Archive for August, 2010

Red cup college keg party

August 27, 2010

It was the end of the mixer and this guy climbed up on the podium to shout over the crowds of incoming film students grazing on cheese and wine in Sound Stage A. He gave the after-party address, then added: “We hope you all don’t show up.”

I got a ride with a fellow student – a second year editor from South Africa – via a fast food sushi joint (they serve their sashimi in strips! It’s weird!) to the digs. It’s such a “boys’ house.” They’re all editors. The walls are covered with posters bought off E-Bay. The floors are covered with evidence that they work 18-hour days. It was hot, and the party filled the living room and the yard and the kitchen. We soon ran out of ice.

party donation jar

Guests either bring their own beer, or donate and drink the Jungle Juice or keg beer, or just swipe other people's. Apart from the donation jar, it's pretty much like home.

I met four people called Michael. Wait, at least four people named Michael. In fact there are so many people in America called Michael that I figure if I forget someone’s name, I will simply chance it and call them Mike. There’s a one in five chance I’ll be right – and those are good odds.

Any resemblance to fictitious characters from college movies (watchable or unwatchable) you've seen is purely coincidental.

“Were you there for the World Cup?”

August 27, 2010

“Oh wow… that must have been like amazing.”

I’ve been getting this a lot the last couple of days, because I’ve been meeting a lot of people at College-organised mixers for graduate film students, and my accent always attracts attention. I was wearing a BAFANA T-Shirt today. And it was amazing. Remember how amazing it was? As I always say when I’m asked, I was so lucky to have been able to say a (temporary) farewell to my country at a time when it was in such a damn good mood.

world cup mural on bronx wall

A mural of a soccer star painted on the wall of Bronx, Cape Town's most famous gay club, taken during a Soccer World Cup 2010 street party for Germany vs Argentina. Germany won.

Losing LA Virginity – California here I come

August 23, 2010
a view of LA

Feel it. It is real.

I wasn’t expecting to be excited. But when I saw the first turnoff I was beside myself – giggling and panting and pulling out my cell phone to take a quick photo while drivers swerved around me, honking their horns to protest me pausing before shuffling up in the 80 mile queue behind the next frustrated car, to continue traveling at 5.7mph on a freeway built for speeding.

Welcome to LA. Los Angeles… a city that actually has its name in lights at every turn. And traffic like you’ve never seen even in Joburg. It’s fun the first time because there’s plenty to check out as you inch along. Grafitti. Buildings built before 1999. Buildings that will have fallen down long before 2011. Massive billboards. Decorations on the concrete (very 70s). Promise and panic and studio city – the Capitol Records tower… each time my GPS lady gave me a new instruction – “Stay on this road in 2 miles, Los Angeles Interstate 101 North” I could barely contain myself. Los Angeles! Interstate! Nor… oh, nevermind. Interstate! LA!

The sign on the hill is not as I expected, either - the hill is bigger than I thought, and the sign smaller in relation.

“I’m here! I’m here!” I wanted to shout, but nobody was there to tell me to shut up and drive properly. So I just turned the music louder. Oddly, my South African jazz favourite Moses Molelekwa shuffled onto the ipod as the soundtrack to my arrival in the wild west’s city of dreams.

On the way back, after a few days in Santa Barbara with a friend, and another five hour drive in traffic, it was getting dark, and I was finished-tired, when I saw the a sign approaching: “Sunset Boulevard” it said – a little arrow off the 101 South. I was nearly home – but… I hestitated for only a second.

Because the sun was almost setting, and it’s SUNSET BOULEVARD, not “museum of boring mummies and other old shit (screaming kids half price!)”, for fuck’s sake.

sunset boulevard at sunset

Lou Reed, Dirty Blvd was actually about New York, not LA.

Lou Reed’s “Dirty Boulevard” played in my head as I drove down Sunset Boulevard, but the song didn’t fit. Why weren’t there prostitutes and druggies, just like in Pretty Woman? Well maybe there were, but since every second person is skinny and tattoed here, it’s really easy for druggies (and Lou Reed) to blend in, and women generally dress in tight stuff whether they’re 18, 80, or 800 pounds, so I couldn’t tell yet.

Maybe the prostitute was the one wearing the pin striped dress suit (just to draw attention to herself, you know). Or maybe she was a lawyer.

