Friday, December 21, 2012
Who'd have thought that the song heralding the end of it all, the soundtrack to the Apocalypse, would in fact be sung by Julie Andrews and 7 annoying brats? Mind you, now I come to think of it, the signs have been there all along...
So, this will be my last post of the year. Mainly because the end is nigh, but also because I have no internet access away from work. That's right! 2 weeks of blissfully not knowing what each and every one of you wankers had for lunch or continual updates on your fragile states of mind. I intend taking full advantage and slowly drowning myself with beer. You may take that as my daily update in abstentia.
Already the social engagements (and one wedding) are piling up. I fear I'll not be as rested as I'd hoped at the end of this holiday. I suppose that isn't the end of the world. We as a species are permanently tired anyway. When last did any of you feel completely rested? I can't remember a time...
Ah yes, then there's the cricket. Let's hope the SABC have miraculously managed to separate head and bottom. I will be most distressed if I can't indulge in my favourite holiday ritual - snoozing in front of the cricket on the telly. Just on Skype with The Queen, discussing the list of activities for the holidays. The cricket is definitely right up there. Along with the obvious beer and wine intake, the lying around comatose, the frequent visits to the beach, the copious amount of braaing and the hours and hours stuck in studio. That's right! You heard me. Keep 'em peeled ladies and gentlemen, you may have an actual product in the new year that will melt your head. All that will be left is your glowing ear canals and a supercilious grin.
And on that note, I wish each and every one of you a fantastic, fun filled holiday. Please be responsible drivers. Remember, the only thing worse than a chance encounter with a car sporting GP plates is a knowing grin from the Polsmoor Welcoming Committee. Do not become a statistic, road accident or prison bumming.
NGDG: My kingdom for a lozenge! Maybe not its entirety. A portion of it, I mean. The rocky patch by the septic tanks.
Spread The Love. Happy Holidays!
Thursday, December 20, 2012
It's that time of year again. Yes, it's also time to moan about sharing my paradise with unwanted visitors, but honestly, if it wasn't for this slight discomfort, Cape Town's economy would collapse...
No, I am of course referring to my annual obligation to bring you a "Best Of" post, summarising the highlights of a year of blogging and - hopefully - some enjoyment. It's a slog. I lie. I love my own writing. If I didn't, I wouldn't do it. But I have trawled the last year's worth of drivel and come up with this rather lengthy 2012 list. For you. Enjoy:
- Here, have some boobs and some free metal.
- Everybody shouts on "I Love Lucy".
- Jees, I do go on about boobs a lot.
- Yes, THAT Ramfest, the one where I got to interview In Flames.
- A story of Hope. In which I gush like a star struck fanbay. In my defence, it WAS the most moving show EVER!
- You have to make yourself kak to be successful.
- They say charity starts at home, but I'm never moving to Table View. Tutus 'n' Tiaras time!
- It's always funny when I write about my own pain.
- Tolerance is not the act of showering off Aids.
- Ghosts and Ghouls and Grämlich.
- I just like the picture in this one.
- In which I rant from the anonymous comfort of my "keyboard activist" airconditioned office.
- The day the muuuuusic died...
- People who legislate abuse should be killed so hard they die until they're dead.
- This one has a prize winning heading!
- How to pick up chicks.
- Steaks and blowjobs are a cure for all evils. There is a spelling error in this one - a true rarity. For you.
- A five minute joke about a Playboy Bunny.
- Go on! I dare you! Complain about the heat. Arsehole.
NGDG: "Didn't you want a Playbox for Christmas?" Mum.
Spread The Love. It's The Last Day You Can... Heaven Credits!
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
If today is anything to go by, this is going to be one long ass week. It's already a case of "so near, yet so far". As opposed to the case of Johnny Walker Blue Label I asked Santa to bring me. Then again, I'm not a politician. Although my mom often expressed the sentiment that I'd make a fantastic lawyer...
Welcome back to the world of brainless banality that is my virtual soap box. The only thing I could possibly have to complain about is that - as with much of the country - I'm just treading water at work until being released into the wondrous holidays. Sun, fun, and cirrhosis of the liver! And perhaps some light gardening...
