You've made the switch. You've said goodbye to that chomped fruit, be it of the berry or rounder fruit variety, and bought in to the craze that's sweeping the Third World: you got your hands on an Android phone. So you start checking out the menu, burning your data on random YouTube videos and spelling out dirty words on the calculator. But it all feels a bit... empty. The email client looks a bit weird and you have no idea how to set a reminder. That hollow feeling of buyers' remorse rears its ugly head, and you start fighting the urge to throw the phone in the drawer along with the GameBoy with a cracked screen and all the other pieces of technology that let you down over the years.
That's where this post comes in. As someone who loves messing with tech and who doesn't mind taking the risks you know you don't want to with a R6000 piece of equipment, I've had some extensive experience with every phase of installing and tweaking your user experience on a smartphone. What follows is a list of the basic apps I install every time I format and clean out my phone; in short, this is my list of universally recommended apps for Android. Take note: these are not random apps that I just happen to like; these are apps that I've compared to many in its category and found to be either better or just more pleasant to work with than anything else on Android. The other thing to keep in mind is that I'm not going to include the obvious apps like Whatsapp or Opera Mini in here; in these cases it comes down to you knowing what you want to do with your phone.
Install Opera Mini though. You REALLY save a lot of data.
1. SwiftKey Keyboard
This is the first thing you do.
Seriously. Don't think about it. Ignore the free version, and shell out the few dollars to get this app on your phone. There is no way to explain how much easier this keyboard makes your entire user experience; I have tried several keyboards on Android, and this is by far the best one on all levels. From the "Flow" feature that allows you to swipe your finger across the keyboard to form words instead of tapping on individual letters (which works remarkably well, I might say, and allows you to type one-handed with much more effectiveness than you'd think) to the scanning of your SMS, email and social media accounts to learn what kind of language you use, this keyboard is packed with features that you didn't realize you needed until you can't live without it. It even has Afrikaans as a downloadable language, and the spelling of the words is actually correct. I'm quite a stickler when it comes to spelling and grammar, and this keyboard really impressed me with the standard dictionaries.
In short, get this keyboard. This is not negotiable.
2. Timely Alarm Clock
Timely Alarm Clock is one of those overlooked apps that seems to do something that your phone does rather well ANYWAY, so why would you need to install another app that just takes up space and doesn't add anything useful?
Well, first off, Timely is GORGEOUS. I mean, this is probably the best-looking app I've seen on Android. Brilliant colours, amazing animations and such a great user interface making it a breeze to use. It has all the basics you'd expect from an alarm clock; repeat settings for all days of the week, custom alarm sounds, easy on/off toggles. It also has many of the gimmicks that seem to be included in every alarm clock, such as "Easy Wake", where the alarm fades in a few minutes before it actually goes off, waking you up in a gentler manner.
However, it doesn't stop there. The app includes a Timer, Stopwatch and a normal Clock display that just looks SO good. All of it is topped off with an incredibly intuitive interface; add in the fact that the full version of the app was made free a few months ago, and you have an irresistible offer.
3. EvolveSMS
One of the biggest complaints I have regarding default Android is the SMS application. It's simply not as good as the iOS Messaging app. EvolveSMS fills this void very nicely by providing their app free of charge, and offering you the option to support them financially by buying themes and skins for the app. Nothing fancy or tricky to use, even though it is packed to the brim with all the features you expect from a premium SMS app. My biggest reason for recommending this app is just its simplicity; it's good-looking, easy to use, fast, and free. What more reason do you need?
4. Any.DO
To-do list apps are a dime a dozen. Nah, even less, as most of them are free to use, as is Any.DO. So what makes this one a standout in the crowd?
Any.DO focuses on simplicity above all. No clunky "Add Reminder Here" window with dozens of options. Just a simple list with an input box where you add the task, and merely 3 categories: Today, Tomorrow and Someday. Just tap, type and press enter, and it's added, and drag and drop to move things around.
Sound too simple for you? Sure thing, Any.DO supports any other function you'd care to mention. Set reminders, set repeat tasks (like adding "Go to the gym" as a daily activity, maybe?), set alarms, create custom categories (or folders)... Any.DO has you covered. One unique feature is the "autodetect app" function that the app includes, whereby it reads your task and, if it finds a match, suggests an app to help you with said activity. Want to "go shopping"? It'll recommend a shopping app for your area. "Gym" brings up fitness and running trackers, while it also links to your address book if you want to make appointments with people. For instance, if you type "Go get coffee with John", you get the option to "Tag" the person, which will trigger the reminder with the contact's photo and even giving you the option of notifying the other person of your appointment.
The fact that you get cloud storage with your login to the app means that every time you change device or have to reload your phone, you get all your to-do tasks back in the right order, with the right reminders make it an invaluable asset.
5. Lux Auto Brightness
Lux just complements what most phones already have: an auto-brightness feature. However, the stock feature in Android seems to take long to respond, and doesn't have a great range or much customization. Lux runs in the background, but tapping on its icon in the notification bar brings up a display where you can set the brightness to a custom value. The great part about this app is that it gives you the option to set custom values to your profile; in other words, if you want the screen to be THIS bright when the area around you is THIS bright, then you can set it so. It makes for a great bit of customization that allows you to tune your brightness to the value you want, and save it there. The paid version of the app includes profiles, so you have separate settings for Cinema, Day, Night, Reading, and so on, but if you feel like you just want the basics, there is a Free version of the app that works very well.
6. Twilight
It's a bit of an odd one, this. Apparently one of the big reasons for insomnia among modern humans is the blue tint on computer screens, phones included. The blue hue apparently stimulates the part of our brain that controls whether we feel sleepy or not. Twilight combats this by taking the current time of day, and adjusting your screen hue accordingly. So, for instance, between 8 and 10 at night, your screen will gradually take on a reddish tint. It sounds annoying, but surprisingly, it isn't. In fact, it calms you down a little. More than just a little, to be honest. I think that zzzzzzzzz...
