Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
I haven't posted in over a week and the only excuse that I can come up with is that fact that I didn't feel like it. Sometimes the blogging wave ebs and flows and I can surely say that mine has been doing a lot more ebbing than flowing of late.
In the time since my last post I left my old job to venture off into a new one here, and so far so good. In my two short (and I mean short because we work from 9:30 to 3:30) I've sorted out my shiny new work laptop (which I'm typing on as we speak) and spent some time in traffic on my way to a Neotell conference.
Although the conference was boring I can say that from what I've experienced being a tech journalist is awesome. I've already been inundated with more offers to review this cellphone, i pod, x box game, computer and go to this press briefing or this conference than I've been able to process. I'm pretty sure it will all become normal in a few weeks but for now I'm enjoying the attention that the Account Executives seem only to keen to lavish me with. Score.
Besides for my new job a few other interesting things have also been happening lately. Lee resigend from her job because she got another one, because this blog has my name in its title and not hers I'm not going to go on about it but let's just say that we both gave out a heavy sigh of releif when it happened because her boss is an ASSHOLE. We're also looking for a new place to live, I know I've mentioned this before but we've narrowed down the options a little bit so it's looking a lot better. We're actually off to see an awesome townhouse tonight in about half an hour so I'm going to leave it there and promise you that I'll catch up tomorrow.
Monday, March 9, 2009
What the hell? Why are you so resolutely insisting that I allow you to close my bag up with a yellow sticker every time I walk into your store? Does it have some sort of force field attached to it that prevents me from reaching into either side of the opening or just removing it? If that's the case I think I might be magic because I haven't had a problem with either thus far.
I know you're doing your job and all but if I was a criminal I'd find your security tactics neither threatening or effective.
If I was a cross dresser I wouldn't have paid for lipstick and other assorted make up products for years, you're lucky I can't walk in heels.
Dear Julius Malema
I'm not going to head off on your average diatribe about how you're a complete douchebag or how undereducated you are. We both know that harping on about that for hours would be like trying to convince the America that Barrack Obama is black.
I would like to point out to you however that you implicated your own political party in corruption this weekend at a rally held in Kwazulu Natal. I'm not sure you understand this but when you tell thousands of people that the chief members of COPE were guilty of profiting from the arms deal as ANC executives before they left to start their own party you are actually admitting that the ANC had some dodgy dealings back then.
Now might I commend you for doing such a great job in chasing anyone with half a brain into the arms of the likes of the DA, COPE and IFP. You deserve a medal of sorts, you know, the kind your woodwork teacher always gave to the smart kids.
Dear Helen Zille
Congratulations! You've successfully moulded the DA into a walking Frankenstein of a political party. By taking what you figured to be the best parts of liberal democrats, pre democracy ANC and British Parliament you've managed to sew together a party that cannot think for itself and exists solely to point fingers at the ANC and say "Nuh Uh!".
No, you can't have my vote.
I still think you're a saucy little minx though.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Sorry guys, hopefully next week will be more entertaining.
For now I'll leave you with a really funny article I read via Simon Dingle's Tweet this afternoon:
SA expats too busy eating rats to vote LONDON.
South African expatriates living in Britain and the US say that they are unlikely to vote in April 22's general election as they are too busy queuing at soup kitchens and catching rats to bulk up their gruel. However some expats have demanded the right to vote, hoping to stuff their shoes with ballot papers and gather up enough pencils to burn for warmth.
The issue of whether or not expatriates should be allowed to vote in the forthcoming election has been a political hot potato in South Africa, with the ANC opposing the move as it fears a strong expatriate turnout on April 22 could see its majority slip from 76 percent to 75.9 percent.
However the Democratic Alliance and the Freedom Front Plus remain adamant that expatriates should be allowed to vote abroad, and are hoping for a major boost from this demographic.
4.4 million of South Africa's 4.5 million whites currently live in four flats in Shepherd's Bush in London, and both opposition parties are hoping to rouse at least a few dozen out of their traditional apathy come April 22.
But for expatriates, trapped in a crushing cycle of debt, joblessness and stale Jaffa Cakes, voting is not as easy as it sounds.
Worsie van Tonder, a 26-year-old electrical engineer currently working as a coffee-bean titillator at Costa, says he is unlikely to vote even if allowed to."If you're out of the shop for more than twelve minutes a month they fire you," he explained. "I just don't know when I'd get the chance. And these beans need titillating."
Elsa-Chante Smit, 23, is a classically trained pet therapist but is currently paying her heating bills by working as an exotic dancer at Little Caesar's Skin Bar in Glasgow. She echoes Van Tonder's sentiments, although she says she's lucky just to have a job.
"A lot of South Africans in the UK, you see them roaming around in the streets like zombies. Slack jaws, moaning as they walk, Springbok jerseys all dirty and ragged, Springbok beanies all unraveling, Springbok scarves dragging in the slush behind them."
The local kids throw them with rocks. Dogs rip off their jean-pants. It's horrible."
Brad Brad-Bradley, who decided to take a gap year in London with his friend and wrestling partner Chad Chadley-Chadford after they graduated from Michaelhouse with distinctions in suppressed masculine rage, said he would not be voting on April 22 as he would be at the South African embassy applying for economic refugee status.
"Bru, we're so stoked about going home and that, but we sold our Bok puffer jackets and Bok jerseys so we'd totally freeze to death before we made it to Heathrow," he explained.
He said getting on a South African Airways flight was easy as one only needed to offer the cabin crew some hard drugs.
"The problem is that me and Chad ate our drugs last night, with the last of the rat.
"It was so cold, and our teeth are starting to get loose in our gums, and he had this brick of skunk, so we fried it in diesel oil and shredded the last of the rat-leg into it.
"It tasted lank kak but what can you do in these times?"
You can read more articles like this at Hayibo. It smacks of onion news but it's central focus is on SA affairs, which makes it that much more hilarious.
Have a great weekend!
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Being that I (think) I fall into the everyone category and that she so politely reminded me this afternoon I decided to follow up and write this blog like a real man.
I am currently addicted to:
Chasing the magic dragon, there's really nothing better.
Looking for a new place to live:
Our lease ends at the end of April and now that I'm making a little more money Lee and I can afford to move into something bigger than a box. I'm looking for a 2 bed duplex, 2 appliances, garden with a garage and a garden (our cat needs somewhere to run around other than up my leg). Know anything?
That being said I'm also addicted to
Leonard Nemoy Mc Lovin':
My cat. He got his name from quotes from two epic movies, namely Superbad and Step Brothers. He's only 8ish weeks old, he's grey and I think he has energy problems, he never stops running around. Can someone with previous experience in cats please let me know when this will stop?
It just sort of happened, I'm not proud of it. Add me.