Anyway, I have very little other than that that's even remotely worth whinging over. The office has aircon and is blissfully void of anyone else. Pity the same could not be said about the "mall" on Saturday. Yes, I know what you're thinking, but it was quite tolerable. I only threatened an untimely death once and there was the barest minimum of under-my-breath referrals to peoples' general ancestry. All my Christmas shopping, with the exception of some minor stocking fillers, is done. I've even wrapped it all and stuck it under the tree. Looks very festive in my house at the moment.
So what have you been up to? I am already firmly immersed in the activities of the season. Tonight will be my 3rd braai in 4 days. I think. I'm not too sure. I seem to have lost count in the blur of chops and fire. Damn, everyone's in high spirits. As long as the spirits level in your system isn't too high when you drive into a roadblock. Obviously. Grapetizer for me this evening, then...
The only other thing I've done is seriously get in touch with my geek-side. I have discovered the joy of the Big Bang Theory and can declare myself completely and utterly hooked. I even managed an episode before work today. At this rate I'll start wearing tshirts with funny slogans and not having a life. Oh, wait...
Nah, I have a severe dearth of sci-fi fantasy knowledge and am in no danger, now or ever, of reaching their levels of geekdom. Unless you count the education part of it. Speaking of this morning's episode, it was where Howard and Raj go to a Goth club. Why on earth are goths so badly represented in mainstream media? I mean, other than the fact that most are utter wankers. But doesn't that hold true for all subgenres of the human condition? I happen to know some awesome people that you'd immediately label Goth - people that genuinely live the lifestyle and aren't complete dipshits. It's like making the assumption that all metalheads are crusty troglodytes or that all hippies stink. At least we know that it's a universal truth that everyone who differs from me in musical taste has no hope of redemption or right to breed. Some things are apparently absolute.
Anyway, be on the lookout for a best of compilation of my most popular posts this year. It's easy when there's only one judge on the panel. But in the meantime, here's the original list, enjoy. I've been in very hot water for some of these before...
Oh, and lest I forget, it's The Dean's birthday today. Happy birthday old chap! See you later for a quick one!
NGDG: Advice to young job-seekers. You could do worse than just quote famous villains from Hollywood.
Spread The Love. Fill Ze Stockink!
Friday, December 14, 2012
I don't really feel like writing anything today. Not because I'm down in the dumps, because I'm scared.
Tomorrow has been earmarked as the day on which I do my Christmas shopping. In a "mall". With people. Well, "people" is a term used with some poetic licence.
If I manage to get through the ordeal without a criminal record, I promise myself a nice cold beer. Hell, if I get home today without any incident, I promise myself a nice cold beer as well! In fact, the list is long and varied! Well, it's long weekend - let the relaxing almost begin. Most people treat this weekend as the very last exclamation mark capping off the very, very last week in which anyone does any work whatsoever. So I guess we can officially declare this bazaar open? I wonder if they'll have that delightful opaque pink wobbly pudding and Tombola. I love Tombola.
If I was a reporter who reported on stuff like Church bazaars, my screen name would be Tom Bola.
I'd wear a hat.
So. It's Irreverent Friday. And the only newsworthy thing that has happened is the untimely and unfortunate demise of everyone's favourite (well, those of us who can read....) satirical news site, the beloved Hayibo.com. It is with a tear of genuine sadness in my eye that I big adieu to one of the truly funny (consistently so) spoof sites of all time. It is especially dear to us South Africans as it dealt virtually (hahaha - see that!) exclusively with local matters, matters close to our hearts. The heart, you know... The thing hidden by the Flag we clutch on our knock off Springbok jersey as we mouth an indistinct and inaccurate rendition of the National anthem after belting out the opening refrain. Basically we all turn into Ozzy until it reverts to our mother tongue again...
Anyway, hope you all have a fantastic long weekend. This is the official start of the holidays folks. That means dickhole drivers and roadblocks. Don't be fucking stupid.
NGDG: I will buy a suit. A suit of excellent cut. And I will wear it only where wearing a suit is completely inappropriate.
Spread The Love.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
"I think I have something stuck in my molar, look!"
