snakes, homesickness, and regional brew

I neglected to list savanna dry hard cider under coping mechanisms. Anthropology? Alcohology.

As it turns out, savanna is made in South Africa. I had been harbouring fears that it was really made by Coors or something.

Yes, that's h-a-r-b-o-u-r, folks. I switched my computer to U.K. settings after having to globally replace "program" with "programme" in my IRB application. I have also begun to switch the settings in my brain. I will now phone you, not call you; my speech is more colourful; I will switch on and off a wide range of electrical appliances; I will fill my car with petrol at the garage; and if you really piss me off, I'll show you two fingers rather than just the one you might expect.

(A friend recently clued me into the whole myth of this sign having its origins in the Battle of Agincourt. Snopes, on the other hand, says it's not so.)

Anyway, all the adjustment notwithstanding, homesickness has run me over like a truck -- pardon, a lorry -- this weekend. It's not actually so much homesickness as loneliness. I don't really mind being in Gabs; I mind being in Gabs without my peeps. Or any peeps, for that matter.

I can't really complain. I've been here a whopping five weeks and, as my boyfriend pointed out, I'm not even officially on the clock. And social lives don't grow on trees -- or at least they don't burst into full-flower in five weeks. But I got damn cranky, and my mood was not improved by the bar behind my house pumping out rave-quality decibels at 6pm last evening. I fled my little hut, and drove around for a while, randomly finding stuff in Gabs the location of which I'd only vaguely known. I wound up at my local mall -- naturally -- around 7:45pm, and wandered up to the cinema (movie theatre -- or theater -- ye Americans). I found, to my surprise, that it was the opening night of 'Snakes on a Plane'. This really made my night. I bought a ticket, and then went to the bar downstairs to have a quick savanna before the film.

I settled myself at the bar, and was joined by a guy who almost immediately bought me another savanna and started chatting. (I'm rather loathe to hang out at bars in Botswana -- or bars in general -- solo, but this particular bar is at a mall and very well-lit and very public, so offers few opportunities for, shall we say, unwanted gestures, whether they consist of roaming hands or missing cellphones.) Turned out that he knew that there was a bachelor's party at the bar behind my house (which also turned out to be his neighborhood bar), hence the late afternoon rave beats.

He seemed nice enough, and, as it turned out, he was considering seeing the movie, so we finished our respective drinks and headed upstairs. The movie really was amazing, though, in retrospect, it's probably a good thing I did have two drinks or I would have screamed my bloody head off. That said, the movie is really well-paced: there's such a wonderful mix of comedy and horror and character interaction that it never just degenerates into gore. Samuel L. Jackson is also one of those characters who could entertain me just by reading the phonebook.

That said, I spent a certain portion of the film jumping around in my seat and hollering expletives. I did not take my companion up on his offer that I could grab him if things got too scary, but he seemed cool with that state of affairs. It was really nice to just hang out and watch a film with someone. He headed back to the bar when the film ended, but also seemed cool with me calling it a night.

So, when's all said and done, I had a really good time, and made at least a new acquaintance. And to top it all off, when I got home, the rave behind my house had disappeared. Miracles do happen.