this dish is not allowed under the Geneva Convention. It makes grown men cry. And get very, very sick. There is no known cure for this. Have you seen the movie Awakening? Now you know why...

13. A red arrow. I just threw an extra red arrow in there to make it look even more impressive. Honestly? I actually forgot why I had that other arrow in there. Or that one...

14. The chain. Some people think that Koos have dog chains around his neck. No, it isn't. It's his keys, tools (drillbits and screwdriver), earbud (he has used the same one since 1984. They always come clean after a rinse under hot water. Or after repeated use), tobacco for his pipe, his pipe, glasses and Swiss Army Knife. Oh, and a can of Bullybeef (Spam/Corned Beef) and a half-jack of mampoer. A man can never be too prepared. He hides it really, really well.

15. Boep. The paunch that you see is the pride of all Souf Efrikan men. Or like they would say, "I work-ad werry hart forr dis boep. U no how mutch beer I hed two drinked two get dis boep? Et leest wurf 40 bucks. Part off my retiremint plen." A Souf Efrikan man without a boep is like having Italy not change their government every year. Or the English not lose against Souf Efrika in rugby or cricket. Or President Bush without a f*ck-up once a day. You know it is possible, but it ain't gonna happen.

16. Rugby jersey. Every man in Souf Efrika must have a rugby jersey. You never wear it on the farm. But you also never take it off when you go on holiday. Including at night when you go to sleep. Alone. Outside. Also never washed. NEVER washed. Wash it and you could be deported and lose your citizenship. Another reason to sleep outside... The smell. Just ask Ant Bettie. Koos played rugby. He was a winger who played on the left. A left winger.

There you go! And who said that KB isn't Souf Efrikan? Hell, he is more Souf Efrikan than me! Seattle is only where he visits for the duration of his lifetime. But Souf Efrikan he is...

Sorry Kev, but you asked for it...

______________________________________________

Who's next? Come on... Don't be afraid. I'll be nice...

As October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, Lifetime, the network for woman and unemployed homosexuals, is campaigning fiercely for awareness of the disease. A commercial informing the viewer that a selection of movies that, I assume, are centered around breast cancer, will be shown to help remind woman that it’s time for a mammogram.

I often have to wonder why it is only the women who advocate such awareness for afflictions that affect them primarily. You can’t go twelve minutes without hearing about cervical cancer, on average less than three minutes without mention of menopause. Meanwhile, men don’t really seem to give a crap about testicular or prostate cancer. If relied solely on what was seen on television, one might assume the only afflictions men dealt with were erectile dysfunction and inadequate penis size. What I want to know is where the male health campaigns are? Where is there a program to mail in beer labels or bottle tops for a cure? Why is there no “Bud Bottles for Balls” awareness program raising money to remind men of legal drinking age that a simple self examination of their testicles can save lives? Why has the SPEED channel not promoted a NASCAR race raising money to fight prostate cancer; why is Richard Petty not on a billboard reminding men to schedule a digital prostate examination?

I’ll tell you why. For some odd reason, most men, excluding myself of course, would rather die than have a doctor sticking his fingers up their butthole. They’re scared they might like it. Yes, I said it! They are scared that first examination is going to end in a seedy bathhouse, strapped in a sling with a fist up their ass smoking meth out of a busted light bulb. I’m not saying it hasn’t happened of course, but I would have to dispute claims that it happens frequently. Just because that’s how I wound up doesn’t mean it will happen to you, I was weak. Learn from my mistakes.

At any rate, the other night I was planning to participate in a BDSM sex scene with a gentleman I had met on the internet. You know, we only live once, might as well enjoy all the sections of life’s buffet I always say. So, it was going to be your typical scenario: whips, restraints, ball gags, the whole kit n’ caboodle. I show up, all ready to be punished and the like, and you are never going to guess what happened. Of all things to ruin the fragile mood of sadomasochism, he had a British accent. A freaking British accent! How am I to be intimidated by someone screaming “take off your knickers my boy, I’m going to give you a real spanking on your bitch bum I tell you!”