7. Muzei Live Wallpaper
Muzei won't dramatically change the way you work with your phone, but it will make it look 10 times better. Muzei is a wallpaper changer that runs in the background and cycles your wallpaper every x hours, depending on what you set it to. By default it will cycle famous works of art as your wallpaper, but it can easily be changed to switch between custom pictures on your phone. However, it has 2 big advantages over anything else out there. Firstly, the way it presents the wallpapers is as a hazed-out version of the photo, kind of like looking at the pic through a frosted window; this is done so that you are always able to read icon labels no matter of how busy your wallpaper pic might be. Want to look at the picture in its full glory? Simple. Just double-tap anywhere on the screen, and Muzei will "un-fuzz" the photo, creating a great way to enjoy your wallpaper on the go without it interfering.
The second great thing about Muzei is its plugin support. There are quite a few great plugins for
the app, among which my favourites are the Instagram plugin, which pulls all the photos you've posted on the pic-sharing network to use as your wallpapers, and the Music plugin, where the album art to the music you're listening to becomes your phone wallpaper. Many other great plugins are out there, and all of the ones I've noticed are as free as the app itself.
8. QuickPic
QuickPic doesn't need a lot of details to explain what it's about; to put it simply, it organizes your photos. The stock Android gallery has a lot of great features, but among the ones missing are things like creating custom folders and batch editing; QuickPic solves all this and adds in a few filters, search functionality and some basic editing tools. All in all, a hassle-free way to organize your picture collection on the device.
9. Snapseed
Google decided to jump in to the already saturated photo editing market with Snapseed a few years ago, and I have to say that this is my editing app of choice. Sure, VSCOCam has some great filters, and there are dozens of small editors that allow you to adjust things on the fly, but no app comes close to the level of detail you get to manipulate with Snapseed. I will suggest that you stick to Instagram if you're not serious about photo editing though; Snapseed has the basic "Fix All" and filters settings, but it's more geared toward people who know what to do when the bottom lower third of the image is supersaturated or you need to fix the contrast balance in the shadows in the background. But, for a free app, you get most of the functionality you'd get from Photoshop, and it's all in the palm of your hand.
10. Falcon Pro
There are almost more Twitter clients out there than there are Tweets, and I've given most of them a try... Funnily enough, this is an app category that doesn't have too many bad choices. Carbon, Plume, HootSuite, Twitter for Android and many others really do the job, and do it well. Falcon Pro gets my nod, however, simply because it's faster and more customizable than anything else I've used.
There is a bit of a trick, however. Twitter seemed to dislike the fact that Falcon Pro got so popular and ended up blocking the app on Google Play, so installing and activating this client takes a bit of know-how. If that sentence hasn't scared you off, send me a mail if you want detailed instructions on how to install this amazing Twitter client. If you think you're better off in the shallow end, however, try Talon. It's my favourite Twitter client that's not Falcon Pro.
11. PowerAMP
The best music player on Android. Period. No other player comes close to the amount of formats supported, variety of options on interface or customizability that PowerAMP provides. Everything from a graphical EQ to pan and boost settings, through tweaking how the controls are laid out on your screen, which folders to scan for music, a custom lock screen with music controls, album art fetching, lyric searching, on-the-fly deleting and editing of music files and much, much more... I've been using PowerAMP for almost 2 years, and every time I try a new player I just realize how much better it is at doing its job than any other audio player on Android.
The app is a little pricey, but this is a free trial version you can try out so you can judge for yourself, after which you can buy the "Full Version Unlocker". However, this and SwiftKey Full are the best uses for your money when it comes to your Android device.
12. MXPlayer
Like to use your phone for a bit more than just texting and Facebook? MXPlayer turns your handheld device into a full home theater. By FAR the best video player on Android, it outstrips players like VLC just by being much easier to use. MXPlayer supports almost any format you care to throw at it, and has great features like interface lock (so you don't accidentally turn the volume to 11 or close the player when it's lying in an awkward position), swipe to control brightness and volume settings, playlist configuration and much more. I honestly can't recommend any other app when it comes to video playback; there are also free and paid versions (the one in the link), but this is another case where I really don't mind shelling out the kudos and dollars.
13. CloudMagic
The other big advantage that iOS has over Android is the email application. Apple's Mail app just WORKS, while Android's stock app leaves you very underwhelmed.
Enter CloudMagic, an app that not only integrates with every single email account I've thrown at it (MS Exchange, Gmail and other major accounts' setup is a BREEZE), but does so with a soft, great-looking interface and one that's really easy to use. Set up custom signatures, do batch editing, integrate with your contacts list... you name it, CloudMagic can do it.
The biggest reason I'm recommending this app, though, is due to the amazing developer feedback. When I started using CloudMagic I rather liked the app, but had a small problem when replying from one or two of my accounts. I rather reluctantly used the "Give us Feedback!" option telling them about my problem, probably because I was bored, as we all know the developers never read these things.
And a day later, I had a personal email from the developers in my inbox, asking for more information and screenshots. Surprised, I talked to them for a day or two and sent all the information they asked for, and then didn't hear anything from them for a week or two. Thinking that they probably just brushed off my request as another annoyance, I moved on with my life.
Sure enough, two weeks later, CloudMagic has an update, and I have a message in my inbox saying that the newest update should fix the problem I was having. Since, I've reported problems and suggested features 3 times, and every time I've had a response within a week, sometimes even saying that the next update would include the fix I requested.
I've NEVER seen this level of commitment to interaction from developers. And just because of this (okay, and because the app is actually great to use), I'm recommending CloudMagic as the email app of choice.
14. Ambio - Sleep Sounds
This one is quite easy to explain: Ambio is a white noise app. If you don't feel like you need something like this, skip to number 15. If you find yourself kept awake by small noises at night, or needing some buffer when studying, this app is for you. As a free app, it automatically gains a lot of ground over most of the other apps in its category, most of which are paid apps.