These things are more delicious than Kiera Knightly. Tamara swore she was going to give me some of her extra special, home grown, organic, fresh from the garden but in a bottle Pepperdews but she/we forgot before I left. Still not sure if they exist.
Reading all of ExMi's old posts:
She's been blogging longer than Israel and Palestine have had beef, what's more is that every post is awesome. If you don't know her (and you should by now, we swopped blogs and everything) then do yourself a favour and check her out.
Turok is the worst game I've ever played.
Dancing by myself and crying a little:
No explanation needed.
Eating Lee's Cooking:
Has been and will always be the best food under the sun (next to my mommy's).
There you have it! Boring huh?
Monday, March 2, 2009
I wrote that piece with fiery fingers, it wasn't nice. I decided to take it down because it was pissing off half of you and upsetting the rest. I'd actually like to leave this whole drinking and driving episode behind me now because I'm over it and I learned a good lesson. I'm probably going to turn the story into a weekly series but before I announce any more about that I'm going to give it some thought.
Anyways, I'm back! You can all expect daily blog updates, just like old times.
I also have some really exciting news. This weekend I was sort of offered two jobs, one writing some freelance stuff and the other?
Drum roll please.....
In two weeks I'm going to be My Broadband's new tech journalist! It's South Africa's sixth largest website and I'm going to get to spend all day writing about and testing TV's, computers, phones, games etc. I'm so happy to be joining their editorial team and I'm even happier to finally have a REAL writing job!
PS: If you happen to want to vote for me in the South African Blogger Awards 2009 (and you should, please) then you can do so here. Thanks!
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Ok I'm back and I'm feeling great. How's the week been?
Let's just jump straight into it shall we?
I was invited to a blogger get together at Cranks in Rivonia on Friday night by ExMi. Naturally I accepted and when Friday night rolled around I found myself a really excited and just a little nervous. I'd never met these people before but I knew all about their lives already, it was an interesting dynamic.
When I arrived ExMi and I both decided that eating was out of the question and that drinking was the way to go. To take the edge off the nerves I ordered myself a beer and settled into getting to know a whole bunch of the Joburg bloggers and twitterers I'd been following for the past few months. It was great and I ended up having a fantastic time.
I left at around 11:30 and on the drive home I got a call from my girlfriend to let me know that the cops were everywhere and that I should be careful. Super, I decided to take the back roads. I knew that the pigs always trapped under a certain bridge very close to my house so I decided to go over the bridge in the hopes that I wouldn't be pulled over. I wasn't that lucky.
As I drove further down William Nicol drive I slowly began to realize that the bastards had moved the road block further back to catch people like me. I began to experience a sinking feeling when the police began to pull me in with their tractor beam torches, ushering my car to the side of the road.
I opened my window to the (very brand new, wet behind the ears) policeman. The conversation went something like this:
Policeman: Eh Boss. Can I see your licence?
Tom: Evening officer, sure.
*This is when I frantically start searching for my wallet. Turns out I forgot that I put it in my glove box when I arrived at Cranks. If anything made me look drunk it was me pulling my car apart trying to find the darn thing.
Tom: There you go officer
Policeman: Thomas, you are young (um thanks?) have you been drinking?
Tom: No sir, I'm just on my way home. See those lights there? (Points to the nearest intersection) I just have to turn there and then I'm back.
Policeman: Thomas I think you have been drinking and now you must blow.
Tom: Sir, with the utmost respect, I just want to get home. If you must test me I'd like a Drager test and to see the certificate of competency for the operator.
Policeman: *calls supervisor
Supervisor: Come now sir, you must blow. Get out of the car.
Tom: Ma'am I'd respectfully like a Drager test please.
Supervisor: No! You must blow! (tries to open my car door, it's locked) Come, we are going to see the supervisor.
Supervisor's Supervisor: Boy, you must blow now (how many times did they have to say that?)
Tom: Sir, I just asked for a Drager Test.
Supervisor's Supervisor: *Laughs in my face
Tom: Sir, I'm being really respectful, I'm not trying to cause trouble.
Supervisor's Supervisor: Bring me the handcuffs!
Tom: Erm what?
Supervisor's Supervisor: Resisting arrest!
Tom: Ok ok I'll do the breathalyzer test.
That didn't help. This 6 foot 7 inch odd man pushed me onto the police car and slapped those handcuffs on like I was his bitch. I have a feeling he'd been waiting all night for something like this to happen because he pushed me into that police van like he was the protagonist in an episode of Miami Vice (without the pale blue suits and cocaine). I sat down; hands cuffed behind my back and uttered a single word.
I turned around to greet my fellow inmates.
Tom: Hi guys
Dude 1: Why do you have handcuffs on?
Tom: I'm not sure actually, no one explained to me why I'm being arrested and I didn't have a breathalyzer test.
Dude 1: That's ridiculous.
Dude 2: We're all in for drinking; they said that they're going to take us to Loveday Police Station.
Tom: Where is that?
Dude 1: In the CBD, it's not a great place.
Tom: Crap, um could you do me a favour?
Dude 1: Sure, what?
Tom: Could you take my phone out of my pocket, press the green button, dial the first number and hold it to my ear?
I managed to place a very awkward phone call to my sleeping girlfriend as the police started the car up and drove us away at about a zillion miles per hour. Now I'm not sure if you've ever sat in a police van with handcuffs on driving at a zillion miles per hour but I can tell you that it's tough to hold on.
With my phone safely back in my pocket, my hands behind my back and my girlfriend frantically calling everyone I knew we headed off into the darkness to meet an uncertain fate.
And that's where I'll leave you for now. In the next post I'll tell you guys all about the test,
Douglasdale Police Station and Randburg Cells.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Wondering why I've been a little scarce lately? Well, to put it bluntly, I was arrested on Friday evening after the Joburg Bloggers get together. I was thrown into a police car, handcuffed and without explanation and taken to a police station for an alcohol test. I waited for five hours before I was tested at which point they found me only marginally over the legal limit, threw me back into a police car and took me to another station. I hadn't eaten for 14 hours by then and it turns out that this affected the amount of alcohol in my blood. After having my papers processed I was transported to cells where I sat, without food or drink for a further 10 hours. Eventually, after what seemed a lifetime I was released on free bail and ordered to appear in court on Monday morning.
On Monday I waited for hours with my attorney until the court decided to postpone my case until May, pending blood results. They never took my blood. This should work in my favour and there is a 90% chance that it will simply be thrown out.
It was the worst experience of my life and I'm still not quite right.
Sorry for the lack of posts and comments lately. Please don't stop following my blog, I'll be back to normal in a few days, at which point I'll write a few posts documenting the experience. For now please just bear with me, I don't have too much humour stocked up at the moment.