Bondage with the British is like being ball gagged and flogged by Mickey Mouse. It’s all you can do to stop yourself from breaking out into hysterical laughter. I finally had to stop him; I said that I wanted to be humiliated not lead to believe I was in the Magic Kingdom in line for the Dumbo Ride. Needless to say he was rather offended at my suggestion that his accent made him sound, for lack of a better word, like a pussy. I simply had to explain that any group of people who refer to the hood of a car as a bonnet simply cannot play the dominating role in these types of scenarios. I neglected, however, to mention these suggestions to him until after I was untied from the pole in his basement.

The doctor says that, in time, I should regain almost full use of my left arm and that with some corrective surgery my left cheek bone can be reconstructed to almost new.

I guess accent has no connection to your ability to throw one hell of a punch.

- Michael

*I received an email from someone questioning some of the things I have written. I would like to clarify that when something veers into the territory of absolutely unbelievable, it is at that point we can assume it is not true. It is fiction, or life elaborated, simply for the sake of entertainment. Not everything in here is necessarily true to life . . . or is it?

First thing every morning when I wake up I reach for my phone to check for text messages. I switch off the sound for the night so I never know. But I know these days, know without checking. I just don't admit it.

During our wild times Esme and me were texting us like crazy, day, night, morning - the clock had no relevance for us, my life was filled with the incoming signal of a text message. That was perfectly fine as long as I was alone at home. With my girlfriend back here, I had switched to soundless. Now, I could easily turn on the sound at night again. There is no message coming in from Esme. I wonder whether there will be any again.

I could feel my heartbeat accelerating when I heard my phone blow its whistle. When I looked at the screen and saw her name, I felt a wave of happiness rush through my body. Swiping the message open with my thumb, I prepared for her voice. I saw her face when I read her words. I heard her talk in that snobby Brit accent I used to abhor before but found irresistible with her from the very first instant.

I remember reading her messages over and over again. She was so good with words, she knew where she could touch me. Reading her messages was like her making love to me with white pixels on a black desktop. I still have almost all her messages on my Neonode. Sometimes, when I feel especially self-destructive, I listen to "Almost Lover" via headphones and flip through her messages. I remember the days when I received them, remember what I texted her back, remember why she texted what she texted.

Reading her messages, I hear her talk to me. And her talking to me also feels like she making love to me, with her Brit accent which only sometimes has a crack in it through which you can see her own language shining through.

I love the way she talks to me. How could I not? I love Esme.

I looked at the number on my work phone's caller ID -- area code (502). That would be Louisville, but unlike most of my calls from there, this woman was not my mother. I wondered if one of my friends from back home was playing a practical joke on me, because the timing of this phone call and Velma's accent from the deep South could not have been more appropriate.

Because last night, I lost my accent.

For weeks now I've loved the idea that no one can hear that Southern twang in my voice, but when they ask about its absence, I could always slip into it.

I used to slip into it at home when those bleedin' Blue Kentucky fans from Hicksville, Ky., would call the college bookstore to shoot the breeze about those young boys we had comin' in that basketball season.

"Honey," they'd say, "I been a UK fan for 40 years, and I've run outta them blue beads ya'll sail. Ya know I buy 'em every year from ya..." and they would continue with a heartwarming story about the beads and their grandchild -- whether we had the beads in stock or not.

I used it to my advantage as a reporter, goin' Southern when I had to talk to Lexington residents about the shooting that happened down the street, or chat with some locals about their favorite White Castle shutting down. People really open up to you if you can speak their language.

But I turned it off when I talked to people in power: lawyers, and university administrators in other states, human resources staff in NYC when I was interviewing for a job.

And now, it seems I turned it off for good. I can think in the accent, but when I tried to vocalize it last night, I sounded like an actress who grew up in New York, exaggerating her character's Southern drawl to a degree of mockery.

When Velma called me this morning, after I realized it wasn't a prank call and remembered that UPS was based in Louisville, Ky., I really wanted to speak her language. But I couldn't. I haven't heard a Southern accent in so long that I barely understood the woman.

