FREE SHIT

Have you heard about the latest craze to sweep the internet and be shared by everyone? I have. It's about the concept of "suspended" beverages or eats. The concept is pure genius in its simplicity and rainbow-coloured, unicorn-flavoured in its inherent kindness. Basically, at participating restaurants, cafes or coffee shops, patrons may purchase more then they want for themselves, the remainder of their purchase being "suspended". Those less fortunate among us are then at liberty to inquire politely at the counter if there are any "suspended" goodies in reserve at that time and will benefit from the generosity of an unknown customer. I love it. Not only does it provide the occasional warm coffee to a destitute individual, but it makes it easy and convenient for those in a position to do so, to anonymously contribute to the quality of life of our fellow humans.

In an ideal world, this is a perfectly feasible act of largesse.

In Cape Town, we have a particular brand of homeless person.

Imagine the scenario:
One business decides to participate in this new concept (I'm a cynic, so I'm assuming that at least some of the thinking is "publicity").
Patrons of said outlet dig deep and buy more than their own overpriced latte (because it's already so affordable).
Somehow, without access to the internet, the homeless guy, shivering his arse off on the corner and being largely ignored by almost everyone, hears about this wonderful scheme to temporarily alleviate his misery.

The repercussions are varied and immense:
Word would spread like wild fire.
The entrances would become riot zones.
The patrons - bless their benevolent little hearts - would stop frequenting these places because of the constant flow of hobos inquiring after their free coffee.
Underpaid, overworked employees would have to be the custodians of this cash intensive drive. How long before they decide to "count one, keep money of the next one"?
Not to mention the enterprising nature of our beloved local street folk, who would probably stock up on free shit and start their own stall attempting to sell to their equally desperate brethren.

In short, too few coffee shops and too few patrons give a fuck. Take half an hour to stand and observe the interaction at any red light in Town. ("Hailing Marys left and right...")
The problem is not with the idea itself. The problem is with the implementation against staggering odds.

Now I'm not saying people shouldn't do this. Personally, I will support this initiative. I am going to go out of my way to go to Charly's Bakery and do just that. In all honesty, I'm intrigued to see it in action, more than anything else. And I really hope against the odds that it takes off and flourishes. After all, every little bit helps.

But no good deed goes unpunished.

Fuck. This. World.

NGDG: I understand why they scrapped the death penalty: you keep people hanging this long they're likely to grow more violent. Bah! There's beer at least. And like Dad says: Fuck the rest.

Spread The Love. I Take Mine Black. 

PRETTY FLY FOR A WHITE GUY.

Unlike 2 of my good friends, who both fairly recently took R Kelly's famous words "I believe I can fly" far too literally, I am really going to fly! That is, of course, because I am now a real boy and everything. With the pretty obvious exception of any and all references to wood when you know what happens...

Speaking of excitement...

I have just booked my flight to The Big Shitty. I am going up for a wedding. And not just any old set of tarnished nuptials. Oh no! No, we're talking real life motherfucking celebrity Heat Magazine shit here folks! You all recall The Meyer Of Awesomeville? Well, after all the umming and aahing, a date has been set on which he not only makes an honest woman out of his (far) better half, but also bestows upon her even more awesomeness. I often argue that it isn't possible to fit more, but let's just say this promises to be one glorious and special day! See? Excited!

This also means I get a brief visit with Real Life Smiley Face and DrHellCuz. Not to mention the off chance of an encounter with THE Neal Goldwyer, scribe of scribes and poet extraordinaire.

But I also get to sit in a real life aircraft. I haven't flown in a few years and I'm tremendously excited about it. I'm going to make myself a mix tape for the trip. It'll start with 'Jet Set' by Alphaville and go downhill fast from there. Probably avoid Roxette's 'Crash Boom Bang' though.

Anyway, what can I tell you? Nothing much changes in my life. Work is what it is. Renovations continue as fast as I can move junk from one inconvenient spot in one room to another. The Hot Girlfriend is making dinner tonight - can't wait! There will be all sorts of wailing, squawking and bashing from the studio as well this evening. And that's just me molesting my poor guitar. The other guys will be in attendance as well, doing their level best to cover up my aural abuse. What sweet music they make, eh?

Wow! This week couldn't drag arse any slower if it was Ru Paul in a music video. I love this time of year. An entire month with not one full work week... Kind of makes the rest of the year a bit kak, though.

Anyway, on that rather forced note, I bid you farewell until tomorrow. Have a wonderful evening, one and all.

Except I have a very important announcement. My car is fixed. No, not like your cat. I pulled up at home yesterday with a busted carburetor, consulted my wunder-mechanic immediately, left my car with him, and it's already sorted! Whaaahooo! But that's not the reason for this paragraph. This paragraph is here to illustrate how fucking awesome it is to have people on whom you can rely. Thank you Sister Sibling for the use of Basil today. And thank you Rose Thorn for the chauffeur service at such short notice. You are both wonderful and beautiful people! And the entire exercise facilitated me being able to see the Brother In Awe hoist a mattress base up to his fifth floor balcony with a piece of string. Goodnight. I'm out!

