That’s Not Her Name!

“Who’s Cousin?” asked the little girl.

Evolution is the development and transformation of something, usually from something simple to something more complex. This is the process my friend’s name has undergone. Now I have had my name butchered to the point where I don’t recognise it when it is called out in ceremonies, such as prize-givings, but I understand why it is so – my name is difficult to pronounce (click-Peter-click as my english professor would say. Hi Michelle!). But Kazuno’s name, on the other hand, is straight-forward, yet the name has taken some major beatings of its own.

For the first time in a long time, I spent quite a bit of time with my dear friend from Japan, Kazuno Iwai [ka-zoo-no, ee-va-yi]. We went out for sushi and saw some live musicians in New York City, and, overall, enjoyed ourselves. I was highly entertained by the stories she kept recounting about her name. The best of which was how her name went from Kazuno to Gonzo in less than three play-dates. Kazuno babysits three children. She had taken the kids to a play-date, and the stay- or work-from-home dad met her for the first time. Right from the get-go he called her Kozuno . She did not bother to correct him – she is very accustomed to it. The second time round he diverted from what had vaguely resembled her name to the dangerous-sounding and creature-like name (which I have adopted for myself) – Gonzo!

How did she deal with this new name of hers: “I didn’t even respond until I realised that he was talking to me,” she said laughing. She went on to say “I also volunteer at a pre-school during the day, and the teachers there don’t even bother trying to remember my name. They just call me Kate. Others caller me K.” I still had the giggles about Gonzo!

Last night I received a text message, and my phone reads them to me. The first thing I saw and heard from the familiar automated woman’s voice was “From Gonzo…” I could not help but crack up with laughter. After gathering myself from “rolling on the floor with laughter,” we texted back and forth for a bit. During this, she told me that while volunteering, one of the gentlemen at the pre-school tried his best to remember her name. The best he could come up with was Casino! This put me in a delicious state of hysteria. “Maybe I will be lucky in Las Vegas!”

She hopes that people don’t forget her real name now. However, when I called her Kazuno while waiting for the 1-train in New York, she paid me no attention. I hope Gonzo won’t evolve Gonzilla

Here are the Ting Tings with That’s Not My Name!

To All the Drivers Who Own Our Roads

“It’s what they teach you in New Jersey. It’s called Defensive Driving, which turns into being assertive driving, which turns into being a dick!”

I was conversing with a friend of mine yesterday evening about how repulsive and uppity some drivers are, and if you aren’t scanning through this post like a newspaper article, you will know what she said.

As a person who has driven on both the east- and west-coast of the States, as well as on the tax-infested South African roads, I have come across a numerous amount of these drivers. Taxi drivers in South Africa own the roads. There is no question about that. Anyone who has seen these drivers before taking the written/theory test will know to mentally alter the written rules when actually driving, in order to accommodate the road users. We yield to them no matter what. Or else all three of the taxis, spread out in front of you, will cut in front of you to get to the one person standing on the side of the road waiting for a friend. They will fill their dusty 15-seater combi-styled vans with 25 people and crawl in the fast lane. They will make that left turn over the curb just to pass the two cars in front of them (remember South Africa keeps left and passes right). Or simply curse you out for following traffic laws.

In the west-coast, driver are chill. Friendly, would be more accurate a term. Granted that they, like most people, get agitated when their patience is tried, as is the case for those of us who have experienced Seattle’s downtown gridlock and/or bottlenecks. The east-coast is plain vicious. Especially the female drivers. They aggressively maneuver their Stupid Urban Vehicles, take unnecessarily wide corners, and edge their noses (slowly, to my surprise) for left turns onto oncoming traffic. They later teach these unsavoury driving techniques to their Lexus-driving, sixteen year-old children who think they actually know what they are doing.

However, the creme-de-la-creme, the superlatives, are the ones who drive doing revolting things because they think nobody is looking, and those who are obnoxious in their cars but timid after they park them. I have one dedication to all terrible drivers. She sings it charmingly, but listen twice. Once to enjoy the song, and secondly, to what other road-users want to say.

Here is Lily Allen’s F**k You

Are we all in agreement polite and decent drivers?