Everywhere else in the world, this is known as a classic stop animation film by Tim Burton with too much damn singing. In The Mother City it's known as tourist season. I can't imagine just how kak it's going to be after next weekend when we deal with the added influx of our local foreigners. I suppose it's the price we pay for having Paradise to ourselves for the rest of the year. At least visually it still resembles the garden of Eden. If you don't believe me just pop off down to Clifton or Camps Bay and check out all the bodies in the modern day equivalent of the fig leaf.
Blast and buggery! I still have shopping to do. I managed to get a lot of it online. Bless the intrawebnets. But I still need to venture out into the dreaded "Jingle Bells Zone" otherwise know as a "mall" to get the rest. Luckily I have done my research and plan to be in and out with minimum collateral damage to any fellow shoppers that stray inadvertently into my path. Then beat a hasty retreat home and sit in front of the beer fridge, dribbling.
At least I'm back in the land of the living, after having dawdled on death's door for a few miserable days. Now, if only Durban's weather would fuck off. It's giving me a headache. So I'm back to being fitter than a fighting fiddle again. I wonder if that jogging thing I used to do is still worth it. Probably. But it's like getting into cold water, fine once your IN it, a bitch to GET into...
Which brings us conveniently to the music insert of the post...
Justin Bieber. He's going to play here. Who cares? Apparently the crying, wailing, sobbing teenagers who are about to find out what a "scalper" does. I still don't see how they get away with it. Not the ticket shylocks, the Bieber fans. Shouldn't a crime of that magnitude get you expelled from the ranks of humanity summarily? Or at the very least propel you to the upper echelons of public office?
And speaking of unspeakable atrocities, Chris Brown is also visiting our shores. In his case, as heinous as his so called music is, it's not a patch on his criminal past. He is a convicted abuser of women. He - now pay careful attention, kiddies - was found guilty of physically abusing (that's 'moering') his girlfriend at the time, Rihanna. And then the wonderful folks at GandG Productions had the good grace to start putting up posters announcing this cocksmoker's arrival while we were observing 16 Days Of Activism Against The Abuse Of Women And Children. Although it can be argued that Big Concerts are inflicting on us an even worse form of abuse with The Bieb...
So what of all the right wing Calvinists that had their noses so severely out of joint for that hideous harridan, The Gaga? Where are they now? Why are they not kicking up a stink and picketing and protesting against the vile and villainous Brown? Oh, sorry. Wife beating. Practically fucking defines 'em.
Anyway, I am in the fortuitous position of not being obliged to go and watch either of these so called artists. I am just left to lament the state of music the world over as I sit and contemplate what went wrong in the last 20 years, stuck in concert day traffic. Listening to Paradise Lost. And touching myself.
Please do not get me started on the report that Sir Paul McCartney is set to front a once off reunion show with Nirvana in place of Kurt Cobain. I am still hoping it is an elaborate prank and that Dave Grohl is having a chuckle and wank at our collective expense.
NGDG: It worries me that decisions that influence our lives are made in a place called Mangunk.
Spread The Love. We All Stand Together.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
I'll tell you why.
Saturday, after a long and exasperating trip out to the beautiful Stellenbosch Winelands, the intrepid duo of Tarty Farty Tequila Party and yours truly reached our destination - a farm called Delvera, with its hundred and one activities. We were very fortunate that they were still willing to take us out on a ride (we'd booked the horseback wine tasting) and so - after some umming and aahing - we were introduced to our mighty steeds. Well, mine was mighty. A beautiful grey named Troy (no one thought my joke asking if he made a hollow sound when I kicked him was funny) who was soon to pick up the nickname Stompy, we became fast friends instantly. Tarty hopped aboard "Alpi", a rather more restless creature of apparent race horse thoroughbred descent, although at mere pony dimensions, I wasn't so sure. But you know what they say, the smaller the package, the more full of shit it is. Our gracious guide took us out for a very sedate stroll through some spectacularly picturesque vineyards. The views stretching out over the Stellenbosch valley were breathtaking, and teasing Tarty by breaking into the occasional trot and watching her keep her excitable mount in check was great fun as well. The shrieking did nothing to calm her horse's frayed spirits either.
