The Naked Blogger

Being a blogger is like taking all your clothes off and walking starkers down Main Street. It opens you up to all kinds of crazy.

Of course, you’re sharing your personal brand of crazy too. And that’s okay.

When you prepared to let it all hang out, it is worthwhile realising that people do actually read your blog – yep, I know, believe it or not.

If you don’t intend people to read it and want to keep it as a personal odyssey keep it offline.

Now, March 21 is Human Rights Day in South Africa. It commemorates the horrific massacre at Sharpville, but that’s not what this about, it’s about what happened as a result.

Instead of being “Just Another Public Holiday” (which in all honesty it is) we are encouraged to take the day to remember what our human and civil rights are, as set out first in the Freedom Charter and then in our terribly progressive, yet utterly useless, constitution.

One of the most important things to remember in South Africa is that unlike in America, my right not to be offended or discriminated against outweighs your right of freedom of speech. This applies to every sphere public and private.

It means you don’t get to call me a bitch or the C-word.

It means you don’t get to use the N-word or the K-word.

Ever.

It means that racist, homophobic, xenophobic or sexist speech is a criminal offence.

Yes, even on a blog.

I don’t care if you’re a proud white supremacist with a pillow case over your head.

Go wild and have a pillow case party all by yourself in the real world, but spreading your particular brand of poison in the public sphere is not only politically incorrect (we are BIG on political correctness in South Africa), it is criminal.  140_with_great_power

Blogging is a lot like being Spiderman (or Winston Churchill).

With great power comes great responsibility.

Think about what you’re saying.

Think about the effect it has on other people.

 

So when Emporer Lubu waxes lyrical on the feminine ideal according to his world which is inhabited entirely by a sex he likes to call the bitches (and not in a friendly “Hey! Bee-atches” kind of way), I wonder if he stopped to think:”Gee, if R. Edneck were to read this and go home to his trailer and beat his wife into a pulp because his beer wasn’t cold, would I in any way feel I was partly to blame for condoning and justifying his actions that were only intended to train her properly, after all he wouldn’t have hit her if the bitch hadn’t talked back in the first place?”

Having a blog is not a licence to trash your ex, find SWF’s you want to cook and eat for dinner, share your sexual fantasies about children and sheep, or let loose a vitriolic stream of hatred.

By all means spark debate, start a conversation, be controversial, but watch out for that line. In simpler words – don’t be an asshole.

And if you feel your loathing of all women, gays, blacks, Jews, Muslims etc. is worthy of sharing with the world, be prepared to deal with those who disagree.

And for heaven’s sake add a little bit of self-deprecating humour so you don’t come off as a total <insert P-word here>.

 

 

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The Time Bandit and the Oxygen Thief

Time is the most valuable and scarce commodity we have.

From the moment we are born the clock is tick tocking away the seconds to our eventual demise.

This is why I reserve a special kind of loathing for people who bring me closer to death without imparting any meaningful benefit.

At 8am this morning I was advised of a 10am meeting on the other side of the city.

At five minutes to 10 I am in reception announcing my arrival after 45 minutes in teeth-clenching, road-rage inducing gridlock traffic.

Gaping VoidMy phone beeps merrily and I am informed via SMS that the meeting has been moved to 11am to accomodate the man referred to as “Our Lord and Master” aka the Creative Director.

At 11am I was back in reception.

At 11:30 I was still in reception.

At 12 noon Our Lord and Master left for lunch.

Eventually the rest of us had our meeting and achieved (as expected) sweet bugger all.

The upshot of it is that I don’t get those minutes back.

I also didn’t get lunch.

And that makes me grumpy.

That covers the Time Bandit.

On to Oygen Thieves…

I’m sure you know these. They arrive at 9, leave at 5 and take their lunch hour religiously. They achieve nothing, do nothing, contribute nothing and still get paid.

They are ones who don’t cough up the 20 bucks to contribute to a colleague’s birthday, but still help themselves to three slices of cake.

If you put a pot plant at their desk instead, at least it would photosynthesise.

Why am I feeling so resentful?

Tomorrow is Human Rights Day, a public holiday in the RS of A.

What will I be doing? I will be at work.

What will the Time Bandit be doing? Catching some rays.

What will the Oxygen Thief be doing? Breathing.

Scott Harrison