Sunset is probably a bad part of LA. But it looks like a good part of Obs or Melville! People walked or cycled around just fine, and tacos takeout places lined the streets advertising with words like “EAT LOCAL”. It was beautiful and strange, familiar from a million moves and unreal in reality, to be cruising down, watching the pale full moon flicking past the rows of impossibly tall palm trees, with the horizon turning smog-orange at the end of the a road – a road that never seemed to end.

I never made it all the way down to the fading orange smudge – not this time. My way was blocked by a Road Closed Sign, due to a film shoot on the lower part of the boulevard (Capetonians, you know this feeling!), and I had to take a detour through an old suburb – a really beautiful old suburb where the owners were still forced to park on the street, as if in memory of the days of public transport, and the days when Sunset Boulevard was a very smart place to be. Very few houses have burglar bars, so how bad can it be, really?

sunset boulevard closed for filming

Closed for filming. I guess I'll come back later and see it for myself.

I could live there, I thought, as I accelerated back onto the highway in the dark. It’s definitely more my scene than anywhere else I’ve been so far in the USA.

Hey! I wonder if one day, I’ll live “just off Sunset”, drive my slightly dented salvage dark green Cadillac around LA and California, and write movies all day and all night long.

Well nothing is impossible right now. This story is only just beginning.

Obama is… oh who cares?

August 22, 2010

I wrote this while watching CNN, who on the day explored this theme: 20% of Americans think Obama is muslim. Which has forced the White House to release a statement to say that he is christian who “prays every day” and receives a “daily devotional” to guide him as a leader.

So I’m sitting there thinking, who GIVES a fuck? How is it relevant to his job? It’s so disgusting that he has to stand and say that to keep his job. It’s directly related to the big hubbub over his support for the building of a mosque at ground zero. Don’t people here understand the concept of reconciliation yet? Mandela could definitely teach them a thing or two about that.

43% dont’ know what their president’s religion is. About 36% think he’s Christian. More people think he is Muslim now than used to a year go. CNN blamed the (more) conservative media, and made the point that this is very negative for kids to hear – no matter what their religion – to think that being Muslim is not acceptable. They don’t even discuss the option of being atheist. Their news coverage is the storytelling equivalent of a dog chasing its own tale, which may or may not be wagging it. The same thing gets said over and over and over again.

I’m watching this broadcast in a Muslim car audio / alarm installation place. It continues to amaze me how diverse America is, and then how uniform the political and economic establishment seems by contrast. Osama was born a Muslim. But if you’re prepared to believe the equally ridiculous myth of Christianity, you’re allowed to swap, right? That’s supposed to be the whole point of being reborn. You can’t be born into Christianity.

house in orange at night

The flag and the cross guard the doorways of many of the houses in the quiet streets of Old Town Orange, CA. Which is fine, unless they bar entry to some.

Perhaps this clueless conservatism is a result of the fact that, although the US health care system is meant to be crap, Americans are still living way longer than people in most of the world. The dominance of adverts on TV aimed at very old people – ads for supplemental medical aid plans, joint lubrication, heart attack preventions pills, pills to soften or harden your poo, ant-acid and catheters – is noticeable. These products dominate slots that in South Africa would be Nando’s, budget cars, banks looking for new clients and other signs of a young economy. The money is in keeping the nearly dead alive for longer and longer. I’m beginning to suspect that the masses of old people who on the whole tend to resist change and fear it, are voting in a more and more conservative leadership.

As they say on The Wire: “Follow the money.” You’ll find out more than you want to know about the world that way. The money’s in Christianity and old-school values here, and that means a very self-serving “jesus” gets way too much airtime.

*I’m not singling America out. You should have seen how freaked out Swaziland was to discover that their KFC was now finally halaal. To my Muslim readers, have a good holy fast – although I struggle to imagine both believing in a deity and avoiding food during daylight hours, it’s all good, and means… more food for me! To my non-muslim readers, I hope you enjoyed lunch. I had a very cool vegetarian hamburger at Natural Foods in Santa Barbara. Will blog about the hippies I took pictures of there, next.

Danny: The most awesome mechanic in the world

August 18, 2010

America’s big on credit. People will give you a fair shot, even if you’ve miss a few… or take advantage of your poor judgment, depending how you choose to see it.

BAD CREDIT OK says the sign. The guy who owns this place chased me away, demanding to know why I was taking pictures.

