When I'm not at my desk, pounding away at my keyboard, authoring these weekly hallucinations, I am one half of the Kaya FM afternoon drive-time show Uncaptured, polluting the airwaves with my strong opinions about things I know dangerously little about.
Last weekend, the judges at the Liberty Radio Awards saw fit to award my partner-in-crime, Kgomotso Matsunyane, and me the title of "Best Afternoon Drive Show" in the land. Since then, I have been insufferable to my wife, friends and, in particular, my kids, to whom I have decreed that from now on I shall be referred to as "the award-winning Baba".
Sihayo, my 11-year-old, asked me for tuck money on Tuesday morning and I replied, "How do we address Baba?" He rolled his eyes so far back in their sockets I was worried they might drop down into his oesophagus, before asking, "Why do people like using that phrase in any case? It's so annoying and unnecessary!"
I think the little man has an extremely good point. The phrase is more abused than Donald Trump's long-suffering comb. Heck, I recently read a 1990 article that talked about "the award-winning duo" in reference to the sucky Milli Vanilli.
This got me thinking about all the overused, redundant phrases that could join "award-winning" in a class action suit against humanity. The first ones that came to mind were "My heartfelt condolences" and its twin, "May his/her soul rest in peace". Folks, we have to get more creative about this.
A high-school mate lost a parent about a year ago. The news was broadcast in the alumni Facebook page. In the end, I counted no fewer than 36 heartfelt condolences/may his soul rest in peace messages. Surely we can express how sorry we are without RIP? No?
There's another pet peeve of mine from my fellow broadcasters. I feel that I can call them out now - you know, being an "award-winning" co-host and everything (see what I did there?). Tell me this hasn't happened to you: you're listening to the radio in your car when your favourite Michael Jackson song, Human Nature, comes on. You turn up the volume and sing along heartily while debating with yourself about whether you're actually going to watch the documentary Leaving Neverland.
As the last bars fade, the presenter goes, "That's the sound of the late, great Michael Jackson." Wait, what? Why am I being told the man is dead? Is this really necessary? Am I listening to an obituary segment? Is there anyone on planet Earth who doesn't know this? And even if I had been in a coma for the past 10 years, what does Michael Jackson's metabolic state (or lack thereof) have to do with the song I've just listened to? Is it perhaps a reminder to Michael that he's not among us?
Is there anyone who has listened to Promises, followed by "that's the sound of the late, great Brenda Fassie" and thought, "I didn't like this song before but now that I know she's no more, that changes everything"?
My tribe of fellow scribes is not immune to this malady either. Later this week will coincide with 25 years since most South Africans voted for the first time. Let the clichéfest commence! Look out for "the long winding queues on April 27 1994". If you don't find that one, you'll encounter "at the dawn of democracy". That bus is never late.
If you don't see either of those, I have good news for you. One of us will refer to "the dusty streets of [insert township name here]". I was born in a township and I believe I speak for most people from Umlazi, Mpumalanga, Imbali when I say that there weren't any dusty streets where I grew up.
The chief with a short fuse and a short staff might be guilty of some transgressions, but he loved his townships paved with tarmac. So maybe we should ease up on "the dusty streets". And even if you weren't as privileged as we were to have tar, maybe use … I don't know … "gravel roads"?
I don't have a PhD in psychology but, seeing as I swim in the same sewers of herd mentality I'm railing against here, I think I understand how we become the sheeple that we are. I'm ashamed to admit that, until judge Hilary Squires asked all of us what page of his judgment in the Schabir Shaik matter referred to "a generally corrupt relationship" between Shaik and Zuma, I'd used the term a few times. This is what happens when we allow ourselves the luxury of laziness. It is so easy to repeat redundant soundbites.
However, do not be fooled. Just because I've admitted to being guilty of cliché-mongering doesn't mean I accept it. If I should keel over and die tomorrow, please don't refer to me as "the late, award-winning Ndumiso Ngcobo". This, I believe, is how things go bump in the night...