Ambio is just... easy to use. It comes with a nice pre-installed library, and there are many sound packs available for purchase or free download on its in-app store. Use one of the pre-installed mixes, or create your own from the sounds in your library; set how long each sound should take before it "loops" or repeats, set a random variable so that it doesn't repeat the same way every time, set a sleep timer so that the app shuts down after a certain amount of time... It's just jam-packed with every feature you'd want an app in this category to have.
15. Google Camera
Adding "Google" to the front of any other word seems to mean things just got a whole lot more interesting. In the case of Google Camera, this is definitely the case, although not in the way you might think. This app doesn't have 300 different settings or filters dropping down from on high. In fact, the only settings available are for the flash, and the noughts-and-crosses overlay you get on some camera apps. Initially you might think that this is far too basic for your taste, until you realize that all the other "Presets" or filters are things that are applied to your image after taking, so you might just as well take the picture with Google Camera and then use something like Snapseed, VSCOCam or Instagram to apply the effects you so desperately need.
What differentiates Google Camera from the hundreds of other camera apps out there are the shooting modes. Aside from the obvious "Camera" and "Video" modes, it adds a "Lens Blur", "Panorama" and "Photo Sphere" option to the mix. These might sound very standard, especially as the Panorama and Photo Sphere options have been integrated into many other camera apps, but just bear with me.
Panorama is exactly what you'd expect, creating a 360 degree view around yourself, while Photo Sphere just takes it the extra dimension with a full sphere around the camera. The app makes it a LOT easier to create a proper panorama and sphere by mapping virtual "points" on screen where you need to hold the camera still, creating a much more detailed panorama than constantly moving the camera. Lens Blur prompts you to move the camera around while focusing on the object you wish to highlight, allowing you to blur out the scenery except for the object you are photographing. It works fantastically well, and is a pleasant change from the basic filters you use to get a similar effect in Instagram.
The coolest feature, however, is the built-in viewer for Panorama and Photo Sphere. In short, after the panorama has been created, you can use the phone's accelerometer (the thing in your phone that detects when the phone is being moved and which way up it is) to "look around" the panorama without swiping around the screen. So, if you take a Photo Sphere and send it to another person using Google Camera, they can use their phone as a virtual window into the place where you were standing when you took it. It just works so smoothly and fluidly that I can't help but recommend it.
These are just some of the apps that I use on a daily basis; if you'd like some more recommendations or questions, send me a mail and I'll try to get back to you. But trust me on these apps; they really change Android from that funky-looking kid in science class to a proper rival to anything Apple cares to throw at the consumer market.
Friday, 18 April 2014
Tuesday, 17 January 2012
Hunter of the Highways
I would just like to make the public aware of a deadly menace stalking the streets we live on. Many of us are completely oblivious to the threat posed to us by these motorized monsters, and walk past several a day without realizing the terrible hazard to our health.
I am talking, of course, about that ever-present Satan of the streets, the Vespa. Hailing from their religious capital, Rome, the Vespa are an extremist secular offshoot of the Roman Catholic Motorcycle, believing in practicality above style and economy above safety.
The Vespa is a natural predator in the urban environment; claiming up to seven pedestrians and two riders per month. It is a fiercely territorial beast, marking its territory by leaving single-tracked tyre marks on driveways and leaving its broken mirrors on sidewalks whenever it changes its skin. Being a sub-genus of the family of Crustaceans, the Vespa is known to moult approximately twice a year. Normally after a major encounter with its only natural enemy, the motor vehicle, it sheds its coat of paint, discards the now-broken side mirrors and dons a new look; at odd intervals, for instance when its pet (normally a member of the species homo sapiens) has achieved some kind of financial milestone, it even obtains a brand new cow-hide for its back. How it obtains the skin from this animal is as yet unknown; it is speculated that the Vespa hides in trees and waits in ambush for the grazing quadruped before jumping on its back, stripping its skin off its bones and speeding away before the rest of the herd corners it and forces it to perform donuts in the meadow.
I myself have had several near-death encounters with this bipedal barbarian. A certain street in Windhoek is home to a legendary pink Vespa of legendary durability. It is rumored that this particular model still had its original coat of paint, and that the mirrors had been replaced only twice in its entire lifetime. I was on my way to a frozen banana-makers' convention when I unwittingly trespassed on the territorial tarmac of this roadworthy ravisher. Hearing a buzzing noise, somewhat like a bee trapped inside an empty baseball bat, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Some primal urge kicked in and forced me to walk to the side of the road. If I had stopped to tie a shoelace or even tried leopard-crawling to the curb I would have been seriously injured. Lucky for me the human brain is hardwired for protection against the Vespa, or else I would merely have shrugged it off as some flamboyant bicycle; decades of fighting between man and machine had imprinted this predator's ways into our very genetics.
So the next time you stop at an intersection with your white Toyota Yaris and see the silhouette of that pavement parasite, don't hesitate to pursue that foul beast and destroy it without a second thought. Our streets would be a safer, less economic place for all of us if we can only stick together to wipe out this threat.
I am talking, of course, about that ever-present Satan of the streets, the Vespa. Hailing from their religious capital, Rome, the Vespa are an extremist secular offshoot of the Roman Catholic Motorcycle, believing in practicality above style and economy above safety.
The Vespa is a natural predator in the urban environment; claiming up to seven pedestrians and two riders per month. It is a fiercely territorial beast, marking its territory by leaving single-tracked tyre marks on driveways and leaving its broken mirrors on sidewalks whenever it changes its skin. Being a sub-genus of the family of Crustaceans, the Vespa is known to moult approximately twice a year. Normally after a major encounter with its only natural enemy, the motor vehicle, it sheds its coat of paint, discards the now-broken side mirrors and dons a new look; at odd intervals, for instance when its pet (normally a member of the species homo sapiens) has achieved some kind of financial milestone, it even obtains a brand new cow-hide for its back. How it obtains the skin from this animal is as yet unknown; it is speculated that the Vespa hides in trees and waits in ambush for the grazing quadruped before jumping on its back, stripping its skin off its bones and speeding away before the rest of the herd corners it and forces it to perform donuts in the meadow.