“Australians are becoming more confident with the standard Australian accent,” according toMr Moore, whose new book istitled Speaking Our Language: The Story of Australian English.

“That means there’s no longer the need for those sorts of extreme sounds.”

Words like “mate” would no longer be pronounced “mite” as some of the unique characteristics of Australian speech disappeared, he added.

-- full article here

If this is indeed true, I'd prolly have an easier time understanding them than I was worried about. :P

Let me start by saying that she is a deeply disturbed Souf Efrikan. She does things that makes us just shake our head and go... "What is happening to the youth of today". Or in a more pure Souf Efrikan way, "Wat are heppening to duh yoof off twodey?" She is a wild one... But don't believe just old me. I have photo evidence. And more than one photo...

You think her name SanityFound has something to do with finding her "inner" self? Her deep side? Haha! Suckers. Not even close. It's about her journey from Pretoria to Cape Town. About love found and lost. And found again and lost again and found again. And then lost again. I give to you SanityFound's journey as a Souf Efrikan.

Her real name is Ossewania Smit. (To non-Souf Efrikans... It's something like Oxwagonia and the most common surname you can get.) Born and bred in Snor City (Moustache City) - Pretoria. She went to a girls only school - Langkloof Hoerskool (no umlaut & too rude to translate!) She was Miss Langkloof even with the braces and thick glasses. Because she was still the best looking one at school. Yeah, the competition was really weak. She was the only one with her own teeth. And without a cauliflower ear. And the only one to actually make it to her final year at school. And then she was set free...

Okay, she left school and went to a party in Joburg.

And there it all started with some trouble with the law...

The whole gang (Jannie, Sannie and friends) went to the park in Joburg to celebrate their freedom. They went to the beach - Benoni. No sea in a 1,000 miles, but it had a swimming pool and all the stuff you find at the beach. Fat guys with long socks and beer. Women with two beers in their hands and a swimming costume 4 sizes to small. Sand that got stuck in your underwear. And, that Souf Efrikan speciality, a mugging to go with your shopping at the boerie stand (hot dog stand). Oh, they had so much fun...

But Ossewania had too much fun. Taking drinks from Jannie who always had the hots for her. She didn't realize that they ran out of beer hours ago, but Jannie kept on filling up her glass... Jannie was known t be 100 per cent proof.

The problems started when she decided to chat up the tall handsome dude she was leaning against. It was early morning so she couldn't see that well. She thought he was a bit of a stiff, but she always liked tall guys.

So she started catching a vry (smooch) with this guy. She thinks he said his name started with an S. But she couldn't be sure. It could have been the wind. His lips were a bit hard. But she put that down to inexperience. Or that it was her first time without her braces. She lost that opening the last bottle of beer with her teeth. But at least he had strong solid arms. Like tree trunks. (Oh, she also lost her glasses somewhere during the party. And the bottom of the Coke bottles didn't work as well as before.)

And then she heard it... "Freeze you woman!" She froze. Threw her arms up in the air. And her date just stood there behind her. He didn't do a thing to protect her. He stood there like a piece of wood. Almost like he was rooted to the spot.

But she made a dash for it. She headbutted the guy she thought was the cop. Ouch. That hurt...

But she made it. She was free. She ran and ran her little legs off. Even changed her name. To Eeufesia Smythe (Centuriafestivalia and fancy surname - these are real names by the way!) It sounded so much fancier.

She got lost somewhere between Joburg and Cape Town. In the Karoo. A dry desert area. They say the f*ck-all grows 6 feet high there. And that it is so quiet and dead that f*ck-all happens there every hour and that it goes on for days. It was just our little Eeufesia and her friend Saartjie Visser. Stumbling along in this dry country. And then she saw him... She fell for him... really hard... She knew it the moment she fell over him... Her one true love...

And I mean literally fall over him. He was that short. But like a little rock.

Her little Rhino she called him. Rhino Post. (Where rhinos rub their butts. Serious. They must be men.)

She loved her little Rhino. He was short. He was smelly. He wasn't much of a kisser either. But he was her little Rhino. Her rock.