So I wasn’t sure that I’d actually bought a car legally. But my registration went through at the Santa Ana DMV without a hitch, in five minutes flat. No queues, no mess, no fuss. We all know how I love the Civic Centre in Cape Town, but you don’t expect to get anything done there in less than an hour. The guy that sold me my car had only had it six months, and it was suspiously well priced, and some chick already tried to scam me on a Caddilac – here’s the letter she sent me when I queried the price, wondering why it was so low.


I have received your email regarding the 2004 Cadillac De Ville , Mileage: 49,000 miles . The car is in perfect condition,with no scratches on it,no damage, clear title. Here have the vin number:1G6KD54Y34U152771. The price for the car is $3000 with shipping included.
The car was my husband`s as he loved it very much, but he did not enjoy it as he died in a IRAQ 3 month ago. It brings very bad memories to me, I want to get rid of it. The buyer will receive the car with all papers and receipts that he needs to register it to his name.
Shipping will be done whit DAS and it will take no more then 2-3 days. I have a friend there who will manage me a low price shipping and I assumed that it is my duty to pay for shipping it. It will be delivered directly to your address.
Anyway, I have to let you know that I want a fast deal so if you are really interested
in buying it,please reply with the following information’s:
-Your full name;
-Your shipping address.
The transaction will close only through eBay so we both will be protected.
I want ebay because as they are the biggest company on the internet I think that we can close this deal fast and safe for both of us. Also I am not very familiar with the internet transactions and eBay is the only one I know.
I will look for your email,so that we can move forward with this deal!
Let me know.
For more pictures with my car please click the link below:
Kasie Ragsdale

Yeah, right, I thought. Still it’s clever letter, which proves the saying “You can’t fool an honest man.” Anyone who went for it would willingly be trying to take advantage of her grief. Her fake grief, of course… but they don’t know that, or they wouldn’t be sending her a couple of grand for a car worth double that!

I didn’t end up with the car I imagined I’d buy. I imagined a cool car like a Cadillac or a Mustang – though due to some insane superstition of my mother’s I’m “not allowed” to get a red car, which rules out 90% of the classic Ford Mustangs I found in my price range. Anyhow, my eventual purchase, a 2004 Hyundai Elantra 2L only has a tape deck and isn’t at all cool. But it does have working aircon, and drives like a bomb, and apparently I didn’t pay too much. Or so says Danny – not my brother; Mexican mechanic Danny of Danny’s Auto Repairs. The only work needed to get my clean, SMOG-certified green machine ready for about 100 000 miles of roadtrips was an oil filter change, tair filter, replacing three belts, skimming the brakes (he keeps saying “skinning, ha ha ha!” – they call it “resurfacing” here) and something else I don’t understand or remember.

Danny is the guy behind the desk. My car is the light green one in the background, with the wheels off. It's better now.

At Danny’s, you take your car in and then you wait and watch the work – maybe pop out for some food at a nearby restaurant like Calima, where I had the most amazing Huervos Rancheros (ranch style eggs – with beans, green chili sauce, rice, salad and soft corn tacos on the side), followed by some home-made flan, while listening to Muzak version of none other than The Macarena. The restaurant had blue chairs and great big fruit sculptures stuck to the walls.
Damn delicious. Home made is different.
Calima made me think of a ex and former friend who broke my heart one too many times for even me to forgive him again without him apologising. He would have loved the place so much. The guy who ran it was a brilliant restaurateur, greeting everyone, justly proud of his food. He had exactly the same hairstyle as Danny the Auto Mechanic: peppery and balding, with a moustache in the centre of his face.

Off the wall humour at Danny's

When I went back to Danny’s, he taught me everything I have ever known about car engines and parts, showing me what was new, what still had a year or 100 000 miles to go, what should be replaced, and where the other mechanic had broken stuff.

“See this? He break it off. Probably some Mexican guy. You should never take your car to a Mexican guy. They don’t know what they doin’. They mess it up.” I laughed and he said: “I give you a new one for nothing.”

Mechanics (and software developers) are just like hairdressers. Always shocked at the horrendous job the person before them did.

Danny was good luck for me, I think. My brother and I haven’t always had the easiest relationship though we were incredibly close as kids, but I took a leap of faith choosing Danny over the other 6 in the complex, in a city of millions where I know nobody at all. And for a couple of hundred dollars, my car’s going to be perfect – ready to head to LA, San Diego, Santa Barbara and maybe San Francisco for another big adventure. It’s time. I’m getting to comfortable here.

