Talk about a busy, busy, chock full of adventure weekend! Well, that and a whole bunch of other stuff. I may have absconded from my social duties on Saturday night, but "me-time" is also tres important.
Anyway, there was lots going on. It all started off with a little soiree to help welcome The Chef into his new apartment, which went swimmingly, especially considering the ridiculous array of finger foods and the infinite possibilities involved with turning them into projectiles.
Then the stupendous, magnificent Sleepers overcame a few technical issues to once again mesmerise the gathered masses at Mercury. One of the new songs, forgot its name (was told but mind like a sieve), is one of the most haunting and harrowing tracks yet and I'm completely head-over-heels for it. Isochronous followed with a set that captivated the heaving, capacity crowd. Its wonderful to see live music is still doing so well. Makes the old ticker happy.
Anyway, cue ninja bomb and enter Saturday. Band practice all day with the f(r)iends that comprise Axxon. A heady mixture of industrial pounding, mecha-metal slabs of guitar, vocals that'll tear your face off and enough coffee'n'cigarettes to last til the next Ice Age and you pretty much have my day down...
Sunday was manic. Picked up a consignment of discs (those weird things that hang off the rearview mirror of minibus taxis, for the unenlightened - they also store music - it's kinda like old school flash- or hard-drives) from Subterania, among which was Fear Factory - 'Demanufacture'. Surely one of the most awesome discs of all time. I had my copy stolen about a decade ago (I'm still gonna find out whodunnit and force them to endure an entire Celine Dion album) and finally replaced it. Much joy and rejoicing! It's currently being played full blast in my office. Ah! The life...
Anyway, after a brief trek out to Tableau Voi, I went to go pick up my new kitchen counter tops. Picture 3,5m long counters, weighing in at a million tons each being transported sticking out of the back of a Golf. Absurd! But I did it. When I got home I paid one of those lovely homeless car guard types R20 ( I know - last of the big spenders) to help me carry the 2 pieces into the house. I thought his remuneration to be more than fair for 3 minutes work. He ended up insisting that I pay him more. For about 10 minutes. Perhaps that's the cheek that's being referred to when a slap in the face is being discussed.
So the 2011 Rugby World Cup is upon us. The Gods have seen fit to excuse me from having to sit through yet another bullshit extravagant waste of money, otherwise known as an Opening Ceremony. We're all going to be arse-over-tits dronk on our weekend away by that time. Only drawback I suppose is not being able to see the actual game. Oh well, there's always PVR. Mind you I am sure that among the entire battalion of people going there will be more than enough intrepid rugby fanatics that'll seek out a telly somewhere. I wonder if there's such a thing on Hooligan Hill. (Hooligan Hill = the cluster of cottages reserved for the more raucous sect of our friends, and also an attempt to keep us away from those "early to bed early to rise" types.)
After I've posted this, I shall be boning up on my general knowledge. Mostly that to do with Canadia, 'Stralia and bad mid-nineties grunge. You see, it's LMG Pub Quiz again tomorrow night!
And here is a glimpse into my current state of mind. If I had to do a remake of the Sound Of Music classic (bear with me here) 'These are a few of my favourite things', I'd literally just repeat the refrain "Boobs, boobs, boobs, boobs..." The other thing is NSFW.
SO let's see what Saint Smith wants us to know today, in Chapter & Verse:
Book 1 : Chapter 3 : Verse 7-9
In keeping with all things Cure, tonight we carry on doomurderlizing our little cover (we've somehow managed to double the length of an already 6 minute long song - pure art I tell you) and probably drink wine until it sounds good again. Rose Thorn is on cooking duty, which means I have to be 'Kitchen Bitch'. Long story, I'll tell you all about it some other time. In this case it amounts to standing around, drinking wine, making snarky comments, apologising to TDB for taking so long before get started on band practice and wondering under my breath just what the fuck on earth she's doing to the food... And secretly smirking in sheer delighted relief that for a while at least, we're not discussing Tori Amos...
...Speaking of which. It was brought to my attention early this morning that the Ginger Whinger will be assaulting our ears and eyes with a performance in Cape Town on 17 November or something, a fact I thought Ms Thorn would be quite glad to know. So I phoned her with the breaking news, which ended up with my phone disintegrating and my eardrums perforating in a combined simultaneous sublimation of the senses. She (and I promise this is a new word to me, but apparently it does exist) "Squeeeee"d so fucking hard I nearly pulled an Esme Everard on myself.
Have a fantastic Monday evening all. I'm going to start bracing myself for the inevitable wee-my-pant-fest I'm in for all night. Fuck the clowns and dancing horses, bring on the wine!
NGDG: "I must have the only car dealer in Johannesburg I can discuss cannibalism and Soylent Green with."
Spread The Love. Boobs. Boobs. Boobs. Boobs. Wonderful Glorious Boobs.