But she lost him somewhere during the night. She had to go pay "beer rent". And couldn't find him in the darkness. She wondered around shouting his name. "Rhino! Rhino! Where art thy Rhino!" But he didn't answer. He was the quiet type. She sulked in the arms of Saartjie. Cried her little heart out. Because she missed him so.

Oh where could he be? Her man. Her little Rhino Post. She could still smell him on her clothes. Her fingers. Her hair. Her lips. Ewe! Aargh! It smelled really bad. But still. Her heart belonged to him and only him.

And then she saw him. Her little man. Her rock. Her smelly rock. Her Rhino Post butt rock.

I wish I could tell you that it had a happy ending. It didn't. Eeufesia went for a walk one day and came back only to catch him cheating on her. With a Rhino. And she found her glasses.

But there you go. That's our SanityFound. Down in Cape Town now (or close enough). Still sulking about her Benoni lover and about her little Rhino. She's getting better now. But we think it is time for her to leave. The rocks in South Africa isn't good for her. But at least she can tell her children one day about her journey of love. Her life of love found and lost. And her life story as a Souf Efrikan.

It's a shame it didn't work out though. Rhino Post and Eeufesia would have had beautiful kids. Okay, scrap the beautiful part. A rock is a rock.

_______________________

(For those non-Souf Efrikans - We call really stupid Souf Efrikan men "rocks". They are that dense, thick and hard headed.)

You can't see the beautiful designs, so here is a closeup. (I purchased the fabric like this!!) The edge is scalloped thus the need to remove the hem, and the fabric has butterflies sewn onto it. We also used 3 pieces of fabric (two back and one front) instead of four to eliminate the seam down the middle front. Zippers are really difficult for me and I can't make them lay right unfortunately.

I was shocked to discover that the Simplicity pattern (9825) was twice the size of my off-the-rack size. This was VERY disheartening, but something to be aware of. Normally, I wear a size 5 or 6. The size 12 fit perfectly. I only knew this because of the measurements on the back...I thought I'd better take a look and compare before I go through the hassle of sewing something that may not fit. I am now making a size 12 dress.

I took Jack to Walking With Dinosaurs Saturday night...Troy wasn't here this weekend, so he didn't get to come with us. I bought the cheapest seats possible (third level) and used $10 off coupons for each seat, so this was the only way that we went. It was really neat! It is based off a BBC special and is real life sized robotic dinosaurs staged in an arena. Imagine Disney on Ice without the ice and the skaters, but with dinosaurs and a paleontologist instead. It really was something to see these dinosaurs next to a man. They always show you this in books, but it is entirely different in real life, even from the cheap seats!

One weekend ago, I left for work while the boys decorating werewolf cupcakes. Here are some pictures. They did a great job.

Troy found the recipe in his National Geographic Kids magazine. I just searched the website but couldn't find the recipe online. The only thing helpful to know would be that you use a fork to make the frosting look like hair (using a sort of touch and pull method). The boys had a lot of fun. I got a book on gingerbread houses from the library so I think we'll try to do something with that for halloween as well this coming weekend. Jack and I also have another Cub Scout cake auction cake to design, and we may try a gingerbread log cabin in honor of camp. We'll see. I've never worked with gingerbread before.

Friday was a very busy day. I had lunch with Stephanie, and thankfully, she listened to me complain most of the time. It was so nice to see her again! She used to be my assistant at work, but her internship paid her far more than I could, so when they asked her to stay on, she left me. :-(

Friday night, Aaron's friends from college came over to our new house. It was the first time in a VERY long time we'd had them over. It was fun to see them all again. One couple brought Guitar Hero and that was fun! Aaron got a bit carried away, so I retired earlier rather than later.

This weekend in the Des Moines Register, they had an interesting article about something I've been wondering about for about five weeks - WHERE the hell Sarah Palin got her Minnesota accent!! I can't find the article online, but evidentally, many Minnesotan's left MN during the Great Depression and went to Wasilla, Alaska for opportunity. (Wasilla is considered the "bread basket" of Alaska.) So, the Minnesota accent is still strong there even though I never heard it like she speaks it while I lived in Alaska. It feels good to have that mystery solved though.