Lots of love
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Much like Tom’s story, mine takes me back to first year at university. My mate, Furburger (don’t ask) and I decided it would be smart to drive down to our other mate’s beach cottage for the afternoon. So we stopped at home first for the essentials
1. as many bottles of wine as we could find, including a bottle of cane and sherry;
2. cigarettes - 2 cartons – yes, for the afternoon.
3. Money – we managed to scrounge about forty bucks between us.
4. Petrol card – on account of how we were students, and didn’t have any money for petrol.
5. Sunblock – because we’re practical like that.
6. Flip-flops – because we were going to the beach.
7. Bikinis – see above reason.
You might have noticed that we didn’t pack any clothes. You might be wondering about that. Yeah. We only thought we’d be staying for the afternoon, but landed up staying for about four days. Well, I did anyway. Furburger went home the next day, and I landed up staying in a wooden house with 9 rugby-playing, beer-drinking jocks.
We arrived at the Chateau de Drunken Jocks, and were greeted at the door by men in Speedos. It was pretty. Pretty revolting. Forced us to down tequila, and opened every bottle of booze we brought with. Each person was assigned a bottle of booze, and it was their duty to finish it. This involved persuading other people to do down-downs out your bottle. There might have been drinking games, and there may or may not have been strip-blackjack involved. Blackjack? Yes. Because at that stage, poker was too complicated. No one had poker-faces, everyone was far too shit-faced.
The boys, who were dealing, of course cheated. Us girls landed up naked. They were really bad cheats too, because they landed up naked too. Although, now that I think about it, that might have been the whole point. You might also be thinking that it would be very easy for them to get naked, since they were wearing speedos. Not so. When it was decided we’d be playing a game with stripping involved, they rushed back to their rooms to put on every single article of clothing they’d brought with them.
And so there we all were, naked. Somewhere in between the chasing each other round the house screaming, and being willy-slapped and boozing, the sun had set. So we decided it would be the perfect time to go to the beach. Because the best time to be on the beach is after dark.
We had one problem though.
Drew, the smartness he is, thought it was hilarious and disgustingly funny to throw all our clothes over the wall into the neighbour’s garden. And it wasn’t like we could go and retrieve them. These people had massive Dobermans, and I wasn’t exactly volunteering to go stand at their gate and ring the door bell in my birthday suit.
So. The mission to the beach had to be undercover.
Even though the sun had set, it was still pretty bright. Full moon and all. The road to the beach was also rather busy, cars driving past every few seconds. So we set out, the 11 of us, all butt-ass naked. Except for our sunglasses, and towels over our shoulders. Seemed like a good idea at the time, I tell you.
The 11 of us took a naked march down the main road in this little seaside town. Every time a car drove past, we dived into the bushes, and pretended to be deer. Why? Because it was a good idea at the time. Sometimes we didn’t make it undercover in time, and it must have been a sight. 11 naked bums, 9 penises, 4 boobs and 2 vaginas. People hooted. It was a spectacle. If there were no bushes to dive into for cover, we’d throw ourselves down flat on the path, and cover our heads with our arms, like we were under attack from above. Shrieking with laughter.
Anyway, we arrived at the beach, battered and bruised from all the bush-diving, and covered with bits of gravel from the path. Somehow, we decided it would be a smart thing to play touch-rugby. One problem. We had no rugby ball.
So basically this game involved Furburger and I being chased around the beach by 9 naked men, and being tackled to the ground repeatedly. I got in a few groin-kicks, so it was a prett fair game.
Somehow we lost a few members of the party, and I landed up wandering down the beach with Bucket and P Diddy (names they’d assigned themselves for the weekend, strangely enough). Now, we’d had enough of this running around on the beach thing, and were starting to get sober. So we decided to duck back to the house, and get stuck back into the booze. So we went ahead of the others.
They followed shortly thereafter. Bucket came up with a fantastic idea that we should hide in the bushes, and as they came past, we’d jump out screaming and scare the bejesus out of them. Somehow, they landed up getting past us, without us noticing. And they apparently lay up in the bushes in wait for us. So there we all were, naked, hiding in bushes, trying to scare each other. Eventually I get fed up, and take a stroll down the middle of the road, pretending nonchalance, but actually shitting myself in the dark, all alone.
I snuck up behind German and Frank the Tank (yeah, I know, they’re lame like that) and decided it would be funny to run past them screaming like someone was chasing me. I did. They didn’t even seem to notice, so deep in drunken conversation were they. Either that, or behavior like that was so common-place that they didn’t even bat an eyelid.
I got back to the house first. I don’t know where everyone else was. I managed to climb over the front gate and climb through the bathroom window after standing on Gary Player’s car (yes, he’s corny like that) and hauling myself up. I rummaged around in the bedrooms, for clothing, and discovered that there was nothing that these boys had brought with them that was clean and non-smelly. I eventually ripped a sheet off the bed, wrapped it around me, and declared myself a Roman.
The rest of the group trickled in slowly, in various states of disrepair. P Diddy had to be carried, on account of how he’d stubbed his toe and was on death’s doorstep. I decided, at 2 in the morning, that now that I was clothed, I could go ring the neighbour’s bell and ask for my clothes back.
I rang, and rang and rang and rang. Shouted and screamed and woke just about the entire road up. But these people never came to the gate. I don’t even think they were there. Eventually I gave up, and decided to call it quits and go find something to drink.
Sherry and cane was about all that was left, and we got stuck in. the next game of choice was Truth, Dare or Command. Sparky (he’s called that because of all the bright ideas) then dared German to start a fire, and burn everyone’s clothes. And of course in the drunken stoned state we were, we thought it was hilarious. I didn’t care, because I was under the impression that I’d be getting my clothes in the morning when the neighbours woke up.
Turns out the neighbours had gone away. I never got my clothes back. In the morning, once we’d sobered up and realized we all had no clothes, but needed to go to the bottle store for more booze, everyone followed my lead, and ripped off bedsheets, raided the cupboards for towels. Frank The Tank found a maid’s outfit, which he wore. So off we went, to the local mall, me dressed in a brown-paisley (elasticated) bedsheet, flip-flops and sunglasses.
I found a Pep Stores, looked in my wallet, and discovered enough money (coins) to buy myself some underwear. I’m not proud, but I bought Pep Panties that day. Pink ones. I had to, we were going to the beach after the mall, and it wasn’t a nudist beach. So, I spent the day in pink panties, on the beach. Of course, I took my brown paisley (elasticated) sheet along for the ride. And the boys all bought themselves some underpants as well, and clung to their sheets and towels too. Once the boys had bought underpants, they then all tied their sheets around their necks, like Superman capes, and ran around the mall screaming and pretending to fly. Eventually we were asked to leave. I don’t blame them.