I myself have had several near-death encounters with this bipedal barbarian. A certain street in Windhoek is home to a legendary pink Vespa of legendary durability. It is rumored that this particular model still had its original coat of paint, and that the mirrors had been replaced only twice in its entire lifetime. I was on my way to a frozen banana-makers' convention when I unwittingly trespassed on the territorial tarmac of this roadworthy ravisher. Hearing a buzzing noise, somewhat like a bee trapped inside an empty baseball bat, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Some primal urge kicked in and forced me to walk to the side of the road. If I had stopped to tie a shoelace or even tried leopard-crawling to the curb I would have been seriously injured. Lucky for me the human brain is hardwired for protection against the Vespa, or else I would merely have shrugged it off as some flamboyant bicycle; decades of fighting between man and machine had imprinted this predator's ways into our very genetics.
So the next time you stop at an intersection with your white Toyota Yaris and see the silhouette of that pavement parasite, don't hesitate to pursue that foul beast and destroy it without a second thought. Our streets would be a safer, less economic place for all of us if we can only stick together to wipe out this threat.
Thursday, 12 January 2012
Day 1
This is a rage blog.
Just for today. See, I've just returned from the South African High Commission, where I've been trying to complete a study permit application for the past month or so. So this morning, I set one of my little vacationing brothers the task of waiting in line for me, and letting me know when he reaches the front of the queue. I happily bang away at my keyboard at work, comforted in the thought that I've now jumped through every single hoop that the diplomatic system can throw at me, done every single one of the tasks I was set by the office of His Grace the Ambassador and can take half an hour off work, just hand the clerk a stack of papers taller than myself and saunter out, a permitted man.
[Some of what follows might be the SLIGHTEST bit embellished. This is merely to demonstrate the seriousness of the situation and to convey the proper gravity to my story]
My phone vibrates; it's a text from my little brother that says "Hey, I'm at the front of the queue. Things are moving quite quickly; you should get here in the next half hour or so", somehow using less than 15 characters and including the number 8. I wave a quick goodbye to my boss and colleagues and jump in the car. Then the mojo hit me; I just suddenly had this hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach that something, somewhere was going to go terribly, terribly wrong.
I wonder if that was how Yoda felt when...
Never mind, back on topic. I drive the 2 or so kilometers to the towering shadowy castle bearing the legend "South African High Commission" and pull up right next to the "Reserved for Old People or Really Slow People with Grey or No Hair" parking spot. I'm not quite sure it said just that, but it was something along those lines. Keys, wallet, spectacles... don't need those quite yet. Off I march to the drawbridge. I mean, door.
So I get to the entrance, right, take out my wallet, phone, keys, everything that would set off the metal detector spanned across the hallway, and turn to hand it to the security guard in the booth... who is sudden and remarkable in his absence. Okaaaay, this is slightly unexpected... But hey, like a good upstanding citizen I fill out the register stating my name, passport number, underwear size and purpose of entry. Except that the pen attached to the counter is sans a point. I.e. no writing capability whatsoever. I glance around for another pen and, lo and behold, another one is attached somewhat further down the counter! Balancing on the ball of my right foot, I precariously lean through the metal detector and with the desperate flail of a fingertip, grasp the second pen on its way to meet the floor. Swinging it over to the register triumphantly, I mash the tip of the pen to the paper only to see an empty shell hit the form in front of me. Some utter BASTARD had removed the inside of the ballpoint, leaving only the casing to give false hope for desperate people like myself.
Screw that, I thought, and walked through the metal detector. There was nobody to enforce rules that aren't visible to me anyway, and I had tried to follow protocol. Nuts to that.
So I turn the corner to the room where everybody queues for their Visas. Already I can feel my leg muscles shrinking from disuse, and that stupid stupid song from Hunchback of Notre Dame, "Out There", keeps looping in my head. Focus, Martin. Focus. Spotting my little brother up in the line ahead of me, I dodge the glowers and mutters of "line-cutter" and take the spot my little sibling reserved for me. Thanking him, I watch him skip through the exit into the sunlight.
Two people are ahead of me in the line; so about 2 hours later it's my turn. And as I get up, I realize that the passport photos required for the application are still in the drawer in my room.
I black out for a few minutes. When I come to, I'm driving my car to the nearest ice-cream and/or drugstore. Forcing my thoughts away from caramel and Prozac, I turn the car around and head for home, dodging pink Vespas and compacts with big red L's painted on their rear windows. Swerving into our driveway on two wheels, I yank up the handbrake and dive down the stairs while the engine turns over. I knock over two potted plants on my way down the stairs, but their repair can wait for this afternoon.
When I open the top drawer in my closet, I spy the telltale brown package holding the ever-grimacing snapshots of yours truly inside. Grabbing them, I jump over the dog that had come to inspect the panting, sweating permit hopeful in the room and bound up the stairs, jump in the seat and buckle myself in like in one of those Lethal Weapon movies. Spinning the wheels, I leave tyre marks all over the driveway, which was quite a feat as the car only had a 1.3l engine. Luckily the High Commission wasn't too far from my house or I'd have had to claim the fuel used as some kind of tax rebate under "paperwork".
When I get back to the embassy, my parking spot had been taken by some redneck in an Isuzu. Suddenly I start entertaining fantasies of heaving large rocks through his windshield and stabbing the man in the neck with palm tree branches, but I get my daydreaming under control, drive up the curb that caused several thousand dollars of damage to the undercarriage of my car, and slam the door.
Storming back in through the door, I find myself stopped by a mysterious black bar across the hallway. Looking to my left, I see a glowering security guard with one hand holding a baton at neck height and the other pointing accusingly at the register, as if to say "look at what you did! You broke the sanctity of the guard-normalperson trust! How can I ever trust anyone after what you did to me?". I sigh resignedly and sign the register. Leaving the muttering security guard behind, I step through the metal detector (two beeps, but what the hell, I'm not taking off my silver underwear for THAT guy) and re-enter the room. The sea of faces drained of emotion turns to me for a moment, hoping to see hope in my eyes, some sign that happiness still existed in this world - but to no avail. The moment they saw the empty look in my face, and knew in their souls that I had been here before, they turned back to blankly stare at the backs of their hands and the E-News bulletin that has been infinitely repeating on their black and white television since the year 1969.