Now that we are on Sarah Palin, I have to sort of eat my words. In a previous post, I said I thought she was smart enough to pull this off...that it appeared as if she was truly quite capable of learning what she needed to know. However, after the Katie Couric interviews, I must say that if you cannot answer simple questions like what newspapers you read and what your running mate's record is, then you are not capable enough to be a dead heartbeat away from the Presidency. At this point, I think that she has the potential to make George Bush look not so dumb. (I can't believe that is actually possible.) Do I think she doesn't know what newspaper she reads in the morning? No, I don't think she reads newspapers because she is too busy getting her kids off to school and whatnot. I don't blame her for that because that is what most moms want to do. But, I do not want a president who doesn't read several newspapers every day and who only depends on aids telling him/her what to read from the newspapers each day.

With that said, when she is prepped and speaks from the stump, she really speaks well, appears confident and extremely knowledgeable. However, if you are not polished enough to do the political thing of answering a question by not answering a question OR by not revealing that you have no idea, then you shouldn't be president or vice president. You shouldn't be Speaker of the House or Majority or Minority Leader of the Senate either.

Speaking of Speaker of the House, I am getting VERY annoyed with Nancy Pelosi's partisan remarks when they are unwarranted and non-value added as my friend Jakki would say.

Speaking of Alaska, I just finished Arctic Village by Robert Marshall. It is a book I have wanted to read since junior year of college. It is about Robert's time in the TINY village of Wiseman, Alaska during the early 1930's. This village is in the middle of BFE even today, much more so when there were no roads heading that way. It is an ethnographic study of the village made up of whites who came searching for gold and the native Alaskans who live there. It is more than an ethnography and really gets at the heart of what living in this area was like. I found it incredibly interesting, but it may be mostly because I am familiar with Alaska, the area and the goldmining experience there.

They all speak in that distinct 'posh' accent that stands out from the 'standard' Australian accent that has become more prominent in our culture in recent decades.

Some guy said that this will become a thing of the past in a few decades as Australians become Americanised more or less--maybe not (I made that up, but come on it's true for frigs sake!).

But you know what? I don't think so, the English will continue to come here to spread their infectious accent (as so the Americans) by bearing children here, and Australia will have a divide of both, in my honest opinion. But again I could be very wrong. :)

I guess the ockers will have a field day with this one. Hooray!

Butler Masterpiece Round Accent Table in Old World Cherry

This accent table boasts a beautiful distressed old world cherry finish. The six-way matched veneer top sits on a three-legged pedestal base that features handsome hand-carved details. Some more info.

Several of the features:

• Old world cherry finish.
• Made from choice solid wood

Overall dimensions: 28" Diam. x 28" H.

Some of his precious famous words in Bigg Boss Season 2:

'Koye baat nahhin. Hum Palao kha lennge'

'Kaakda order kar ne ka hai'

Baby, its not palao, its pulao, say Pu-laa-o. Its not kaakda, its khakra, say kha-k-ra!

Who said us Souf Efrikans aren't that computer savvy? We get it dudes and dudettes! We are "with it" when it comes to computers. Just look at how we make sense of it all - computer terms explained the Souf Efrikan way...

Monitor- keeping an eye on the braai (braai = BBQ)

Download- get the firewood off the bakkie (bakkie = pickup truck)

Hard drive- trip back home without cold beers

Keyboard- where you hang the bakkie and bike keys

Windows- you shut it when it's cold

Screen- you shut it in mosquito season

Byte- What mosquitoes do

Bit- What mosquitoes did

Megabyte- what mosquitoes at the lake does

Chips- bar snacks

Micro chips- what's left in the bag of chips

Modem- what you did to the lawn

Dot matrix- Oom Jan Matrix's wife (Oom = term used for odd old guy we all know "Old Uncle")