A lovely day cooking in the sun, getting plastered and playing silly buggers. We got back to the house, and made one last attempt at retrieving our clothes from the neighbours. No luck, and no one wanted to chance it with the huge slavering guarddogs. So I spent another evening lounging around in my brown paisley (elasticated) bedsheet.
The next morning we all had to return to Durban. We had homes to go to, parents who were worried about us, and exams to study for. The drive home, all of us clothed in Pep underpanters and bedsheets was, well, mortifiying. We were all very much sober at this stage.
The whole way home I was worrying about how I was going to explain to my dad why I arrived home three days later, wearing only my flip-flops, sunglasses and a brown paisley (elasticated) bedsheet.
Turns out I didn’t have to explain, my dad wasn’t home. I threw the Pep Pink Panties and Brown Paisley (Elasticated) Bedsheet in the bin, and pretended nothing had happened. When my dad asked me how my weekend was, and what we’d done, I told him we had a Roman party.
He knew better than to ask, because the conversation stopped there. Needless to say, I can’t pass a Pep Stores without remembering my Roman Weekend. Nor can I ever look at bedsheets quite the same way again.
All I see is myself, running down the main road, with my sheet tied around my neck, billowing out behind me, being chased by my guy friends all trying to spank me with their flip-flops, and tackle me to the ground so they could penis-slap me on the forehead and nose.
Yup. And that, my friends, is why it’s never smart for girls to join boys on a boys-only weekend.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Seriously. What can I do with a private number if you don't leave me a message you tool? Do you expect me to magically divine where you came from and who you are? I'm not a super computer, so how about next time you call you leave me a message telling me what you wanted.
In other news we may be getting a cat. After the Guinea Pig Debacle I was left feeling somewhat over cautious towards getting another furry friend. It's a big responsibility to take care of a pet and you have to be prepared to shoulder that responsibility for the rest of the animals’ life. After a lot of thinking I started considering the idea of a cat last week, we have quite a few in our complex and they're relatively easy animals to keep thanks to their 'screw you' attitudes. When I found out that they can get used to life in a flat I thought it might not be such a bad idea.
Well today it was like fate (whatever that is) hit me on the head. Sleepyjane twittered that someone she knew was giving away kittens and, knowing that Lee would be thrilled with the idea, I asked her for the number.
My girlfriend was predictably giddy over the idea and a result we're probably going to see the little critters tonight. Any ideas for names?
I ran into this picture on facebook today and I had to think long and hard about posting it because it's ridiculously embarrassing. Thanks to the urgings of ExMi I decided to let you guys have a look see at me aged 18, in the height of my band days. Here it goes....
I know, I'll never live it down.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Hopefully the e-call will come through early tomorrow morning and I'll be able to tell you all the good news. For now I'm going to leave you with a song that describes how I'll be feeling if things go my way:
The Police - Walking on the Moon
Giant steps are what you take
Walking on the moon
I hope my legs don’t break
Walking on the moon
We could walk for ever
Walking on the moon
We could live together
Walking on, walking on the moon
Walking back from your house
Walking on the moon
Walking back from your house
Walking on the moon
Feet they hardly touch the ground
Walking on the moon
My feet don’t hardly make no sound
Walking on, walking on the moon
Some may say
I’m wishing my days away, no way
And if it’s the price I pay, some say
Tomorrows another day, you’ll stay
I may as well play
Giant steps are what you take
Walking on the moon
I hope my legs don’t break
Walking on the moon
We could walk for ever
Walking on the moon
We could be together
Walking on, walking on the moon
Some may say
I’m wishing my days away no way
And if it’s the price I pay, some say
Tomorrows another day, you’ll stay
I may as well play
PS: I'm still determined to write a post on new age evangelism but I'm having a little trouble tracking down the information I'm looking for. Give me a few days!
Monday, February 16, 2009
After my militant anti Valentines Day post on Friday I gave in and snuggled up to every romantic ideal I could muster. It was soppy, it was gushy and it was horribly sweet (for me). It was so unlike me that I had to check myself in the mirror before I went to bed just to make sure that I hadn't turned into a sop like that Orlando Bloom fellow(what kind of a surname is Bloom?).
Why on earth would I, the anti commercialism crusader, would I fold like a deck chair? Read on, read on!
It all started on Friday evening when Lee and I decided that we'd go out for dinner to Dopio Zero. It was unpredictably empty and there were candles everywhere, it seemed to me that these guys had started celebrating V Day a little early and were wondering why the romantic atmosphere hadn't translated to a full restaurant. We drifted onto the topic of romanticism after I spent fifteen minutes moaning about pushover guys that made men/boys like me look bad. The roses in the teeth, the long hair, the poetry and the silly gestures did nothing but make us normal dudes look stupid and unromantic.
Then Lee dropped the bombshell.
Lee: "But you aren't very romantic"
Tom: "Um what? I am so romantic. I am more romantic than Casanova"
Lee: "He's dead"
This sparked a little something in my head. I decided to ignore everything I'd said about the fourteenth of February and move the little dinner I'd been planning to the following day.
On Saturday morning I dropped Lee at work and went straight to the shops to get me some delicacies, wine and tulips. Tulips are hard to find. Eventually, after experiencing a few "You've left it a little late buddy" looks from aged florists I tracked my prize to a backwater shrub purveyor and (reluctantly) made my purchase (holyshittulipsareexpensive!). With my booty in hand I jumped into my car and headed home to plan my next move.
Sometime that afternoon I got a call from Lee to let me know that her Dad had fixed her and that he was on his way to drop it off. Great, that meant I didn't have to pick her up. At 4pm sharp I started straightening out the house, I laid the table (candles, flowers- the whole shebang), uncorked the wine and I got to cookin'.
Salmon, lightly glazed in a sweet and sour sesame seed marinade on a bed of succulent basmati rice, roasted vegetables (not from a bag I'll have you know) and grilled olive ciabata.
It was delicious.
Then we went to watch Burn after Reading and we had desert and coffee at Ciao Baby's.
Lee loved every minute of it. Maybe this Valentines thing isn't soooo bad.
Did I do good?
PS: I've had a wonderful explosion of new readers lately so it's only natural that I make sure you understand the status quo. I ALWAYS respond to EVERY comment you may leave on my posts, so make sure you check back if you're interested. Thank you all so much for reading!
Friday, February 13, 2009
This indifference has escalated itself to such a level that tomorrow Lee will be going to work from 9-5. Her car is dead at the moment so I have to drop her off and fetch her later so at least we'll share that time together. To celebrate, I'm going to battle Zombies on my TV with my friend Adrian. Romantic isn’t it?