With a determined look in my eye, I march to the row leading to a counter marked "Applications Payments None"... what does that even mean? Never mind, I told myself, man up! With a steely glint in my eye I readied myself for the clerk. It was time to lay down some diplomatic certification!
Nothing saps your determination like the undead eyes of a diplomatic security guard. They are bred for their absolute lack of any form of compassion, their need to only blink once every lunar cycle and their sponge-like ability to absorb all happiness from a room. Staring at me through the one-and-a-half-way mirror (tinted on one side, not on the other), he saps at my mental strength until I have all the resolve of an abandoned infant. By the time I reach the counter, I have blacked out several times and could barely keep myself from sobbing. Then the terrible news is stoically told to me through the bullet-proof glass of the clerk's counter: I needed to join the other (completely undefined) row at the back of the room to have my documents certified before I could re-apply with the same documents as I had in my hand.
The frail little blond girl in the row behind me started crying; she had overheard the clerk telling me to scram and assumed that it was a blanket ban on applications, and all she wanted to do was get home to her Pekinese terrier and her beloved grandmother. But no, the South African Diplomatic System was determined to keep her from her family and loved ones and dry the last drops of happiness from her soul.
Leaving the poor girl in her seat, I desperately crawl over to the line in the back of the room. I could come back for her later, if I still had the strength. Reaching the back of the room, I pulled myself over the bodies of civilians who had tried to apply for a permit to go to the bathroom, but died of starvation halfway to Counter 5 with Requisition Form 19c still clasped in their cold, dead hands. Asking a local where the line started and where it headed, the withered old man pointed to a chair against the wall, and fell back on the little mattress he had laid out in a corner. I assumed he'd decided to make base camp here and try for the line next week. Brushing two skeletons off the chair, I sat down and looked at the clock on the wall.
It had stopped.
I'm not joking here, people. The clock in the hall in the South African High Commission in Namibia doesn't work; it is permanently in a state of 15 minutes before closing. And for some reason the clerks and the guard kept on glancing at the clock as if looking for guidance.
By the time I reached the front of the queue I had eaten most of my clothes and two of the vultures circling round the air conditioner, and was reaching the end of my tether. FINALLY the man at the table turned his head in my direction with a loud creak and pointed his bony finger at me. Shuffling over to his table with the brochures and pamphlets I had woven together to protect my feet after the jackals ate my shoes, I reach the chair and gratefully sink down into the dank, dusty softness. He takes the stack of documents from the backpack I hand him and starts leafing through the contents. Randomly discarding documents I had painstakingly collected from all the corners of Namibia, the detritus from his trimming of my pile soon covered the small settlements of the permit applicants that had formed behind him. Suddenly he froze, grabbed a leaf of white A4 and shoved it in my face. "HOW DARE YOU!!!" he roars. "IT CLEARLY STATES ON FORM H15 THAT ALL MEDICAL TELEVISION LICENCES MUST BE SIGNED IN REVERSE WITH THE BLOOD OF A VIRGIN GRASSHOPPER!!!" And, indeed, I was guilty of that most cardinal of sins. Black pen just didn't cut it this time. "But where was I supposed to notice form..." "Didn't you SEE? It's very clearly printed in 8 point font on the underside of the suggestions box in the ladies' room! Get out of my SIGHT!"
And with this, I was unceremoniously grabbed by the security guard and dumped on the sidewalk outside, but not before being stripped of all official documents and most of the complimentary mints I had scavenged from the disabled toilet. I swear that he almost cracked a smile as he gave me a final shove with his baton.
"See you tomorrow, o forsaken one!" he cackled, unfolding his wings and gliding back to his post.
And sadly, he would. Because I needed that permit.
I needed nutrients, and I needed clothes. And fast. Barely managing to crawl across to the field of nettles growing where a lawn should be, I swallowed a few prickles before passing out from the excruciating pain. The last thing I saw before blackness enveloped me was the sign hanging outside the door: "We hope you have a pleasant experience with us".
So ends Day 1 of my epic saga of struggle with Consular Services to get my South African Study Permit.
Just for today. See, I've just returned from the South African High Commission, where I've been trying to complete a study permit application for the past month or so. So this morning, I set one of my little vacationing brothers the task of waiting in line for me, and letting me know when he reaches the front of the queue. I happily bang away at my keyboard at work, comforted in the thought that I've now jumped through every single hoop that the diplomatic system can throw at me, done every single one of the tasks I was set by the office of His Grace the Ambassador and can take half an hour off work, just hand the clerk a stack of papers taller than myself and saunter out, a permitted man.
[Some of what follows might be the SLIGHTEST bit embellished. This is merely to demonstrate the seriousness of the situation and to convey the proper gravity to my story]
My phone vibrates; it's a text from my little brother that says "Hey, I'm at the front of the queue. Things are moving quite quickly; you should get here in the next half hour or so", somehow using less than 15 characters and including the number 8. I wave a quick goodbye to my boss and colleagues and jump in the car. Then the mojo hit me; I just suddenly had this hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach that something, somewhere was going to go terribly, terribly wrong.
I wonder if that was how Yoda felt when...
Never mind, back on topic. I drive the 2 or so kilometers to the towering shadowy castle bearing the legend "South African High Commission" and pull up right next to the "Reserved for Old People or Really Slow People with Grey or No Hair" parking spot. I'm not quite sure it said just that, but it was something along those lines. Keys, wallet, spectacles... don't need those quite yet. Off I march to the drawbridge. I mean, door.
