Things in South Africa rarely make sense. Like when the driver of your van-cab gets out of the car at a red light at a major intersection to have a fistfight with the driver of the van-cab behind you, and then when the light turns green they separate and return to the cars and drive away; Or when the 75-year-old sociopathic day doorman of your apartment building stops you every day to either tell you how faithful he’s been to his wife during their 56 year marriage (the answer: mostly) or to tell you how he wants to slit the throats of all South Africa’s racists “like I [he] used to in all of Africa’s jungle camps”…. Pardon moi, sir? Or when the night doorman busts out “My Humps” on repeat at all hours of the night; Or that the fire hydrants here are yellow! And there’s a lemon behind that lemon-shaped rock! Or that The Salzberg has a crew of transvestite admirers that accosts her in excitement every time they see us; Or that a shocking number of things around this multiracial city are named after Cecil Rhodes, one of the world’s most notorious racists; Or that the local juvenile prison is named after Old School: "Welcome to Harequa Detention Centre: A To New Beginnings"; Or that the most popular flavour of potato chips here is an epic battle between either "Chicken" or "Smoke Beef"; Or that The Swift and The Salzberg were forced to take a 4-hour standardized test upon arriving at the University of Capetown for the purposes of scoring the proficiency of South Africa’s high schools, despite the fact they graduated from high school 8 years ago, in Canada.

So, with all that providing the context, I can’t really say I’m surprised that one of our professors disappeared 9 weeks ago, supposedly to go on paternity leave, and that we haven’t heard from him since. Nobody knows where he is - the university, his secretary, Nelson Mandela, Dog The Bounty Hunter (I just wanted to get those two into a sentence together) – he may have burst into flames for all we know. But, pending his survival, and depending on whether my status as one of 5 native English speakers in the class carried me to a pass, law school is all done.

It’s been a long road since Kindergarten grad

with many misadventures and lessons learned along the way. Ferg and I learned in Kindergarten to avoid friendship with the kid who pulls down his pants for show ‘n’ tell. I learned in grade 4 to only say things about people if I had something nice to say, or to at least look behind me before I said the bad stuff – this lesson was learned when I (very correctly) referred to my monstrosity of a teacher, the perfectly named Ms. Horsley, as a “complete and total bitch” while she happened to be standing right behind me. This led to, among other things, the first failing grade a student ever received in the downright subjective, short-lived grading category of “Attitude” on Irwin Park Elementary School report cards. In grade 7, I learned the importance of temper control when I decided to kick a wall and break my foot after my towering blast to centre field in California Kickball was accidentally caught by a classmate named Michael Moore, despite the fact he could barely see out of his glasses and the fact that the ball had knocked him unconscious. In University I learned it is always better to be safe than sorry (and thus to consult a dictionary) after learning the word "disseminate" from the sentence "Information from Jewish internment camps was disseminated around Europe by a vast network of intermediaries" and assuming that it meant "to de-Jew" something. My Holocaust History professor was only to happy to correct me. Education!

Anyways, here we are a needlessly excessive period of time since that epic Grade K grad. It’s a pretty terrifying thought, almost being a real live adult living in the real adult world. The end of the 5/6/7-day weekend is drawing nigh. It sure is a good thing I have another 4 months to reflect on that.

Myself and 4 pals are off on a month-long roadie around Namibia, Botswana and South Africa, with possible side adventures to Zambia/Zimbabwe and/or Lesotho.

Picture Unrelated to Content - Sunrise from Lion's Head, Capetown with insane, cloudy weather

The Finley family is (probably justifiably) slightly apprehensive that a 2-Wheel-Drive Mercedes that can almost legally drink in Quebec and Alberta and has driven enough kilometres to circumnavigate the earth via the Equator not once, not twice, but seven times won’t be able to survive the admittedly less-than-good African roads, but what the hell, we may as well see. The Mix CDs are made (featuring such instant classics as ‘Don’t Carjack Us We Listen To Rugged Hip To The Hop That You Don’t Dare Stop; ‘Trees Cause More Pollution Than Cars’, a Ronald Reagan Joint; Great Movie Songs: The CD That Has No Earthly Business In A Maine Hayfield; The But My Real Passion Is Working With Ritards CD; and, Bulimic D Presents: Hardcore Rap) and the preparations have sort of been made. I may not have a driver's licence, but I have moxie. I dare say it is going to be amazing

After we get back, it’s the World Cup of Futbol for 3 weeks. I am unreasonably excited about this for 5 reasons:

1) “The Jet” Jewell will be here

2) M. Alexander Richmond will be here

3) Monsieur Rinfret will be here, topless by popular request

4) We have tickets to a Round of 16 game that will probably feature Spain, possibly the world's best team against either Portugal (which would be rad for geographical rivalry reasons, in addition to the fact that that fine country features metrosexual soccer star and also arguable best-player-in-the-world Cristiano Ronaldo), Brazil (which would be awesome because they are awesome, and also feature another arguable best-player-in-the-world, hilariously named Kaka) or Ivory Coast (which play some sort of an exciting Afro-style). We also have a Quarter Final game which may just feature probable best-player-in-world, Leo Messi. Do I know anything about soccer? Absolutely not. But being in a sports crowd in Africa is ridiculous – everyone goes absolutely insane and sings and dances together, and there are few things I love more than semi-coordinated, semi-spontaneous sing 'n' dance-alongs. See "Twist and Shout", Ferris Bueller for evidence. I can’t wait. (It should also be noted that this dream may of course be thwarted by the fact that no African people can actually afford the tickets, but it will still be fun - See pictures of Ritard Jewell, M.A. Richmond and M. Rinfret above)

5) According to newspapers here, not one, not two, but three! of Cristiano Ronaldo’s girlfriends may be coming to watch the World Cup in person. As great as it would be to run into Paris Hilton or Kim Kardashian in person, it’s Canadian songstress Jann Arden that everyone here is most excited about seeing. Evidence:

She may have rejected me as a friend on facebook not once, not twice, but thrice (that is actually the only part of this section that is true), but one day Jann!

From there, it will be a trip to Egypt and Jordan with some great pals, then to London to see in person that Levin now wears scarves, and then Ontario and then B.C. I am as annoyed with me as you are, don’t feel that you are alone in that.

Anyhoo, if anything bad happens on this roadtrip remember:

OK.