Normally we see our folks on the weekend, either that or we clean, but this Sunday we're planning to head off to 'The Cradle of Human Kind' to look at some old bones. I noticed last week that this place of origin is only 50km's or so from where we live so I quickly decided that we should go pay homage to my ancient ancestors. I've always loved history so this should be really awesome. If we actually end up going I'll be sure to take my camera with for documentation purposes.
PS: If any of my readers are anti-evolutionary evangelists you can go suck it. It doesn't matter what you say -adding up the estimated ages of the major bible figures from Adam onwards is NOT a credible way of calculating how old the earth is. Screw it, I'm writing a post on this next week. For now I'll leave you with a pearl of wisdom - God didn't put fossils on earth to test us, they're actually dinosaur bones.
PPS: I drew a picture on paint today. It's been in my head for a while. It's a bit small so you might have to click on it to see it better, that red thing on the bottom left is a battery. Please let me know if I'm totally lame.
PPPS: My soundtrack for the weekend is 2Unlimited – No Limit
Happy weekend everybody!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Relationships Can Be Hard.
When I was in high school I always thought that when you moved in with your significant other everything would magically take care of itself. Arguments would be a thing of the past and a selection of woodland animals would dress, clean and bathe you to your hearts delight. Living happily ever after was a prerequisite of course.
It’s not always like that is it? Sometimes people and their characters can make it a little bit harder to play nice. I'm not going to get into it too much today because I'm feeling a little drained (don't worry, everything's fine), just trust that I'll be back tomorrow with a big smile on my face.
I Can Be an Asshole
All men, no matter how meek or mild, have at least a small measure of that chromosome that turns us into selfish, grunting douche bags. As much as I hate to admit it, this chemical is known to course and flow through my system now and again and I become the guy that you complain to your girlfriends about. I always learn from these episodes of douchery but sometimes it can take me a while.
PS: I am NOT saying that women are perfect. There is a definitively bitchy gene that acts as a counter to the asshole gene in men.
As I'm sure you can tell, I'm not in much of a bloggish mood this afternoon. Forgive me; it happens to the best of us.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Let me categorically state however that the ONLY reason I carry a bag around regularly is for work and because I have a lot of things that I need (keeping me amused is no easy feat). So here it goes, I give you:
COST: No Moneyz
This is my big boy wallet. It comes from Polo and it's made out of cow. My little brother gave it to me as a gift for my 21st and it's one of my favourite things because (I think) it makes me look loaded, even when it's empty.
If there was such as thing as wallet porn this is what it would look like:
COST: The love of a good brother
These are my Wayfarers. Now before you all start telling me that I'm flogging a dead fashion horse I'll have you know that I was wearing these things before Johnny Dep knew how stumble around like a charmingly drunk pirate. These are my latest pair and they're awesome.
COST: R200 ($20)
These are my glasses. I use them for when I can't see too good. In fact I'm using them now. I found out today that they are from Guess, even though I've been dragging around the case (which proudly displays an enormous Guess logo) for over a year now.
Remember what I said about keeping me amused? I seriously carry these things around. Note the fake rock, Raphael Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle figurine, Pool Ball Bouncy Ball and aged Tennis Ball. When I get bored I fiddle with this stuff, I guess I still haven't grown up.
Ah, the practical things. Normally I load all of the CD's I'm currently reviewing onto a single disk. I also carry around I Pod cables, Phone cables, flash drives and teleportation units.
COST: I would estimate the total value of these here belongings at R300 ($30)That little green book is what you need to get a bank account, a loan, a car, really anything in South Africa. It's my ID book. That receipt is for my gym - thanks Richard Branson.
COST: R875 ($87.5) and countless hours at home affairs
There you have it Lads and Ladies! What's the wierdest thing in your bag?
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Sometimes, late at night, I wake up in a cold sweat, screaming foul obscenities at the top of my lungs. My voice hoarse and my eyes bloodshot, I usually shoot straight out of bed to attack the nearest inanimate object- which happens to be the wall. It takes me an hour or two to calm down but after a warm, milky drink I tend to drift back to sleep. It's inconvenient.
You see, I think this has something to do with you and how I want to tear head your head off on a daily basis. Didn't your mother teach you that it's rude and annoying to butt into conversations? Especially when they clearly don’t involve your person.
Unfortunately we’ve resorted to holding meetings in the corner of our open plan office in the hopes you won’t notice. Sadly the success rate has been, how can I say this? Dismal.
Your infinite capacity to bring me to the point of tears when you rip off those headphones and loudly display your interest in even the smallest titbit of dialogue, I fear, will very soon have me implicated for first degree murder by axe - and that will suck, more for you than I.
I sincerely urge you to take interest in my appeal for you to shut the f**k up.
PS: No matter how hard you try I will never acknowledge that saying 'free' is the same thing as saying 'three'.
You're like that person that someone gets to know really quickly. It's great to begin with but the more I learn about you the less I want to stick around. Can't you tell that I don't like it every time you just 'pop in to say hi'?
I don't mean to be brash, but the last time we hung out you just pissed on my life for three weeks straight - friends don't piss on friends rain, so I've decided that don't want to see you for a while.
Don't you know that I refuse to wear shoes until the winter solstice?
Have you tried walking around in wet slops?
Maybe you should take a trip and bug those poor Australians. I heard they could use your help right about now.
Yours in sunshine and happiness
Now I've heard what people have said about talking to yourself but this is important. Now that you've joined Twitter and a few people are actually reading your blog you should really make more of an effort to edit what you write. Bad spelling is for fools and poorly constructed, pompous sentences are a hallmark of first year journalism students.
Buck up buddy, you don't want to have put in all those hours trying to sound cool to throw it all away on a typo. Remember your 'I' before 'E' except after 'C' and you won't look like a tool.
PS: You are really really really good looking and you're going to get tons of valentine’s gifts this year.
Lots of love
Monday, February 9, 2009
I have. I spent my university years telling everyone that I had Peter Pan syndrome.
Me grow up? Pah, Never, Why?
This of course was is paradox because, if you know me, you will also know that I've also spent my entire life trying to be older (cooler) than I actually am. I've always thrived on being one step ahead of the curve, one leap forward, one put closer to the hole, one sentence closer to the punch line. Too much?
Now I feel like I pressed fast forward for too long, like a bad 80’s jukebox. Did I really pass go and collect two hundred dollars?
You tell me:
At 18 I left school and went straight to University. During that time I was in three bands, I was an editor, I toured the country, I held three jobs at once, I had a girlfriend, I organized festivals and I graduated.
Before I even finished my degree I already had a full time job. I spent my cherished last few months as a student working all day, coming home, studying and going to sleep. Two weeks after I graduated I signed the lease on a flat in Joburg and I moved in with my girlfriend.
