T.I.T.S.

This pic has nothing to do with anything. I just love it.

What does the current state of anything mean to anyone? I don't know. If I had the answers I wouldn't be writing on blogspot, effectively providing toilet break fare and an alternative to Angry Birds on your lunch break. I'd be raking in the big bucks in some swanky office, being wined, dined and celebrated as a successful writer and observer of the human condition. If you asked me about this "human condition" my succinct answer would be "crap" and I'd refer you to 'The Human Centipede' and popular music.

But all is not doom and gloom. With the exception of last night's great band practice, of course. I've had quite a weekend. Well, long weekend, given that the ladies were given a day. One day. Out of the year. Sammitch shares plummeted. Don't get me started.

It was The Hot Girlfriend's birthday. What a celebration it was! There was fancy eating out. There was brunch on the beach. There was dinner courtesy of Princess Pants and LordDoom. There was an entire Sunday of gorging on roast, cheese, wine and a variety of traditional Dutch cuisine. There was even a pressie or two in the mix. And of course, there was the Deftones concert. I think most people that went would all agree how utterly smashing that was. I was particularly impressed with the end of the Manchester Orchestra set, which resonated this whole Swans uber-intense, sonic wall of death vibe, and the professionalism Deftones displayed when faced with a less than capacity arena. And Cape Town's notoriously sponge-like audience. Vociferous applause at the end of each song, for 15 seconds, then blank expectancy. Same goes for when Chino got them to clap or participate. I'll tell you what, though. The boys certainly looked like they were enjoying themselves. Almost as much as the group of laaities next to us who decided to do a mini, but manic, mosh all through the show - much to the disgruntled disgust of some old Tannie leaning on the railing and practicing her contemptuous death glare at every little shove. Idiot.

My Brother In Awe was having a similarly raucous time, trying his best to rack up official warnings from the security staff. I don't blame him. A venue that hosts large scale rock concerts and doesn't allow smoking is pretty fucking lame, as is the choice of beer for a show of that magnitude. Or lack of choice. I fully understand that having only one brand available makes sense, otherwise vendors would be swamped with complicated orders, but if you're going to serve "beer" at a rock concert, the prudent choice would surely be Black Label, not "Piss Sucked Out Of A Homeless Person's Soggy Trousers". Or as SAB likes to call it, Castle.

Anyway, that was the glorious long weekend then. Back to the very uninspiring grindstone yesterday, and coupled with the lovely Cape Town winter, a very tough time getting out of bed, it has to be said. Also, I'm barely dealing with my guilt at not going running, but I'd probably get blown out to sea in this weather. It is awesome to stay in and do other stuff though, isn't it? Tonight I make the special dinner for The Hot Girlfriend that was hijacked by Princess Pants over the weekend. We like stretching occasions out and milking them for as long as possible. I'm sure you'll hear all about my successful culinary exploits tomorrow.

NGDG: Not all the Guinness in this world can make this place enjoyable.

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