NGDG: All French authors must grapple with the twin heritage of Rousseau and de Sade. Since modern life has killed the former, the arena of the fuckup permeates contemporary French letters. And it's marvellous.

Spread The Love. I'm Buying A Blue Plastic Towbar Scrotum.

SANCTIMONIOUS YOU

One of my favourite songs. Also, it describes some bloody people who simply do not get it. We're surrounded by the damn things. It's an infestation of mediocre minds and shitty self-absorbed arseholes. I'm a self-absorbed arsehole, I'm just not shitty. You can't turn on the intrawebnets without hearing about how badly people drive (did you know 86% of people reckon they're above average drivers?), people whinging about the lack of consideration in others and, my favourite, people making use of the vehicle that has enabled them to mouth off with whatever brain fart they've managed to percolate in their soggy grey matter.

I don't suppose it helps that I'm currently listening to "How Beautiful You Are", a criminally underrated Cure classic, which does a rather good job of illustrating how fucked up humankind can be.

Or the fact that I inadvertently watched the news again. Let's see. Zuma sending troops into civil unrest situations without the sanction of the UN or even our own Minister Of Defence. And now some of them have been killed in the line of duty. Defending what exactly? And against whom? Forgive my lack of understanding on this, and feel free to enlighten me if you know more, because on the face of it it smacks of something fucking shady/stupid again.

Anyway, I almost clean forgot what I was going to poison your mushy minds with today. Yes, we live in a world most of us would rather not. It is rife with treachery and tribulation that have taken the disgusting side of the human condition thousands of years to perfect. Yes, we are surrounded by the result of mass dumbing down of the masses. Yes, in order to excel at anything, one is forced to cheat or fuck someone distasteful. And, yes, we live in a world where the only real promoters of vinyl are fucking electro DJs.

What has it all come to?

But I'd also like to focus on the good for a change. It's not as dire or funny - and it won't make the commentator out to be the embittered world weary scholar we all strive to be, but as in the service industry, the good should be lauded as quickly as the bad is condemned.

Now, as usual, I have no concrete evidence of this so called "good" that is being done in a world where kiddy-fiddling is but a drop in the ocean, but I assure you, it is out there. Everywhere, every day, there are people doing their little bit to make life better for someone else. Even if it's a small thing. Perhaps you should try it, instead of combating corruption from the confines of your office. Just small stuff. We don't want you to turn into a tree hugger overnight. Or strain yourself. I don't have the answers. And if I let it slip that my only real solution was a clean slate, you'd accuse me of wanting to play God, or worse, Hitler. Too many people want too much for too little. Media has indoctrinated in us a rather unfortunate belief that we're entitled to a life only previously enjoyed by the likes of Riley. Shit comes at a price. Not only the sweat of your brow, but the suffering of others as well. This applies to everything in life.

So. Bottom line. It probably won't happen in our lifetime, but you can at least clean up your own conscience by being less of a pig-headed, selfish, entitled, sanctimonious sack of shit that does nothing to contribute.

And if the only way you can excel or feel special is to be more of an asshat that the doos next to you, you may want to rethink your strategy. If life doesn't get you, there will always be a bigger prick ready to dish it out to you.

Oh, and as a start, may I suggest weeding the utter crap out of what you call a music taste. Thanks.

NGDG: Telling your staff that two year olds could do better work is certainly a unique spin on 'downsizing'.

Spread The Love. One Good Deed And One Bad Record At A Time. 

I FOUND PARADISE...

...Lost in Langebaan.

No seriously.

In the dream I had last night, I was in Langebaan on some sort of fucked up family holiday (in a house which I'd been to before, eerily... and with my late grandparents no less), when I accidentally found Paradise Lost playing a little school hall gig. I was really happy when they allowed me to hug them. We hung out and it was all very nice.

I'm back. Well, I've been online for a bit, but am only now writing to you, my dear beloved readers, for myriad reasons, none of which I'm going to go into, but not least of which was my own laziness. How the fuck have you all been? Miss me much? Let's see, what have I been up to?

The abridged Ramfest Review goes as follows:

• It was wet.
• Then it was dry.
• The campsite was a roaring success, especially the portion set aside for the more metal minded and much appreciation should go out to Metal Krishna.
• The international bands were very professional and judging by the crowd response, very popular choices.
• The local metal acts put on some savage performances, but suffered from having to compete.
• The Monster Stage was really awesome though, supreme sound and lighting.
• Atmospheric Black Metal looks good in thrift store pullovers.
• People respond well to witty tshirt slogans, but not so much to the put down follow ups.
• Location is everything with food stalls.
• Tina Sex knows the fuck how to camp.
• Sippy Cups involve a lot of walking.
• Apparently, in order to be hip and trendy, one has to forget about the fashion abominations inflicted upon humanity in the late 70s. Now, the Perplexed Poodle look is all the rage.
• Jack Parow is, and always has been, nothing more than a novelty act, and once again - rather painfully - reminded us of this fact.
• The winner of "band of the festival" goes to Future Primitives. Bravo lads! Poodle fashion notwithstanding.
• "Moment of the festival" goes to the Metal Sex God (he tastes good as well...) for his performance with Strident coming on for that song - the smile threatened to lift the top off his head.