I'm not an idiot; I (think) have my shit together, but today feel as though I'm looking at the world like a surfer would look at a Tsunami. Maybe I can ride it, but I might have to swallow a whole lot of water first.
I feel a little overwhelmed.
Paying bills, scrubbing floors, being broke, washing dishes, cleaning clothes and being poor sucks.
Can anyone tell me how long this might last?
Kudos to you Sirs and Madams!
Ok, tomorrow we're going to kick things off on a much lighter note.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Well when you're introduced to an unknown band or performer that completely blows your socks off, that makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time you'll always cast your mind back at some point and wonder where you first heard your new favourite band.
"Oh yeah it was that (insert name here) dude!"
I love that moment. There have been so many 'that dudes' that have enriched my life with albums, songs and artists that I listen to and religiously follow for years to come and I can't thank them enough.
Someone could take everything away from me one day, I could be down, destitute and next to death but I always know that I can call up on my memory bank of music and hum a tune.
Being that I'm actually a music writer and that I've been playing music for 13 years in 2009 I somehow feel ever so slightly qualified (not that these are prerequisites) to suggest a few amazing bands to you that you may not of heard of.
So check my list out, give it a listen, and maybe I can be 'that dude' to you. Nothing would make me happier!
I started listening to this Long Island foursome (get yer mind out the gutter) when I was in high school. Never before had I heard the kind of poetic lyricism that Jesse Lacey spewed out album after album. He got me through plenty of break ups and sleepless nights. If you're going to listen to one song then listen to Jesus Christ:
Jesus Christ I'm not scared to die, I'm a little bit scared of what comes after
Do I get the Gold Chariot; Do I float through the ceiling?
Do I divide and fall apart? Cause my bright is too sly to hold back all my dark
And the ship went down in sight of land, and at the gates does Thomas ask to see my hands?
What do you get when you give a bipolar, angry, incredibly intelligent, sarcastic Jewish kid a guitar? Say Anything. Forget Rage Against the Machine, I've never known anyone to kick the system in the balls with such complete eloquence. He also gets pretty sensitive and the songs are amazing. It takes a listen or two but when you're hooked that's it.
My favourite pre 90's band. Do I really need to introduce these guys? Stings' mix up of new wave and reggae was completely new and uncharted when they came out and since then The Police have really stood the test of time. Go buy their greatest hits and take in some lesser known songs like 'Walking on the Moon' or 'Synchronicity', then listen to the big ones like 'Roxanne' and 'Can't Stand Losing You'. Forget The Beatles, this is THE shit.
You didn't think I wouldn't drop some South African flavour in there did you? These guys are good friends of mine and are currently writing their second album. Over here their kind of a big deal and I think they are our best chance of exporting another South African rock band to the international circuit (did you know Seether are from SA?). The songs are amazing - it's Springsteen meets Foo Fighters all the way.
Fall Out Boy
Yeah yeah they're totally pop but I've been listening to them since 2003 so that makes me kind of cool right? I was given their new CD Folie a Deux to review and I'm in love with it. Such great melodies, such great lyrics.
We will never believe again, kick drum beating in my chest again! - (Coffee's for Closers)
There you go, five recommendations to chomp through if you see fit. If you enjoyed this post I'm willing to make it a weekly/monthly thing so let me know!
Be my 'that dude' and suggest some of your favourites to me!
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Unfortunately I also ordered a DVD from Australia at the same time, a DVD that was supposed to take four weeks to get here. BIG mistake.
Apparently Australia is quite far away. Well that's what I've been told.
When Lee decided to run off and get herself Eclipse I had to step in and let her know that I'd ordered if for her, thereby ruining the surprise. In doing this I killed a can of worms and opened up a whole new set at the same time. She wasn’t going to run off and buy the book but she also wanted to know when it would arrive, every day, all day.
My MSN account is flooded with messages asking me to e mail Take 2 and request that they send the book separately from the DVD so that my girlfriend wouldn't have to go cold turkey for too long.
I didn't have the heart to tell her that the projected day of arrival was the 17th of February. I was too worried that she might go crazy and hold up a book store with a mask and an AK47. I didn't want to be guilty by association, no sir.
Imagine my relief then when the package arrived yesterday morning. I spent the whole day riling Lee up, telling her that Take 2 had lost the shipment and that it would take another 3 weeks. Obviously she was bumbed out, but she's a nice person so she refused to go and buy the book like a normal person. She decided that she'd have to wait.
When I got home last night I walked to the dining room table and she was cooking dinner (because my life rocks like that). I put my bag down, opened it up and muttered
Tom: Oh shit...crap; look at this (worried face)
Lee: What? What? (Walks up to me)
Tom: Your book arrived!!!!!!
Lee: Weeeeee!!!!!! (These are squeals of unrequited joy)
So I was in the good books. I didn't get to take advantage of though because when I came home from gym her face was already buried in the pages.
I played some poker, watched some TV, read some books. She was still reading.
I wanted to go to bed. She was still reading.
I woke up this morning to find that she got up early, dressed and ate so that she'd get a fresh start to the day. Not, it's so she could read.
I actually think it's all kind of cute but, just for fun, I've developed a condescending smile I give her when I find her soaking in Edward Cullen and his band of soppy poofs.
It goes like this:
Tom: *condescending smile
Lee slowly looks up
Lee: Don't look at me like that!!!!!!
Tom: *condescending smile
Lee: You're making me feel guilty!!!!!!
Tom: *walks away
Lee: But I love you!!!!!!!
It's my favourite thing and it doesn't cost a cent. If Mrs. Meyer plans to swallow my girlfreind whole with her VERY average writing yet (supposedly) compelling story line I don't plan to go down without a fight. I'm going to play the guilt card.
This is what Stephen King had to say about all of this commotion:
"Both Rowling and Meyer, they’re speaking directly to young people... The real difference is that Jo Rowling is a terrific writer and Stephenie Meyer can’t write worth a darn. She’s not very good"
Well played sir. Well played.
In honour of my complete and utter boredom at work I give you:
50 THINGS TO DO IN AN EXAM YOU KNOW YOU ARE GOING TO FAIL ANYWAY
1. Bring a pillow. Fall asleep (or pretend to) until the last 15minutes. Wake up, say “oh nuts, better get cracking” and do somegibberish work. Turn it in a few minutes early.
2. Get a copy of the exam, run out screaming “Andre, Andre, I’ve got the secret documents!!”
3. If it is a math/science exam, answer in essay form. If it is longanswer/essay form, answer with numbers and symbols. Be creative. Use theintegral symbol.
4. Make paper airplanes out of the exam. Aim them at the instructor’sleft nostril.
5. Talk the entire way through the exam. Read questions aloud, debate your answers with yourself out loud. If asked to stop, yell out, “I’m SOOO sure you can hear me thinking.” Then start talking about what a jerk the instructor is.
