How has technology influenced how people practice yoga? Smart Yoga: Practice in the Tech Age for Yoga International, read it here.
“An Experiment in Making Wine” by Alex J. Coyne mentioned in Modern Winemaking Techniques from Around the World (by Alexa Chipman, Vintage Vino Girl) – thanks! Read about it here.
By Luna Coyne, Alex J. Coyne
HARTBEESPOORT, NORTH-WEST – A reported incident of racism at a restaurant in Hartbeespoort has sparked an outrage on Facebook.
This post was made on Facebook by the original poster Natty Letlape on January 5 at 1:28PM:
“This man’s name is Mark and working for THE WINDMILL RESTAURANT in HAARTEBEES. As my wife Ayanda Zulu and I were walking into the restaurant, this dude says: “Oh… Some more baboons.” Let’s make him famous. Bloody agent!!!!”
The post received 147 comments and 110 likes and reactions at the time of writing.
“Should have kicked his ass” says commenter Kgomotso Matabane.
According to some of the comments, racism is common in the town of Hartbeespoort. “Hartebees is crawling with idiots like this.. been there a couple times and have experienced more racism than anywhere else” says MisFlo Moloi.
Mike Swanga Ramasimong commented that he has also experienced similar “My wife and I once had the same experience at the windmill we tried to adress it and we where laughed at by the manager”
Other comments ranged from “That is shameful” to “He should be fired!!!!”, while many other commenters called for the incident to be reported to the local police. A minority of comments reflected further racism and inflammatory comments directed at the waiter.
The restaurant’s official Facebook page was tagged in the original post. There has been no response from the restaurant at the time of writing.
Natty was asked for a personal comment for the article, and says, “I’m just disturbed by the fact that some people still think black people are inferior and are compared to animals.”
He went on to describe his experience, “After my encounter at the restaurant, I immediately went to open a case against him at the Haarties SAPS, but the white police lady officer tried by all means to dissuade me from opening a case. She kept telling me the disadvantages of opening a crimen injuria case, and I have it all on video. I’ll be posting it later today.”
– Would you like to report an incident of racism? Visit the South African Human Rights Commission website at http://www.sahrc.org.za
– Have you had trouble getting your local police to lay a charge, even when the law says that you have the right? Lay a complaint with the Independent Police Investigative Directorate. Get in touch with them at complaints[at]ipid.gov.za
“When the doors of perception are opened, everything will appear to mankind as it is – infinite.”
Join the release of NB Publishers’ new horror anthology “Skrik op die Lyf” at Graffiti Books, Lynnwood Bridge, PTA on the 28th of August. Deborah Steinmar and Gerda Taljaard will be heading the discussion as we explore language, horror and the doorways we write.
Speakers: Alex J Coyne, Annelise Erasmus, Hans Pienaar.
Writers are a rare and odd breed. Sometimes we don’t even get ourselves, and I can only imagine the trouble other people have trying to understand our habits… If you’re a writer, you’ve probably heard one or more of these recently.
My response depends on what time of day you ask (never before the first smoke), my mood (whether or not there’s a cloud hanging over my head) and whether or not I started the day sober (never a good idea).
To cut down on a lot of time, here’s what I’d respond if I could…
If you like it, share it!
Q: So, what do you write?
A: Anything that pays, really. I’m working on the nutritional blurb on the back of a cereal box. You’ll love it.
Q: Have you written anything famous?
A: Not yet, but you might’ve spotted the graffiti under the bridge. I’m very proud of that. In fact, my family thinks it’s my best work.
Q: Can you read my manuscript / short story / poem / lyric?
A: At $20 per hour, sure!
Q: When are you getting a real job?
A: It’s great that you should ask! I’ll be scrubbing toilets at Barnes & Noble next week. Pop in for an autograph.
Q: Have you ever really killed someone?
A: Not yet, but I might start!
Q: Can you name a character after me?
A: Of course, there’s a serial killer in my new novel I don’t have a name for yet and I think I just found it.
Q: My friend / cousin / cat writes too.
A: Cool. I shower. Take walks. And make coffee. How are they at that? Are they any good? I need someone to make my coffee.
Q: You can’t smoke in here!
A: Keep your voice down, goddamnit! This is a library. (People will back away, even if it isn’t…)
Q: Please, for the love of God, will you get some sleep?
A: One more chapter… Sleep is for the weak. I’ll sleep when I’m dead! Coffee?
Q: You’re going to be the next Stephen King!
A: I’m not even sure Stephen King wants to be the next Stephen King, and he didn’t make it anywhere by writing like anyone else.
Q: Have you figured out the ending yet? (Usually when watching a movie or series…)
A: Yeah. They all die in the end, and then they’re back for the sequel.
Q: Do you drink a lot?
A: Yes. Oh, God, yes.
Q: Where do you get your ideas?
A: I keep a midget – sorry, little person – under my desk. In return for coffee, he writes all my ideas down on a piece of paper and hands it to me. Man, has he got some good ones.
Q: Do you really believe in ghouls / ghosts / long-leggedy-beasties?
A: No, but I believe in the girl that hides in your closet. What do you mean you don’t know about her? Yeah, yeah, she speaks to me…
Q: You’re probably really creepy, aren’t you?
A: Of course not. There’s nothing wrong with us. We’re all normal.
Part III of Middernagstories is online.
Maak die derde deur oop en kom binne … Pasop net dat die wind nie die deur agter jou toewaai nie, want hoe sal jy dan die pad terug na jou wêreld vind?
Ek hou nie van kinders nie. Hulle krap en skree en byt en pas nie altyd mooi in die pot in nie. Hulle vat lank om gaar te word, en die vleis is taai.
My ouma se tong is my gunsteling. Heerlik en baie sag, met die perfekte mostertsous. Dit is my eie resep. Ek is seker sy sou self baie daarvan gehou het, as sy nog kon proe.
Sy is gedwing om haar lyf in die aande te verkoop vir geld. Eers ’n arm, toe ’n been, ’n deel van haar lewer. Die mense het baie betaal, want hulle was ryk, en hulle was hónger.
Ek is spyt dat ek die deur vir die verkoopsman oopgemaak het. Hy het ’n gat in my kop gepraat en ek kan voel hoe my brein daaruit lek. Ek moes lewensversekering gekoop het – toe ek die kans gehad het.
Dit is amper weer tyd om sy kinders by die skool te gaan haal. Die yskas is besig om leeg te raak.
Here’s part II of the Afrikaans series Middernagstories.
Hier is nóg vyf stories net vir middernag … Of, hierdie keer, vir net ná middernag. Lees, want die tyd stap aan en die deure maak oop …
Dit was maklik om vir haar ‘n kind te maak toe die dokters vir haar sê hulle kan nie. Al wat sy nodig gehad het, was ‘n bak vol ledemate en ‘n brein.
Hy het sy ooglede stadig in die donker geknip. Die skêr was stomp, en dit het lank gevat.
“Spoke kom net in die aand uit, jy hoef nie bang te wees nie,” verseker sy die meisie in die hospitaalbed langs haar. Daar kom geen antwoord nie, want die bed is alreeds leeg.
Die lampskerm was met my pa se eie hande gemaak. Sy vingernaels is nog vas daaraan.
Die nagmaalwyn het vreemd gesmaak. Almal in die gemeente is weggeraap, behalwe die ou man aan die buitewyke van die dorp. Hy het nie in God geglo nie.