Getting back, we traded our meagre wine tasting experience in for a cold beer and buggered off up the road to Delheim, to a far more promising afternoon of quality quaffage. The Hidden Cellar is a real treat and so is the great selection of wines there, definitely worth a return visit, with more cash, as I only bought one of the mid priced bottles. But damn! That Grand Reserve was unbe-fucking-lievable!
Following a chilled Saturday evening, I got out of bed on Sunday morning for the obligatory trot down the passage to the bathroom. Halfway, my consciousness must have taken over to a point that allowed my brain to send the following message to my vocal chords: "Ow! Fuck me! My arse! It's broken!" as I slumped, mid-stride, into an agonising half waddle, clutching at my bruised nethers.
Oh, but that's not the end of the fun dear reader. Sunday was a celebration. Sunday was a sort of pre-Christmas lunch at the homestead with the folks and the sister and the Brother-In-Awe (seeing as the perennial travellers will once again be on some safari trek around the country on actual Christmas day). I had been looking forward to this immensely, especially as I wasn't driving and planned on taking full advantage of my old man's fully stocked bar fridge. Alas, this was not to be. I spent the day sullenly cringing on the couch, nursing a glass of water and some dry crackers. At first I thought "equine flu" but then I came to realise it was nothing more than a common and garden tummy bug. Which proceeded to lay me out for 3 days. I just got back to work. I am not a happy camper when I'm ill. Less so when the proverbial insult is added to the proverbial injury in the bottom department...
At least I had an excuse to watch the Manchester Derby. Fuck me! When did a game of football become a world war? Nine Manchester City fans are being charged with a range of crimes. Incidentally none of which include being City fans. Blood was shed, although I daresay that Rio will survive and may even have had his features slightly improved. But the hooliganism (well, the little bit we saw) was still disgraceful. And both defences were as bad as some of the refereeing - at least that was fairly evenly spread and only near the end of the encounter. Poor Mancini. He must feel like Lucifer's nursery school minder.
Anyway, on we plod in our remorseless trudge towards the festive season. I still have some shopping to do. Wish me luck. At least the thronging hordes are safe. Just thrust your hands in your pockets, whistle a vaguely unsettling ominous tune, stare vacantly into the middle distance without focussing on the human cattle traffic around you, and you'd be amazed how they part as you saunter on through - unscathed...
In other news. I have a ticket to go and watch Eddie Izzard in June next year. Thanks to the better half of the DSW. Do you?
NGDG: Next time I eat beetroot, I'll write a reminder on my knee so the following day I don't panic and think I'm bleeding internally.
Spread The Love. This Tea Tastes Like Pooh.
Friday, December 7, 2012
On the first day of Christmas...
So this morning I was once again watching the most annoying thing in the world, morning television. Everyone is so fucking happy and amped and sprightly. It's nauseating, but I like the weather and the sports results. Anyway they had yet another segment on the 16 days of activism against the abuse of women and children. Whilst I wholeheartedly agree that this atrocity should be stamped out (along with the light of life belonging to any perpetrators of this sickening trend), I disagree with the focus on this being restricted to 16 days. Obviously. Only bullies feel the need to strike a woman. How does that wonderful slogan go? "Strike a woman, get MOERED!"
Another thing that makes me uncomfortable is that we as an enlightened (I know, I can't keep a straight face either...) society, country and government felt the need to establish the Department of Women, Children and Persons With Disability - am I the only one who thinks this does more to perpetuate the stigma that women and children are inferior - instead of addressing the core of the problem? Now I'm in no way suggesting that women or children or people with disabilities are second to strapping, healthy men, although I strongly suspect that this is the case among our brethren. Weak men. Actually.
The problem is far deeper than the simple physical dominance of male vs female vs child. Try explaining to Caster Semenya that she should relinquish her iPod in a dark alley.
No, the problem is a product of our socio-economic situation, rather than one of pointing fingers. The eternally disenfranchised and downtrodden will remain ill educated and as a result "barbaric", by the definition accepted by the Biscuit Mall suburban tannies.
What's at the root of the problem? Surely not disobedient women or arrogant children? No, it's the system. A system that keeps the majority of our rainbow nation population in abject, desperate poverty and denies any access to a decent level of education. It's a system that visibly endorses misogyny. Look at our Prez For Lifebouy.
