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From Wednesday, September 17:

I’m in Johannesburg! It’s so westernized that it’s almost like being in Chicago . . . except that everyone drives on the “wrong” side of the street and has funny accents. It’s funny because they say the same thing about me.

For those of you who have been fortunate enough not to have heard my misfortune in getting here, let me give you the turn of events in chronological order:

1) Arrived at airport after making 3 trips back to my house to retrieve forgotten items.

2) After checking luggage, realized that my dear old Dad, who was trying to be helpful, bless his heart, decided that it was appropriate to put the bag clearly marked “Blockbuster” that contained 2 2-day rentals (ones that I asked him to return) in my carry on bag while I wasn’t looking. I still don’t understand the logic, but it all worked out. You’ll see how in a second . . .

3) After a severe flight delay and bad weather (between ORD and JFK, there’s always some sort of problem), I missed my flight by 10 (count ‘em) minutes and could see my missed flight taxi-ing away. Frustrating!

4) As soon as I turned my phone on, my “guide” called me to ask where I was (I assumed that since she booked the flight, she would have checked the arrivals and known that I hadn’t yet come in!) and say that I’d have to catch the flight out the following day before hanging up on me. I was a happy girl.

5) After finding out that South African Airways’ ‘customer service’ was closed for the day and exploding in the airport (and over the years, let me tell you, I’ve really learned the finer points of airport tantrums), I thought it might be a good idea to go home because I was completely stranded and had no idea where my luggage was. (I believe I went into the luggage claim area and said something like: “I can’t find my bag. Can someone please help me? Because if I find out that my BAG made it to South Africa and I didn’t, I’m going to be extremely upset!’)

6) Lorrie picked me up (bestest friend that she is) and I treated her to a burger dinner while we watched the Sex and the City finale and I bitched about my plans for the next day.

7) Next day . . . called South African Airways, spoke to the woman who set up my trip and found out that business class was full. FULL!? There’s no way I can fly in excess of 3 hours crammed in coach, much less 18!!!!!! So, she graciously offered me the opportunity to get an entire row in coach and much champagne. It was pointed out by several friends that I might be spoiled, but that can’t possibly be the case. The good news is that Blockbuster let me return the movies in NY, so dad’s ass is saved (not that I could be mad at him for longer than 5 minutes anyway)

Ended up getting business class anyway after it was determined that it wasn’t oversold.

9) Note to all: a 16 hour flight (it’s 18 hours on the way back) is manageable if there’s a lot of liquor involved. Remember that.

10) Got to hotel, connected with my group, and had a fabulous dinner at a restaurant called Moyo’s. If you make it to Jo’burg, you must try it.

11) Was grilled today on the whereabouts of Tupac Shakur by young hotel worker. I assured him that Tupac was safe and sound with Elvis Presley.

I know, I know. It’s been forever. But this time…

I know, I know. It’s been forever. But this time I have a good excuse. I’ve been in South Africa for two weeks. It was part of a press junket, and I was honored to be included, and even more excited to learn about a new culture. NOT excited to spend that many hours on an airplane. I learned that anything’s possible with a business class seat and a little bit of champagne.

The blues film is FINALLY being released on Thursday, and I think I’m going to have a bit of project post partum depression. It’s hard to work on something for over two years, and then have it be over — just like that. Oh well.

South Africa was fabulous. It’s a beautiful country, although there is still a lot of racist fallout from Apartheid, which, unbelievably, ended less than 10 years ago. My favorite city has to be Capetown. When I get the pictures downloaded, I’ll post some of them. I had a lot of interesting experiences there.

I did some weblogging under a different account while I was down there, and I’ll give you a few excerpts, to give you an idea of my experiences while trying to get out of Chicago (the ones fit for public consumption). This might take a couple of posts, because I don’t want them to get too lengthy . . .

And by the way . . . if any of you live in Chicago…

And by the way . . . if any of you live in Chicago and drive around on the congested north side — in the Belmont area — you will benefit from this little experience.

So, a few weeks ago, a friend and I were having a smoothie jones and there’s a Baskin Robbins on the corner of Belmont and Halsted (I think). Next to the parking lot of Baskin Robbins, there’s a place called Mr. Smoothie, which was clearly an enticing sign given our craving. So, we park in the Baskin Robbins parking lot. All over this parking lot in large lettering was “If you park in this lot and shop at anywhere except for the following stores, you will get an immediate boot.” We didn’t believe the sign . . . of COURSE we didn’t believe it. Who would ever believe that the Boot Troll would slink out from the bowels of illegal parking hell and give an immediate boot?

Well . . . we snuck over to Mr. Smoothie and fortunately, quickly thought that the menu was too healthy to be satisfying, because by the time we walked back through the parking lot to revisit Baskin Robbins, Medieval Boot Boy was poised and ready to boot our car! Medieval Boot Boy would be a man, dressed in all leather (as you can imagine) whose job it is to hide out in his car and watch potential parking violators. When he spots one, he quickly exits his circa ‘79 car that has a trunk the size of a swimming pool and pulls out an archaic, raggedy boot, to attach to the car of the unsuspecting parking violator, who he then extorts for $100 in cash when they return. Isn’t that nice?

And when I looked around the parking lot, relieved, I realized that, in a lot that holds about 20 cars, at least 3 of them had boots. But in order to get the full picture, you have to see the boots themselves. Maybe they’re homemade (in his basement lab), but they’re often held together with strange objects, and I could swear I even saw a shower cap on one of them. Whatever they’re made of, they’re effective. He was collecting cash left and right, from pissed off individuals who just wanted to “run across the street for a second” without getting a couple of scoops of double chocolate chip.

I was leisurely telling this story to my cousin Sunny, who said that she had been taken for $100 by Medieval Boot Boy. What are the odds?

We wondered if Medieval Boot Boy really had a legal operation. But then, I guess he does. And a huge moneymaker to boot (pardon the pun). A lot of businesses use the threat of towing, but think about what’s involved. They have to be paying attention to the parker, see where he/she is going and then call the towing company and hope that they get off of their lazy asses to tow the car before the violator returns. By the time a towing company catches a parking violator, they’ve already completed the errand and gotten away with the parking crime. MBB makes sure that there is punishment of that crime. He might have something there . . .

Anyway, the moral of the story is, if you see a boot-wielding-leather-man, just buy some ice cream. He’ll go away.

Okay, so a long time has passed . . I hope everyon…

Okay, so a long time has passed . . I hope everyone had a festive Labor Day weekend, which, to me, signifies the end of the summer. I know that it officially ends the third week in September, but I live in Chicago, which means that I’m lucky it didn’t end mid-July.

My birthday was unexpected fun. I was thinking that I’d spend it watching the Video Music Awards, but I ended up having a festive evening. Friends Kelley, Yvonne, Connie, and Chuck helped kick off the evening, which quickly slid into debauchery as more and more martinis were served. Chuck, the non-drinker, was a fabulous chauffeur — despite the long drive he made to be here — although I’m not sure I’m excited about him telling everyone he was in town “driving Miss Crazy.”