Laptop- where the cat sleeps

Software- plastic knives and forks you get from KFC

Hardware- real stainless steel knives and forks

Mouse- what eats the grain in the shed

Cursor- the old bloke that swears a lot

Search engine- what you do when the bakkie won't start

Yahoo- what you say when the bakkie finally goes

Upgrade- a steep hill

User- the neighbour that keeps borrowing things from you

Network- when you have to repair your own fishing net

Internet- complicated fishnet repair method

Netscape- when fish maneuvers out of reach of net

Online- when you hang out the washing

Web- what spiders make

Website- the shed or under the veranda

Mainframe- what holds up the shed

Server- the person at the pub that brings out lunch

Main server- the bloke at the pub that gives you beer

You see how computer literit... litarite... literite... litterrit... dammit - you see how we know computer hey?

____________________________

Thanks Saffer for emailing me this. It is excellent! You know I am going to upgrade from pigeon to dial-up soon. Promise boet.

I give to you Amber... Or as we like to call her - Antie Lisbet (Pronounced Un-tee Luz-bet)

Let me first tell you a bit about Lisbet before we go into an analysis of the photo...

Antie Lisbet is the "proper" one in our family. She was born on a farm in the Karoo - sheep farm country. She was an only child. The princess of the fastest sheep shearer west of the Vaal River. She was so high class she even completed school. And studied Huishoudkunde (Good Housekeeping) at university. She was, of course, the Head Girl at school and Miss Karoo at the Town Festival of 1985. (Karoo is a bit like parts of middle America - semi desert and lots of farmers.)

Of course she has been overseas. She has been to Robben Island twice. And went gambling at the casino in Lesotho. And she has lived in the big city of Pretoria since she left the farm behind. But comes back each year during Christmas to remind the local people who the real town celebrity is. Especially since Johan "Three Nipples" Botha died a few years ago.

She doesn't laugh in public. It is not lady-like. Neither does she cough out loud. She speaks to you by looking slightly down with her eyes but she does not move her head. She speaks very proper English. Like the girl from My Fair Lady after training. She never tells jokes or laughs at jokes. She sits quietly on her chair and sips her tea while the men braai. Swiping flies away and frowning at how barbaric this all is. She doesn't call herself Lisbet. She calls herself Elizabeth - the "liza" part pronounced like in Liza Minnelli. E-Liza-Beth. Clearly pronounced as three different names... And she will correct you quickly if you get it wrong. Yes, Antie Lisbet is very proper. She is the lady of the house. We have to listen to her because she is the proper one. But sometimes she has a glass of white wine or two and the farmer's daughter comes out to play...

The first effect of a glass or two of white wine can be seen in the head going down first and the giggles. She starts giggling at nothing. Mostly at herself. She'll go and stand at the fire with the men with her arms around her husband talking rugby and how "hawt" that David Beckham is. She doesn't know he plays soccer and not rugby. It's boys with balls right?

She'll also tell a few jokes. And the more wine she drinks the dirtier and edgier they become. By now she is swinging her glass in the air and poking fun at people. She'll even pick up the kids with the runny nose and wipe it off with her sleeve. And say, "Nah, don't worry. It's just a bit of snot". Her husband will turn into the gentleman and go quiet. He knows that it is time to go home when she starts dancing on the wonky table singing 80's songs like "Mustang Sally".

Of course she will act as if nothing happened the next day. Even headaches are scared of her...

Now back to the photo - Is she Almost Souf Efrikan? Yes... Here is the evidence:

1. This is not a head shot. It was taken at the yearly big town fair where she won the Mrs Tart competition. It's the big cook-off competition. But she didn't want the tart to spoil the rest of the photo.

2. The earrings. I had to fade this photo because the earrings were just too shiny. They are pearls polished by the maid. And Souf Efrikan woman have to wear big or shiny earrings. It matches their teeth. Big and shiny.

3. It is also a very rare photo of actual shoulder being shown. She generally wears a shawl to ensure her modesty stays intact. "Proper" Souf Efrikan woman never shows cleavage or shoulders. It's just not classy. Unless taken with some white wine.