So next time you're tempted to make a remark about some poor old bag holding up the traffic, think to yourself, "that could be my beloved Gran". And next time an unruly kid screams blue murder in the mall, ask yourself "what am I doing here" and leave.
For fuck's sake - everyone - do the right thing. Not because the tv tells you to. Or because you think you look fetching in a Pick n Pay bandana. Or because it's a certain time of the year. Do it because you give a fuck. And do it always. And do it without the expectation of reward.
Oh, and on the subject, these days it is an incorrect assumption to think that porn objectifies women. The ladies of porn are very much business tycoons and are doing something all of you enjoy. Just thought I'd clear that up.
Moving onto other news, I had a good chuckle at these two "Ouwehoere". I've heard that phrase throughout my life - brilliant.
And then - surprise, surprise (no really!) - this came up on my news feed. More chucklage: ANC loses Nkandla by-election.
Well, freinds, foes and foreigners. Enjoy your weekend. Tarty Farty Tequila Party and I are going on a wine tasting trek through the Stellenbosch winelands on horseback tomorrow. Sunday morning, sore head and sore bums. The usual...
NGDG: When driving, it is recommended you do so with your hands in the ten-to-two position. Recommended, of course, by someone who doesn't have Powerslave on the playlist. Because for me it's always 2! Minutes! To... miiiiidnight!
Spread The Love. To Everyone Except Chris Brown.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Good afternoon. This is your Captain speaking. (No, don't get up on your desk... yet.)
The weather forecast is sunny, balmy and the reason we're already being inundated with unwanted foreigners. Welcome to
Our descent into lazy days of cocktails, sun and fun on the beaches should be nice n easy. So please, put your chairs into the upright position and get out of the toilet. The mile high club is so last year!
And here we are. The end of the year ennui has set in - even for those of you on deadlines. But we need to keep up the charade. Oh, to be Capetonion. Perhaps we could start embracing the influx of unwelcome revellers. Bet that would creep them out. Already every morning on the way to work I am noticing the increased number of GP plated cars in my way. Traffic was supposed to have subsided by now. I mean, really! 18 minutes to work instead of 16! The nerve of some parts of the population!
You're probably wondering where I've been. Lazy. That's where I've been. Also, I haven't done anything newsworthy (not that that has ever stopped me from blathering on about any old rubbish before...) Let's see. I went to a pub to watch a football game. And I went to an engagement braai where I was told what a beautiful smile I have just after chipping a tooth on a ciabatta. Yes I know. It's like goldy and bronzy, only it's made of iron. There have also been band practices (surprise, surprise) and week night visits from the Hot Girlfriend.
I'm still nursing a damaged rib so I'm still a grumpy bastard and football will have to wait another week. Not to mention the running. Oh how I miss the running. The elegant affair that it is. All that huffing and puffing and glowing red - just so that the now legendary boep can get toned into hardened protruding glory! It's gonna be a shirts off summer!
I even have a handle on my Christmas shopping already. Soon the entire planet will get everything online, without the pleasant experience of scrumming through a horde of germ-spewing mouth breathers and dealing with a culture of "buzz for a supervisor from Jupiter to waddle over and enter a 3 digit code because people are under no circumstances allowed any responsibility whatsoever" at every till in the country.
I also won a bet that earned me a nice long foot massage. I love always being right. I lie - I am not always right. I am often reminded of the one time I lost a bet and had to cough up to buy the victor a six pack of Guinness. The one time!
And as always, exciting things are on the horizon. This weekend, the intrepid Tarty Farty Tequila Party and my good self are off for a spot of wine tasting aboard our gee-gees in Stellenbosch. I'm sure watching Tarty quaff award winning wine in the sun and trying to stay roughly on her trusty steed will provide more than one moment of hilarity. And speaking of noble steeds, we are also planning on going to an Arabian stud farm in Albertinia next weekend for a Stallion showing, some potjiekos, and blues courtesy of Gerald Clark.
Fuck. My. Life.
There is even a wedding before Christmas. How will I manage?
NGDG: I'm going to improve your day instantly. All I need from you is to read one sentence. Ok? Righty then. Go: Bill Murray signs-on, so production of Ghostbusters 3 is confirmed.
Spread The Love. Like When You Talk Foreign.