So I get to the entrance, right, take out my wallet, phone, keys, everything that would set off the metal detector spanned across the hallway, and turn to hand it to the security guard in the booth... who is sudden and remarkable in his absence. Okaaaay, this is slightly unexpected... But hey, like a good upstanding citizen I fill out the register stating my name, passport number, underwear size and purpose of entry. Except that the pen attached to the counter is sans a point. I.e. no writing capability whatsoever. I glance around for another pen and, lo and behold, another one is attached somewhat further down the counter! Balancing on the ball of my right foot, I precariously lean through the metal detector and with the desperate flail of a fingertip, grasp the second pen on its way to meet the floor. Swinging it over to the register triumphantly, I mash the tip of the pen to the paper only to see an empty shell hit the form in front of me. Some utter BASTARD had removed the inside of the ballpoint, leaving only the casing to give false hope for desperate people like myself.
Screw that, I thought, and walked through the metal detector. There was nobody to enforce rules that aren't visible to me anyway, and I had tried to follow protocol. Nuts to that.
So I turn the corner to the room where everybody queues for their Visas. Already I can feel my leg muscles shrinking from disuse, and that stupid stupid song from Hunchback of Notre Dame, "Out There", keeps looping in my head. Focus, Martin. Focus. Spotting my little brother up in the line ahead of me, I dodge the glowers and mutters of "line-cutter" and take the spot my little sibling reserved for me. Thanking him, I watch him skip through the exit into the sunlight.
Two people are ahead of me in the line; so about 2 hours later it's my turn. And as I get up, I realize that the passport photos required for the application are still in the drawer in my room.
I black out for a few minutes. When I come to, I'm driving my car to the nearest ice-cream and/or drugstore. Forcing my thoughts away from caramel and Prozac, I turn the car around and head for home, dodging pink Vespas and compacts with big red L's painted on their rear windows. Swerving into our driveway on two wheels, I yank up the handbrake and dive down the stairs while the engine turns over. I knock over two potted plants on my way down the stairs, but their repair can wait for this afternoon.
When I open the top drawer in my closet, I spy the telltale brown package holding the ever-grimacing snapshots of yours truly inside. Grabbing them, I jump over the dog that had come to inspect the panting, sweating permit hopeful in the room and bound up the stairs, jump in the seat and buckle myself in like in one of those Lethal Weapon movies. Spinning the wheels, I leave tyre marks all over the driveway, which was quite a feat as the car only had a 1.3l engine. Luckily the High Commission wasn't too far from my house or I'd have had to claim the fuel used as some kind of tax rebate under "paperwork".
When I get back to the embassy, my parking spot had been taken by some redneck in an Isuzu. Suddenly I start entertaining fantasies of heaving large rocks through his windshield and stabbing the man in the neck with palm tree branches, but I get my daydreaming under control, drive up the curb that caused several thousand dollars of damage to the undercarriage of my car, and slam the door.
Storming back in through the door, I find myself stopped by a mysterious black bar across the hallway. Looking to my left, I see a glowering security guard with one hand holding a baton at neck height and the other pointing accusingly at the register, as if to say "look at what you did! You broke the sanctity of the guard-normalperson trust! How can I ever trust anyone after what you did to me?". I sigh resignedly and sign the register. Leaving the muttering security guard behind, I step through the metal detector (two beeps, but what the hell, I'm not taking off my silver underwear for THAT guy) and re-enter the room. The sea of faces drained of emotion turns to me for a moment, hoping to see hope in my eyes, some sign that happiness still existed in this world - but to no avail. The moment they saw the empty look in my face, and knew in their souls that I had been here before, they turned back to blankly stare at the backs of their hands and the E-News bulletin that has been infinitely repeating on their black and white television since the year 1969.
With a determined look in my eye, I march to the row leading to a counter marked "Applications Payments None"... what does that even mean? Never mind, I told myself, man up! With a steely glint in my eye I readied myself for the clerk. It was time to lay down some diplomatic certification!
Nothing saps your determination like the undead eyes of a diplomatic security guard. They are bred for their absolute lack of any form of compassion, their need to only blink once every lunar cycle and their sponge-like ability to absorb all happiness from a room. Staring at me through the one-and-a-half-way mirror (tinted on one side, not on the other), he saps at my mental strength until I have all the resolve of an abandoned infant. By the time I reach the counter, I have blacked out several times and could barely keep myself from sobbing. Then the terrible news is stoically told to me through the bullet-proof glass of the clerk's counter: I needed to join the other (completely undefined) row at the back of the room to have my documents certified before I could re-apply with the same documents as I had in my hand.
The frail little blond girl in the row behind me started crying; she had overheard the clerk telling me to scram and assumed that it was a blanket ban on applications, and all she wanted to do was get home to her Pekinese terrier and her beloved grandmother. But no, the South African Diplomatic System was determined to keep her from her family and loved ones and dry the last drops of happiness from her soul.
Leaving the poor girl in her seat, I desperately crawl over to the line in the back of the room. I could come back for her later, if I still had the strength. Reaching the back of the room, I pulled myself over the bodies of civilians who had tried to apply for a permit to go to the bathroom, but died of starvation halfway to Counter 5 with Requisition Form 19c still clasped in their cold, dead hands. Asking a local where the line started and where it headed, the withered old man pointed to a chair against the wall, and fell back on the little mattress he had laid out in a corner. I assumed he'd decided to make base camp here and try for the line next week. Brushing two skeletons off the chair, I sat down and looked at the clock on the wall.
It had stopped.
I'm not joking here, people. The clock in the hall in the South African High Commission in Namibia doesn't work; it is permanently in a state of 15 minutes before closing. And for some reason the clerks and the guard kept on glancing at the clock as if looking for guidance.