Danny’s is decorated with love and humour, and more love. He obviously loves cars. And  he expects you to pay attention when he explains what’s going on with yours. “Why don’ you know?” he asks me, when I giggle nervously as I take my first look at the engine and can’t identify the fan belt.

He told me, as he helped me use his fax machine to sort out my insurance, that he’d just come back from a cruise to Mexico the day before. He showed me pictures of his daughter and his grand daughter and the boat. I have never, ever, felt so good about giving someone my car keys.

Someone brought this hummer in for repair. The numberplate thing says "Not as lean, just as mean" at the top. Horrible.

While they do the final hour of work, I’m in a diner. After 11 days of fantastic service, I finally found one of those places from the movies where everyone seems to have given up on life, the floors are really dirty, not all the ceiling fans work, and most people only order drinks.

The deadly diner. *name changed to protect privacy of those involved.

It’s the real thing, baby. An overweight dude who looks like elvis after  he died just slopped in ordered the cheapest grease on the menu. An old man with dirty chinos is drinking a Sprite by the window opposite. He gets his burger and doesn’t say thanks or please, just “KETCHUP” to the waitress. The radio is blasting while the waitress sullenly fills the sugar dispensers. One guy has a beanie on (and shorts, and dirty shoes with no socks). It’s about 90 degrees in the shade. Three fat teenagers in identical green too-tight-tees, skinny jeans and pumps are trying to decide which of the hamburguesas they want, while co-parenting a techy toddler. A new customer just waltzed in, in a white golf shirt, with his mullet curls shining with gel, and the ubiquitous moustache munching happily at his upper lip… and oh boy, I’ve never seen such pure white sneakers in my life. Style!  When he flirted, the waitress smiled for the first time since I’ve been here.

I'm never going to another mechanic. I'm Danny's forever. Seems I'm not alone.

A walking tour of N Tustin Street, California

August 17, 2010

Tourists flock… no they don’t. I flocked. Alone. At noon. To walk up and down Tustin Street, looking for a bicycle, which took me about four hours and three miles, and resulted in the purchase of a kids bike at a random sports store, mostly in desperation, partly in ignorance.

But on the way I did see the following…

There was one of these - at least - on each lamp post. People just leave the stuff on the lawn unguarded, and if you want it, you knock on their door. Imagine that in South Africa - or most parts of the world, really? If I had transport, I would have gone to look for a bike at them, but the thing about transport is that it's like money: you need it to get it.

ICHI SUSHI - sounds like Itchy Sushi. Sounds like somewhere I - lady of the bed bugs - should be eating, right? Did you know that it turned out my rental car had fleas. So I had fleas AND bed bugs? Crazy, ne.

sign in book store christian sale

I found a book store. There are a lot of Christians around here. The Christian Fiction (tautology alert?) section was large... I wonder if the Catholic sub-section has a 3 for 1 special or not....

I keep seeing signs like this and thinking "Kid-free restaurant? Cool!" But actually, this means the kids get to eat for free. Horrible for me. Good for parents.


This woman came past me in her wheelchair, wearing a cowboy hat, greeted me, and drove on. Then as if tired, she paused, had a drag of her cigarette, and continued. This was almost as weird as watching an old lady in a wheelchair sharing an ice cream with her dog at Atlanta airport.

The world cup feels sooo far away from me. Strange to come across this on Tustin street.

sign waver

This has to be one of the worst jobs in the world - and very tiring. Shops hire people to stand and wave these signs all day. Each Sign Waver lasts about an hour or two. Then they presumably collapse from heat exhaustion. Give me cleaning toilets, any day.

A weird barbershop sign. What's this haircut anyhow? And if it is such a good haircut, why is he wearing that hat to hide it?

There’s nothing special about N Tustin Street, but it’s my main drag now, so I thought I’d, you know, show you around.

Sing along! “This is my landfill / this is your landfill”

August 16, 2010

(With apologies to Woodie Guthrie for the adaptation of his song lyrics in my title)

When in doubt, just trash it – that seems to be the way it’s done. I’ve found the day to day waste I’ve witnessed in the USA one of the hardest things to get used to. Actually, I’m not sure I should get used to it.

The one environmentally friendly thing I've noticed so far, which strikes me as window dressing in the light of how little effort is made elsewhere. By the way, motel towels in America come standard with at least one weave hair. Never human hair. If you don't receive yours, please ask at the front desk and someone will be happy to assist you.