Another observation I've made in the last while is this. Cyclists are dicks. I know everyone who's allowed to blog has already covered this, but I have finally caught up. The Argus made it abundantly clear that a lot of the two-wheeled road users we share our roads with are just inconsiderate wankers. And this morning when the Kamakazi on the Kawasaki attempted spectacular suicide by jumping into my lane in front of me while my very large, very safe box of steel was doing about 80km an hour, necessitating me to test the stopping power of my brakes to squealing point, I kind of figured out that a Think Bike Sticker doesn't magically make you invincible. Don't make it difficult for other bikers because you're a doos. And if the difference between potential life and death is apparently a berth of 1.5m, then for fuck's sake don't cycle in the middle of the road 2m from the curb. Abreast. Asshats.

Let's see, what else happened in my prolonged absence. I'm glad to announce the latest D'Aaaaw Win Award goes to none other than Lord Doom and his beautiful FaceBook-official partner, the lovely Real Life Smiley Face. Now I know many of you will wonder what the hell I'm on about, but that's for me to know and you to find out.

As for the rest, been enjoying some time off. Been sight seeing in and around Cape Town. It does the soul the world of good to refresh one's perspective on one's home town. Especially when one's home town is Cape Town. The real Paradise...
Also, I watched a lot of cricket.
And braaing - I did a LOT of braaing.
I also celebrated being with The Hot Girlfriend for a year and a half. Ja ja, I know all the relationship veterans out there pooh-pooh anything short of full year anniversaries, but I don't care.

Anyway, back to life, back to reality, he cries while beating you out of his shop with a broom.

NGDG: One could queue all round the back of the warehouse, in the sun, or one could take the barging and shoving so characteristic of the sale to its logical conclusion, treating the till point like an undiscovered Bolano and saving much time and sanity.

Spread The Love. It's Good To Be Back.

R.I.P.

Tragic news is always met with a mixture of initial disbelief and overwhelming grief. I am still not sure if this will be published (and I will leave that sentence in there if I do put this up, just to show you that I wasn't sure...).

Too often people are eulogised insincerely. Third parties are often guilty of canonising the recently departed and in so doing, tarnishing their memory. It is for exactly this reason that I am reluctant to post this, but I can't think of any other way.

My friends and I lost someone close to us this weekend.

We didn't speak that much, but now I'd like to simply say that you will be sorely missed, fondly remembered, and forever in our hearts.

And always loved.

INAPPROPRIATE CLOTHING

The ANC are (toyi)toying with a new design for

their "T-shirts for votes" campaign. Amandla!

Take a moment to think of 2 things that you WOULDN'T want in your life. I'd say, for most people, that there is definitely an old flame lurking around, whose psycho-hose-beast antics place them firmly in the category of "please stay the fuck away from me/I hope I never see you again/I'm actually quite relieved that you're out of my life". Let's then make the first unwanted, unpleasant thing... an "EX".
Allow me to postulate the following. The most irritating thing in the world (and my band mates will testify at length to this), especially to the musically inclined, is a high pitched, piercing sound. You know, the kind made by mosquitoes or Justin Bieber. The official dictionary definition of such a sound is "shrill". The official (and there are eleven official languages for us to choose from, but let's go with the only other one you understand) Afrikaans translation of "shrill" is "SKRIL".

Now add the 2 together.

Enjoy the show tonight.

I jest. Of course. I am a vehement advocate of "to each their own" and am happy that there is such a wide musical spectrum from which people can choose what they enjoy. If variety wasn't encouraged and progress never happened, we'd all still be sitting listening enthralled, to Bruuuurgghhaa hitting rocks together. Plus I daren't question anyone's taste, since people get very shirty and iffy about this most subjective of subjects, and my sister will no doubt tackle my own preferences.

I'm going to spend the night in the company of angels. Well, one in particular. I'll probably braai. And I'll probably be listening to My Dying Bride. No surprises there.

I'll save my meagre bucks for tomorrow night. Tomorrow night Th'DamnedCrows assault Carnival Court with their high-octane wreck'n'roll. Joining them will be Them Tornados and The Ratrod Cats for a show not to be missed. Although I am taking my life in my hands by wilfully not turning the bottom of my jeanpant up into a cuff. I just hope I manage to keep my council after a few Black Label Drafts (yes, I never learn) when I am once again forced to watch the so-called-twist performed (more like perpetrated) by a gang of cruise liner bound cleaning ladies. I hope I survive the onslaught of disapproving looks. Ooh, Cape Town, you mean bitch... Tralalala. I will however be contributing (now that payday has been) to Th'DamnedCrows album fund. I for one am delighted that I will at some stage of my life be able to enjoy their music without the injustices of fashion thrust upon me. I'm going to pay a little extra...

NGDG: The best thing about being paid on the 28th is that February doesn't have another whole 3 days to rob you of it before the long climb to pay day begins.

Spread The Love. Because Nothing Says "I Love You" Like...