6. Bring cheerleaders.
7. Walk in, get the exam, sit down. About five minutes into it, loudly say to the instructor, “I don’t understand ANY of this. I’ve been toevery lecture all semester long! What’s the deal? And who are you? Where’s the regular guy?”
8. Bring a Game Boy (or Game Gear, etc…). Play with the volume at max level.
9. On the answer sheet (book, whatever) find a new, interesting way to refuse to answer every question. For example: I refuse to answer this question on the grounds that it conflicts with my religious beliefs. Be creative.
10. Bring pets.
11. Run into the exam room looking about frantically. Breathe a sigh ofrelief. Go to the instructor, say “They’ve found me, I have to leave the country” and run off.
12. Fifteen minutes into the exam, stand up, rip up all the papers into very small pieces, throw them into the air and yell out “MerryChristmas.” If you’re really daring, ask for another copy of the exam. Say you lost the first one. Repeat this process every fifteen minutes.
13. Do the exam with crayons, paint, or fluorescent markers.
14. Come into the exam wearing slippers, a bathrobe, a towel on your head, and nothing else.
15. Come down with a BAD case of gagging and coughing. Be as vulgar aspossible.
16. Do the entire exam in another language. If you don’t know one, makeone up! For
math/science exams, try using Roman numerals.
17. Bring things to throw at the instructor when s/he’s not looking.Blame it on the person nearest to you.
18. As soon as the instructor hands you the exam, eat it.
19. Walk into the exam with an entourage. Claim you are going to be taping your next video during the exam. Try to get the instructor to let them stay, be persuasive. Tell the instructor to expect a percentage of the profits if they are allowed to stay.
20. Every five minutes, stand up, collect all your things, move to another seat, continue with the exam.
21. Turn in the exam approximately 30 minutes into it. As you walk out,start commenting on how easy it was.
22. Do the entire exam as if it was multiple choice and true/false. Ifit is a multiple choice exam, spell out interesting things (DCCAB. BABE.etc..).
23. Bring a black marker. Return the exam with all questions and answers completely blacked out.
24. Get the exam. Twenty minutes into it, throw your papers downviolently, scream out “Forget this!” and walk out triumphantly.
25. Arrange a protest before the exam starts (i.e. Threaten the instructor that whether or not everyone’s done, they are all leaving after one hour to go drink)
26. Show up completely drunk. (Completely drunk means at some point during the exam, you should start crying for mommy).
27. Every now and then, clap twice rapidly. If the instructor asks why,tell him/her in a very derogatory tone, “the light bulb that goes onabove my head when I get an idea is hooked up to a clapper. DUH!”
28. Comment on how sexy the instructor is looking that day.
29. Come to the exam wearing a black cloak. After about 30 minutes, puton a white mask and start yelling “I’m here, the phantom of the opera”until they drag you away.
30. Go to an exam for a class you have no clue about, where you know theclass is very small, and the instructor would recognize you if you belonged.Claim that you have been to every lecture. Fight for your right to takethe exam.
31. Upon receiving the exam, look it over, while laughing loudly, say“you don’t really expect me to waste my time on this drivel? Days of our Lives is on!!!”
32. Bring a water pistol with you. Nuff said.
33. From the moment the exam begins, hum the theme to Jeopardy. Ignore the instructor’s requests for you to stop. When they finally get you to leave one way or another, begin whistling the theme to the Bridge on theRiver Kwai.
34. Start a brawl in the middle of the exam.
35. If the exam is math/science related, make up the longest proofs you could possibly think of. Get pi and imaginary numbers into mostequations. If it is a written exam, relate everything to your own life story.
36. Come in wearing a full knight’s outfit, complete with sword and shield.
37. Bring a friend to give you a back massage the entire way through the exam. Insist this person is needed, because you have bad circulation.
38. Bring cheat sheets FOR ANOTHER CLASS (make sure this is obvious…like history notes for a calculus exam… otherwise you’re not just failing, you’re getting kicked out too) and staple them to the exam, with the comment “Please use the attached notes for references as you see fit.”
39. When you walk in, complain about the heat. Fake a faint.
40. After you get the exam, call the instructor over, point to any question, ask for the answer. Try to work it out of him/her.
41. One word: Wrestlemania.
42. Bring balloons, blow them up, start throwing them around like they do before concerts start.
43. Try to get people in the room to do the wave.
44. Play frisbee with a friend at the other side of the room.
45. Bring some large, cumbersome, ugly idol. Put it right next to you.Pray to it often. Consider a small sacrifice.
46. Get deliveries of candy, flowers, balloons, telegrams, etc… sent to you every few minutes throughout the exam.
47. During the exam, take apart everything around you. Desks, chairs,anything you can reach.
48. Complete the exam with everything you write being backwards at a 90degree angle.
49. Bring a musical instrument with you, play various tunes. If you are asked to stop, say “it helps me think.” Bring a copy of the Student Handbook with you, challenging the instructor to find the section on musical instruments during finals. Don’t forget to use the phrase “Told you so”.
50. Answer the exam with the “Top Ten Reasons Why Professor xxxx Sucks”
Anywho, I've finally found some bloggy people so I've decided to take this social networking thing to a whole other level.
If you want to 'add' me (is that what they call it on Twitter?) my name is thomas198729.
So um , go do it and let's invade each others personal lives minute by minute as opposed to blog by blog.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
It's weird how everybodies lives go from crazy interesting to mind numbingly boring in only a few days. Although Mtv culture would have you believe that if you're not constantly running around doing amazing things (things that generally involve a lot of money) then you're a loser.
If I'm wrong and you're all off base jumping, polo playing and treasure hunting then I'll eat my hat. Either that or I'll try really hard to suck up to you in the hopes that some of that gold dust will spill its way onto me.
In the spirit of my lack of goings on I've decided to tell one of my more embarrassing stories. Don't worry, it's funny.
My Dad always had me believe that you weren't a real man until you'd been in a fight (he never said those words I admit, but his tales of black eyes and bruises made a big impression on my boyhood psyche). He also made me believe that if you had a big mouth someone would eventually want to smack you upside yo' face.
I naturally put two and two together and developed a less than typical cocky teenage attitude, as a result my mouth slowly formed into a parachute like flap that never stopped articulating mybrash and uncensored thoughts. I'm still amazed that I made it through high school.
Despite my cavalier demeanour and less than respectful tone I made it to university a 'Bitch Slap Virgin' and for the first year everything went swimmingly and I didn't get kicked, hit, punched, toed or kneed once by the enormous Afrikaans seniors at my res. They actually liked the little Rooinek (Redneck) that I was. Score.