Every morning at breakfast at Howard Johnson Express, Orange, the 50-odd guests would each use at least one polystyrene cup, one polystyrene bowl, one plastic spoon, one plastic knife, as well as a second cup (for juice), and a plate, for toast. Each branch of the motel chain throws away in one morning what I recycled in two weeks in South Africa. I bought my own mug and started taking it down, drawing curious stares from the other guests. Lucky I don’t work undercover for the F.B.I.

Consume your froot loops, toss the bowel. Try not to confuse the food with the packaging, as they do taste similar.

Starbucks smugly offers recycled cups for coffee, sometimes, but not for iced coffees, and nothing is ever, god forbid, ever served in anything “re-usable”. Recycling is good, when it’s the only option. It’s also very wasteful when you could just wash up. And everything from coffee to orange juice to a sandwhich tastes better on a real plate, or in real cup.

Luckily I’ve found a place down the road from college, called Chapman Cafe, that doesn’t have aircon but does have free wifi, and will serve you in a ceramic mug, if you request one. They also have day-old muffins for $1 that taste pretty damn fresh.

Then I found an apartment… a great one, at a good price (the reason for the good price, as it turns out is that it’s near the railway line and the sound of cars being shunted sounds like fireworks / small war every night from 8-10pm, but it doesn’t bother me!) I sort of assumed they’d recycle there. But when I asked about it, they were guiltily defensive.

“Um, no, we don’t do that here.” The lady said. “You’re allowed to” she added generously – there are a lot of rules in my block – “But you have to store it in your flat, and out of site from the community. Or maybe in your garage?” Thanks…

It takes a lot of mess and pollution to keep a place as clean and tidy as this is. The block managers were not receptive to my suggestion that we add some bins and get someone to collect the stuff once a week.

So, there’s just one huge dumpster, and everything goes in it. I’ve started storing up cardboard and plastics, but have no idea where to take it yet. What I have already is enough to fill all the bins laid out at the local Target. I miss Woolworths, for the organic range, too. Many shops here don’t even pretend to have free range meat or organic vegetables. Trader Joe’s has less of that than the average Pick N Pay in Cape Town. It’s so WEIRD and unexpected. Every time I eat a takeaway in a moment of weakness, I regret it for days. Perhaps you just have to get used to the hormones, like you get used to the weird tap water in Mozambique?

To make up, I bought a bicycle… but what I really want is a Ford Mustang. A filthy, gorgeous, wasteful, 30th Anniversary Edition Ford Mustang, with a spoiler, like this one. Yeah. Who am I to talk, with my craving for classic cars and my love of wine grown on land that should be used for farming food? But a sense of perspective never stopped me before – why clam up now?

The war on bed bugs

August 12, 2010

I’ve blogged about this before, and after this, I hope never to again. But here’s hoping you’ll find my experiences both amusing and useful.


Bed bugs, as it turns out, are a fairly new epidemic. It’s not clear what caused the increase in attacks, but as they seem most common in industrialised and highly populated areas, the theory goes that they’re a result of increased globalisation, over-use of insecticides, increased resistance to insecticides, and stuff like that. Makes sense… you almost never get them in South Africa, and when you do, it’s usually from someone who’s been to the USA or Europe.

After my first attempt to kill the bed bugs, which I’m 90% sure I picked up at the Days Inn on my first and second nights, I had a common response called “delusional something-or-other” in which you constantly hallucinate bed bugs. But unfortunately, I wasn’t hallucinating at all. When I compared my bit situation to a photo of the origonal attack, and noticed new bites, then googled, I realised my mistake. Bed bugs a) are not killed by ant poison, which for some reason is sold everywhere. I can’t grasp why anyone would want to kill an ant, even after living in Durban for four years. Bed bugs b) Breed fast, so the ones I picked up had laid eggs all over my clothing, luggage and car while still alive. Though the bugs were dead from the hot laundering, the eggs could still survive here and there – and did, to hatch dozens of hungry insect baby vampires into my hotel room and car. Female bed bugs lay 4-5 eggs a day. c) They can live for up to a year – A YEAR – without eating, but prefer to eat every 4 days or so. So leaving the room just means they’ll follow you in search of food or wait for you to show up again.