By the time I reached the front of the queue I had eaten most of my clothes and two of the vultures circling round the air conditioner, and was reaching the end of my tether. FINALLY the man at the table turned his head in my direction with a loud creak and pointed his bony finger at me. Shuffling over to his table with the brochures and pamphlets I had woven together to protect my feet after the jackals ate my shoes, I reach the chair and gratefully sink down into the dank, dusty softness. He takes the stack of documents from the backpack I hand him and starts leafing through the contents. Randomly discarding documents I had painstakingly collected from all the corners of Namibia, the detritus from his trimming of my pile soon covered the small settlements of the permit applicants that had formed behind him. Suddenly he froze, grabbed a leaf of white A4 and shoved it in my face. "HOW DARE YOU!!!" he roars. "IT CLEARLY STATES ON FORM H15 THAT ALL MEDICAL TELEVISION LICENCES MUST BE SIGNED IN REVERSE WITH THE BLOOD OF A VIRGIN GRASSHOPPER!!!" And, indeed, I was guilty of that most cardinal of sins. Black pen just didn't cut it this time. "But where was I supposed to notice form..." "Didn't you SEE? It's very clearly printed in 8 point font on the underside of the suggestions box in the ladies' room! Get out of my SIGHT!"
And with this, I was unceremoniously grabbed by the security guard and dumped on the sidewalk outside, but not before being stripped of all official documents and most of the complimentary mints I had scavenged from the disabled toilet. I swear that he almost cracked a smile as he gave me a final shove with his baton.
"See you tomorrow, o forsaken one!" he cackled, unfolding his wings and gliding back to his post.
And sadly, he would. Because I needed that permit.
I needed nutrients, and I needed clothes. And fast. Barely managing to crawl across to the field of nettles growing where a lawn should be, I swallowed a few prickles before passing out from the excruciating pain. The last thing I saw before blackness enveloped me was the sign hanging outside the door: "We hope you have a pleasant experience with us".
So ends Day 1 of my epic saga of struggle with Consular Services to get my South African Study Permit.
Friday, 30 December 2011
Back From The Dead
So, ladies and gentlemen, I give to you the ressurrection of the Unseen Academical. Many long months it has stood high and dry, but in recent weeks a flood of literary desire has floated this alphabetic ark back up the creek, and it packed a spare set of paddles.
So here's to a new outlook on life; little insights into the troubled psyche of a twisted university student, fate as yet unknown.
Thought for the evening: the phenomenon of alternate Facebook personalities.
It's fascinating how you find someone on Facebook, and yet the portrait painted by the "Interests", "About Me" and "Quotes" columns rarely coincide with the scummy pond of hypocrisy seething beneath the tanned exterior. Not that I'm saying everybody on Facebook is inherently evil, but the facade you throw out there for the online community to see very rarely captures the person's quirks and little personality flaws. "Hanging out in Plett; the party here is off the chain!" If it was so great, why are you on Facebook? Truth be told, you're probably that guy that finds the nearest open public toilet and spends the night posting statuses about that hot blonde you and your skydiving buddy are chatting up, but sadly your camera isn't working so you can't show everybody exactly how hot she is. But she's very hot indeed.
And then you change your profile picture later that night. Probably to a blurred shot of you with something on your head / in your mouth / over your nose / all of the above. With bad lighting.
So personality flaws can rarely be spotted on a profile page. Unless your personality flaws are represented by your Facebook usage, in which case you've got a whole other WORLD of problems.
My anti-insomnia hormone treatment pills are kicking in, so I better sign off for the night. I've always been against sleeping medication on principle, but necessity is the root of action, and I haven't noticed any major hallucinations since I started using. Now, if you'll excuse me, the orange moose and his friend, the polka-dot snake, need their nightcaps. Ahhhh, here come the monochrome rainbows... Zzzzzzzzz...
So here's to a new outlook on life; little insights into the troubled psyche of a twisted university student, fate as yet unknown.
Thought for the evening: the phenomenon of alternate Facebook personalities.
It's fascinating how you find someone on Facebook, and yet the portrait painted by the "Interests", "About Me" and "Quotes" columns rarely coincide with the scummy pond of hypocrisy seething beneath the tanned exterior. Not that I'm saying everybody on Facebook is inherently evil, but the facade you throw out there for the online community to see very rarely captures the person's quirks and little personality flaws. "Hanging out in Plett; the party here is off the chain!" If it was so great, why are you on Facebook? Truth be told, you're probably that guy that finds the nearest open public toilet and spends the night posting statuses about that hot blonde you and your skydiving buddy are chatting up, but sadly your camera isn't working so you can't show everybody exactly how hot she is. But she's very hot indeed.
And then you change your profile picture later that night. Probably to a blurred shot of you with something on your head / in your mouth / over your nose / all of the above. With bad lighting.
So personality flaws can rarely be spotted on a profile page. Unless your personality flaws are represented by your Facebook usage, in which case you've got a whole other WORLD of problems.
My anti-insomnia hormone treatment pills are kicking in, so I better sign off for the night. I've always been against sleeping medication on principle, but necessity is the root of action, and I haven't noticed any major hallucinations since I started using. Now, if you'll excuse me, the orange moose and his friend, the polka-dot snake, need their nightcaps. Ahhhh, here come the monochrome rainbows... Zzzzzzzzz...
Thursday, 18 August 2011
Sayonara, muchacho
A quick little flex of the keys before I rush off to class... firstly, in the course of the next few months I'll be trying to integrate this blog with my personal web page that I'm slowly developing and adding content to.
Secondly, WHAT the hell was that dream I had? I cant even remember what happened in the dream, just that some weeeeird stuff went down and that every person in it was like a conglomerate of people I know. *shakes himself*.
This past week I've come to realize anew that to do good academically, you've got to put in the hours. No fancy business of study techniques or routines or study patterns, you've just got to go sit down and study. No substitute. Which is why this post is a little on the short side... hopefully I'll get to extending my blogging hours today as well. But test week is around the corner... *sigh*
Secondly, WHAT the hell was that dream I had? I cant even remember what happened in the dream, just that some weeeeird stuff went down and that every person in it was like a conglomerate of people I know. *shakes himself*.
This past week I've come to realize anew that to do good academically, you've got to put in the hours. No fancy business of study techniques or routines or study patterns, you've just got to go sit down and study. No substitute. Which is why this post is a little on the short side... hopefully I'll get to extending my blogging hours today as well. But test week is around the corner... *sigh*
Thursday, 7 July 2011
The Ever-Present Marshmallow Republic
For the first time in recent memory I don't have ten deadlines for the next 2 hours; don't have to change clothes 3 times a day in strange, dilapidated bathrooms to accommodate social norms... *shakes himself*... let's rather not talk about those dark times, they're a comin' back...