4. Nose slightly up and a smile that can be executed with a flash. It's a natural reaction for "proper" Souf Efrikan woman whenever they sense a camera within a 10 mile radius. Like a lion hunting a springbok or us beating the Poms in cricket. You bring out a camera and the smile and nose automatically take position. It can often be seen on the cover of Farmer's Weekly or the dentist office.

5. That isn't a smile. It is a grin. Because she is proper. She does not cause any "waves". She is grinning because the Mayor has his hand on her backside. (It's also the reason why the tart hit his face right after this photo was taken. But it did not prevent the local press making it the headline story the next day.)

6. Big hair. That is SO Souf Efrikan. It has multiple uses. You can stick you knitting needles in there while you talk or leave your money in there if you don't want to carry a bag. Of course it is "corrected" by using both hands and softly patting it on the side.

Sorry Amber... This might be harsh. But the fact is you are Souf Efrikan. You are our Antie Lisbet. Classy, proper and strict. The one we listen to when she speaks. But also the one that can be wilder than any of us if given the right "incentive" - read "white wine".

Welcome home Antie Lisbet. I mean E-Liza-Beth...

________________________________

Next up - SanityFound. She gave multiple photo's. All of them Souf Efrikan through and through. I'll work on that one over the weekend...

Many Alaska residents came from the Pacific Northwest or Western Canada, and features of the dialects of these regions are the most prominent in Alaskan English. Alaskan English even has a certain amount of "Canadian raising," the sound change that makes a Canadian about sound something like a boot. There are also a significant number of immigrants from the Midwest in Alaska, and they have contributed different elements to Alaskan speech. And in parts of Alaska, there is influence from Eskimo and Indian languages, though this is typically found only in people raised in native villages, and this speech is popularly associated with remote regions.

 

Sinon à propos de ce blog, devraient bientôt commencer des petites séries sur l'Irlande et Dublin, pourquoi l'Irlande c'est pas la France, et tout, avec entre autre, des morceaux de culture dedans. Stay tuned!

Skuttlefish emailed me a photo of him having a BBQ... Not with gas... And in the rain. I think that makes him almost South African. Trust me. This is the kind of foolishness... I mean dedication... that South Africans are known for. He has South African blood running through those veins. Whether he knows it or not. Whether he wants it or not!

But let's dig a little bit deeper into how Souf Efrikan he is... We know the rain and no gas rules. But just how Souf Efrikan is he? My deep analysis...

1. He has no shoes on...

2. He has three quarter pants on with his keys and mobile phone tucked into his belt...

3. He has more tools for the braai (BBQ) than actual pieces of meat...

4. He is braaing ribs and not some sissy stuff like corn or chicken... (By the way, chicken is a salad according to Souf Efrikans.)

5. He is balancing a drink while holding an umbrella and poking the meat. (And who said men can't multitask?)

That last one is the clincher. He is my brother. No! He is me! It could be a photo taken by my wife - I promise you that. So Souf Efrikan! Welcome to the club brother.

Now send me your photo or story and I'll slot it into your special post. That a threat... I mean a promise. Come one - you know you have a little bit of Souf Efrikan in you. We all do. Loud and proud baby!

__________________

Note to Skuttlefish: Thanks for being a braver man than me. I don't think I would have given me a photo! Thank you boet. You made me realize just how similar we are - accents or not. Just people hey?

Note on being a Souf Efrikan: You don't have to have a drink in your hand. It helps coping with being a Souf Efrikan, but it isn't a prerequisite - at least not for the more secular Souf Efrikans. Just think of something that is slightly odd and not what is seen as "normal" behaviour. It could be anything. From too much sugar in your coffee to wearing your pants too high! Or making too much food when cooking "just in case". To one of those crazy family gatherings. A fancy dress. A stupid hat you just don't want to get rid of. That rusty pickup you drive. A silly photo taken on holiday or with the kids. You buried in sand. You almost drowning. Your mouth stuffed with food. That passport photo you want to burn. The dress your mother forced you to wear when you were six. Anything really. Anything that you look back on or your family looks at and goes - that's just so silly. And so you. Souf Efrikans are pretty plain people. No airs. As straight as you can get. But willing to try anything for a laugh. I know there is a Souf Efrikan in you. Just get me a picture, tell me when/how/where it was taken and I will tell the story! But make sure some part of you are in the photo. I don't need the face (in case you don't want to show that), but I need something to rip off! Come on! You can do it!