This time, I took no chances. I didn’t drive my car – instead I walked to get poison, trying the pet shop first, then the pharmacy (anti-histamines help with the itching, much more than topical cream does, FYI) and finally, about 2 miles and some blisters later, arriving at Home Depot. They sell both spray and fogger for bed bugs and fleas. It’s called Hot Shot. I sprayed my car, fogged my motel room, and took my laundry to a new laundromat (too embarrassing to go back to one of the other two again!). I washed it on hot and dried it all for at least 40 minutes, also on hot. This time, I stuck my teddy bear and other things that really shouldn’t be laundered in too. I sneaked round the back of a business park and put my backpack, which I’d been hoping to save, in a dumpster (after dousing it in poison spray – I don’t want these thing to spread).  I sprayed the car again and again, also with Hot Shot. My shoes, which can’t be washed, are sealed in a bag full of poison, and I’ll re-spray them in a day or two to ensure death of any hatchlings.


The internet wasn't working. Seems neither was the TV - I preferred my previous laundry, which had really good mexican food next door, and three TVs playing General Hospital, which is hilarious. I think they must have a tearstick budget of about $100,000 an episode

By 4pm it was done. I had the shakes from inhaling poison and was about $100 ligher, but this time, it seems to have worked. In 3 days, I need to fog and launder again, to kill any surviving eggs. I’ll also fog my new apartment before I move in. And perhaps again in a week… just to be safe.

America’s sacred animals: the truth about cats and dogs

August 12, 2010

Day Four / Five, you pick it, of a South African in California

“One dog’s life, and a horse-meat burrito please!” I’d order that if I could.

I’ve spent more time in pet stores in the last three days than I have in the whole rest of my life. When I was a kid, we didn’t have special cages for taking cats to the vet. We just stuck them in an empty orange bag and carried them in – they could be injected without even being removed from the bag. Actually worked damn fine.

The only reason I was in a pet shop was that I was looking for really strong flea powder. Not for my dog, silly. For me! Actually it wasn’t for fleas either, but for bed bugs (they are killed by similar chemicals).

A real pet semetery, near Huntington Beach, california

Americans are obsessed with pets. Many Southern Californian apartment blocks are even dog friendly (I managed to find one that only allows cats, thank god.) Like most people in post-industrialised societies (many South Africans included), Americans are picky about the animals they elect to love. Some kinds of animals are Americans. Others are terrorists, and their lives don’t have much value. Americans and American law are largely fine with eating sea urchins, endangered species of fish, fast-ripened and inbred chickens, confined battery cows, diarrhea-inducing pork that spent its life wading around in its own feces and turkeys that are even weirder than actual natural turkeys already originally were. But just as long as the chickens, fish, pigs and cows are supersized and as cheap as Chinese crockery, and well-greased. Even shooting horses for meat is fine here, provided the horses’ meat is only eaten by dogs and cats (which is hilarious, given that this wild horse meat may be the only truly cage-free, healthy meat on the market here!)

But dogs and cats are sacred animals, with entire warehouse store devoted to their worship, amusement, nutrition and even – get this – their bottle feeding. You can buy replacement breast milk for kittens! I think it’s called “survival of the cutest” or something.

It's hard to make fun of someone's heartbreak over the tragic loss of a beloved pet... or is it?

Naturally, nothing survives for ever. But never fear! Here in the USA, pet cemeteries aren’t ONLY something out of a horror movie. They’re real, china.

If the way a society treats its animals indicates what it’s like, America’s empitomizes first world moral confusion. It’s fine to breed animals for meat in the cruellest ways imaginable. It’s not ok to carry a cat around in an orange bag for its own good.

Take THAT, Just Nuisance of Simonstown. Dogs are man's best friend, but only after they bite your penis off, and not if you're speaking German and the German Shepherd's native tongue was English.

But hey, at least there are plenty of friendly places to buy flea powder.

The flag is everywhere, and comes in every shape and size EXCEPT wing mirror socks, which according to most people are uniquely South African. Perhaps it wouldn't suit the stars and stripes to be bent out of shape like that. I have SA wing mirror socks on my rental car, and get lots of curious looks (it could also be the way I drive).

Bak-2-Shcool. I KAN HAZ BE A. SINE-RITAH!!!

August 12, 2010

Dyslexic signwriter? The damage done by spellcheckers to our brains? Or someone who doesn’t speak English getting hired? I don’t know, but I woke up to this story on MSNBC this morning. Full story on the photo source with a full size picture on

Apparently the job was outsourced to someone. (AP Photo/News & Record, Joseph Rodriguez) **MANDATORY CREDIT***