So. Holidays. That's what it's all about, eh? Or not. For some reason, I tend to like work periods more than actual holidays. Sure, I love mooching as much as the next person (or even more, for that matter), but you get to a point where your moochiness just sort of... dries up. You start eating everything in sight; stroking the dogs backwards to see what their reaction is; make all kinds of weird combinations of spreads and sandwich them between two slices of whatever is in the breadbin... believe me, a Bovril, honey and cheddar biscuit tastes better than it sounds. It's not that I can't find things to do; it's more that, unless pressed by deadlines and the people around me, I very rarely find the willpower to do the things I should. Not out of laziness, per se, but more out of a sense of disurgency. Yes, I did just make that word up.
I think this is why I sign myself up for so much. I have a LOT of dreams and plan on actually realizing most of them, but I also realize that, left to my own devices, I will probably never find the time to do any of the things necessary to further me in life. So, signing up for, say, the musical leader of our a capella group or administrator of the hostel website is just ways to get me to fill my day and learn a thing or two, so I can carry those skills forward into the next set of things I sign myself up for... And with this, I suddenly realize that I've become one of THEM. Those mindless zombies that rush from 8 to 5, leaving a trail of joylessness in their wake. But not entirely.
See, as of a year ago, I've started reinventing myself. Making time for things that I like AND that can help me become a better person. It's interesting how much you're capable of if you really want something. And I mean REALLY want it.
So, leaving you all with these (slightly disorganized) thoughts, I start working on my next assignments. Learning choir music, writing songs for the a capella group, teaching myself PHP, trying to get some physical exercise done, keeping up with friends...
This is what life is about. Signing out with a smile tonight
So. Holidays. That's what it's all about, eh? Or not. For some reason, I tend to like work periods more than actual holidays. Sure, I love mooching as much as the next person (or even more, for that matter), but you get to a point where your moochiness just sort of... dries up. You start eating everything in sight; stroking the dogs backwards to see what their reaction is; make all kinds of weird combinations of spreads and sandwich them between two slices of whatever is in the breadbin... believe me, a Bovril, honey and cheddar biscuit tastes better than it sounds. It's not that I can't find things to do; it's more that, unless pressed by deadlines and the people around me, I very rarely find the willpower to do the things I should. Not out of laziness, per se, but more out of a sense of disurgency. Yes, I did just make that word up.
I think this is why I sign myself up for so much. I have a LOT of dreams and plan on actually realizing most of them, but I also realize that, left to my own devices, I will probably never find the time to do any of the things necessary to further me in life. So, signing up for, say, the musical leader of our a capella group or administrator of the hostel website is just ways to get me to fill my day and learn a thing or two, so I can carry those skills forward into the next set of things I sign myself up for... And with this, I suddenly realize that I've become one of THEM. Those mindless zombies that rush from 8 to 5, leaving a trail of joylessness in their wake. But not entirely.
See, as of a year ago, I've started reinventing myself. Making time for things that I like AND that can help me become a better person. It's interesting how much you're capable of if you really want something. And I mean REALLY want it.
So, leaving you all with these (slightly disorganized) thoughts, I start working on my next assignments. Learning choir music, writing songs for the a capella group, teaching myself PHP, trying to get some physical exercise done, keeping up with friends...
This is what life is about. Signing out with a smile tonight
Tuesday, 5 April 2011
Thank Goodness for Shuffle Play
Long nights in the lab have a way of making things fade into perspective a lot easier. You're away from all the bother and noise of the room and all the distractions that go with it, left with only that seriously nagging urge that in 9 hours' time this project needs to be finished and I STILL HAVE SO MUCH WORK TO DO HELP ME!!!
*cough*
Well, last night was the first time since the beginning of this semester that my Design was finished the night before the actual demo. Those sleepless nights are a thing of the past (for now anyway) and it actually feels GOOD knowing I'm gonna pass today. Now just to finish my kleinserverwerkings, learn choir music, study for my 3 tests this week, finish the tutorials for today and tomorrow, clean my room, shave, do dishes, do washing, Facebook just a LITTLE more...
I wonder if there is a support group for people with Facebook addictions?
So. On with the day... I re-discovered a System of a Down song 2 days ago while trying to sleep (I still insist that thanks to shuffle play a lot of otherwise obscure music sees the light); Radio/Video, in case you were wondering. The only thing I'm wondering is why the hell I stopped listening to them in the first place. These guys are just the best. For a little variation in my life I started watching Scott Pilgrim vs. the World this morning while drinking my morning coffee and it is surprisingly good thus far. Definitely a recommended watch.
Seeing as I don't have a scooter like my trusted roommate, I should probably get going to class a little earlier than... *looks at watch*... ohcrapImnotgonnamakeitgottarunbye
*cough*
Well, last night was the first time since the beginning of this semester that my Design was finished the night before the actual demo. Those sleepless nights are a thing of the past (for now anyway) and it actually feels GOOD knowing I'm gonna pass today. Now just to finish my kleinserverwerkings, learn choir music, study for my 3 tests this week, finish the tutorials for today and tomorrow, clean my room, shave, do dishes, do washing, Facebook just a LITTLE more...
I wonder if there is a support group for people with Facebook addictions?
So. On with the day... I re-discovered a System of a Down song 2 days ago while trying to sleep (I still insist that thanks to shuffle play a lot of otherwise obscure music sees the light); Radio/Video, in case you were wondering. The only thing I'm wondering is why the hell I stopped listening to them in the first place. These guys are just the best. For a little variation in my life I started watching Scott Pilgrim vs. the World this morning while drinking my morning coffee and it is surprisingly good thus far. Definitely a recommended watch.
Seeing as I don't have a scooter like my trusted roommate, I should probably get going to class a little earlier than... *looks at watch*... ohcrapImnotgonnamakeitgottarunbye
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