Cashier: So where is your accent from

Moi: Im from sweden so i guess i have i swedish accent

C: oh, i have never met  a swed

M: You haven´t? It´s a lot of swedish guys here

C: So how long have you been here

M: 1 year and one month.

C: WOW and you like it here

M: Yeah it´s cool

C: `cause only a few words you say that points out that your not from here

M. Oh thank you

Så vad har vi lärt oss av detta. Jag har inte lika mycket skandinaviskt accent som jag hade när jag kom hit. (Undrar om Björn skulle ge mig VG i engelska nu i både A och B kursen?) Och min värdmamma har kommit med den magnifika idén att för varje person som frågar hur länge du varit här och vad gör du här. Så kan du ställa samma frågor. So how long have you been working at BK and how long have you been living Philly? Do you like it here? What´s your favorite meal at BK and so on. Och vet ni vad, jag ska prova det

My name is Inga and im from sweden

From "The Voice Coach" ezine by Susan Berkley © 2001 Susan Berkley, http://www.greatvoice.com

Do you warm up your voice? If you don't, you should. Good speech takes muscle. And just as your leg muscles work better if you warm them up before a run, so will your speech muscles work better if you warm them up at the start of your day. Your voice will sound better, stronger. Your articulation will become more clear and crisp. You'll be easier to understand. And as you strengthen your speech muscles, you'll be able to talk longer
without vocal fatigue.
While warming up the voice is important for those who speak a lot, it's also important for those who don't. Some people have solitary jobs where they hardly speak at all, such as computer programmers, artists or writers. If the vocal chords are under used, they may actually begin to weaken and atrophy.

So that your voice stays as healthy as possible, I include a short version of my favorite vocal warm up below. Here's how it works. The sentences in the warm up have been designed to work many of the vowel and consonant sounds in the English language. Saying them properly can actually strengthen your articulator muscles. Before you begin, drink a glass of warm water. Then, read each sentence aloud slowly, pronouncing each word as carefully and properly as you can. These are not tongue-twisters. DO NOT RACE. While doing the warm up, if your throat becomes sore or your voice feels strained, stop immediately. Work up gradually until you can comfortably do the entire exercise. And of course, if you have persistent hoarseness, weakness or any kind of throat or voice problem, please see your doctor.

Eat each green pea. Aim straight at the game. Ed said get ready.
It is in Italy. I tried my kite. Oaks grow slowly.
Father was calm as he threw the bomb on the dock.
An awed audience applauded Claude.
Go slow Joe, you're stepping on my toe.
Sauce makes the goose more succulent.
Up the bluff, Bud runs with the cup of love.
Red led men to the heifer that fell in the dell.
Maimed animals may become mean.
It's time to buy a nice limeade for a dime.
Oil soils doilies.
Flip a coin, Roy, you have a choice of oysters or poi.
Sheep shears should be sharp.
At her leisure, she used rouge to camouflage her features.
There's your cue, the curfew is due.
It was the student's duty to deliver the Tuesday newspaper.
He feels keen as he schemes and dreams.
Much of the flood comes under the hutch.
Boots and shoes lose newness soon.
Ruth was rude to the youthful recruit.
Vivid, livid, vivifying. Vivid experiences were lived vicariously.
Oddly, the ominous octopus remained calm.
The pod will rot if left on the rock.
Look, you could put your foot on the hood and push.
Nat nailed the new sign on the door of the diner.
Dale's dad died in the stampede for gold.
Thoughtful thinkers think things through.
Engineer Ethelbert wrecked the express at the end of Elm Street.

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Susan Berkley is a professional speaker and international communications expert. She is a top voic