All good things must end however (much like Micheal Jackson’s music career) and at the end of second year my day of reckoning came to greet me like a drunk grim reaper (that's not pretty I'll have you know).
One evening my friends (Ryan and Lian) and I decided it would be a fantastic idea to go to a club down the road called Boston’s. It wasn't our usual spot and it was a little out of our way but variety is the spice of life after all (the drinks were cheap) and we went for it. Lian decided to drive so naturally Ryan and I went to the liquor store and bought some cheap Vodka to get us started off. By the time we decided to leave half the bottle had mysteriously disappeared, despite Ryan’s appeals to search for it I voted nay and off we went.
Drinks were flowing, moves were being busted out and I was steadily on my way. Don't judge me, I was a student. Things started getting so entertaining in fact that my friends lost me in the bathroom for a while. After wandering around by myself for about an hour (and when I say wandering I really mean playing pinball with the walls) the lads grabbed me and we headed out the door.
What happened next is still a blur to me. I was told the following morning that there was a group of five guys waiting outside for drunken students to heckle. Me and my big mouth (exacerbated by my alcohol consumption) weren't having any of it.
Our conversation went something like this:
Meatheads: Hey Bro why you so drunk?
Ryan: Man we're just trying to get home
Meatheads: What was that?
Tom: What was that your face?
Meatheads: Are you talking to me?
Meatheads: Do you want to get yourself f**** up bro?
Tom: I'll take you all on, you bloody Dutchmen
And that's where it ended. As I'm sure you've figured out, the term 'Dutchman' isn't a very flattering name for someone of Afrikaans heritage. Now I don't have anything against the Afrikaans people at all, I was just looking for the phrase that would piss them off the most. It worked.
I woke up the next morning with a swollen face. A very swollen face. I thought I'd hit my head on the wall during a drunken trip to the bathroom. I limped to Ryan's room to have a chat.
Tom: knock knock (that's me knocking on his door)
Tom: What happened last night dude?
Ryan: You don't remember? You called a bunch of guys Dutchmen and one of them hit you, then they hit Lian.
Tom: Oh shit is he ok?
Ryan: He was dragging you to the car so I think he got hit in the ribs, his face is fine. They chased us after we got in the car.
Tom: How did that happen?
Ryan: Well as we drove past them Lian told them he'd f**** their mothers, so they jumped in their cars and chased us for about 13k's. I thought we were going to die, you were passed out in the back.
Tom: Wow, I'm really sorry
Ryan: It's ok, it was pretty cool actually
And that's how I became a real man. I may have been drunk but I didn't take their shit lying down.
I still have scar tissue in my cheek today, it's weird.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Want to be friends?
Ok then we need to get some things out the way first.
- My name is Tom
- I was born in South Africa
- My middle name is David
- I went to an all boys school where I played sports and jammed guitar at assembly. Not the lame sort of acoustic guitar you see at Church (if you do that sort of thing) but a mean guitar that the devil would have been proud of.
- I love peanut butter on toast with coffee, it's my favorite thing to eat.
- I am ridiculously fussy about me food. It has to be made a certain way, with certain ingredients in a certain order. To me only one peanut butter actually exists for example, all the rest are imposters.
- I went to University and I studied English
- When I was a wee' child I was eaten by a spider. Unfortunately I can't climb walls and no, I don't have 8 eyes only 3. What?
- I live with my girlfriend in a flat. We've been together for this - - long.
- I drive a soccer mom car. Don't judge me.
- My girlfriend and I like gin and lime on the rocks. That's her fault.
- I'm way too intollerant and I like things to be done my way. This annoys everyone, especially my girlfriend.
- I am a mean poker player.
- I am borderline obsessive about cleaning. You see, in my head, where I live has to look like a magazine.
- I like to pretend that I read serious academic material because of my education but Roald Dahl's 'Boy' is my favorite book.
-I love reading about peoples lives, why do you think I blog?
- Once I broke my arm trying to balance on a water drum . I was 13 and I cried like a baby.
- I had an emo fringe, cringe, it made be binge. Then I shaved off my hair and never looked back.
- I really really like eating out at nice places. Maybe I should blame this on my parents but I can only thank them for nurturing my expensive taste.
- I will live by the sea one day.
- My family have had Great Danes since I was about 10 and I can confirm that they are the dumbest, sweetest, most loving animals in the world. At the moment my parents have Julio (who is 4 and weighs 85kg's), his best friend is a little terrier called Ben (imagine Baxter from Anchorman).
- I grew up on a 5 acre plot climbing trees, building tree houses, riding motorbikes and chasing cows.
- I get really really angry with shitty South African expats who leave and then try and justify their mistake by trashing our country. South Africa is an amazing place to be. Yes it has it's fair share of problems just like everywhere else but it's definately not going to be the spark for impending Armageddon like some believe. If that's you then I say good riddance.
- I don't really get soccer.
- I LOVE going to gym. I'm not a jock, but it's something I really enjoy.
-One day I'm going to own an Aston Martin DB9.
Good, now we are best friends.
Friday, January 30, 2009
MyBroadband is one of the biggest websites in South Africa with over 750 000 unique hits per month. Wow.
Oh and for those of you who live in South Africa and didn't know, I also write for SL Magazine. I'm a featured contributer in the February issue so check it out!
Every time we head off to the cinemas to take in a piece of theatrical cinema we go through the same old rigmarol.
1) She's always late.
Is this just a girl thing or am I the only guy that suffers from this? No matter what happens, even if she's been getting ready for an hour I'll find myself tapping my toes and looking at the clock on the wall while she changes her bag, does her make up, ties up her hair.
This will ultimately annoy her. She'll come stomping out of the bathroom, hairbrush in hand and tell me that she'll be ready in a second and that I'm too fucking impatient.
2) We'll rush to get a ticket
And the line will be a mile long. We'll decide to use the self service swipe machine and she'll lecture me on how I should be swiping my card. I will get annoyed, because I've done it eleventy million times before.
3) We'll sneak in illegitamate food and drink
Have you seen the prices of popcorn lately? I'm not paying that. Now I know why piracy is so rife, it's the popcorn prices. Instead we'll slink off to the sweet shop and buy some treats, we both get Lipton Green Tea. It's just what we do.
We hide the sneaky treats in her bag. Turns out I should complain less about the time and consideration she takes in picking one.
4) Handing in tickets
At this point we'll head to the ticket collector woman/man and join the line to hand in our stubs. If ANYONE pushes in front of me I make them pay. One father in fact had his six year old son 'accidentaly' face planted into the ground by my foot for transgressing the sanctity of the line.
Ok I am.
Or am I?
5) We take our seats
Unless these are brand new lazy boys that are ergonomically designed and climate controlled Lee will probably complain about them.
6) We watch the trailers
And I try to make sense of what's happening on the screen while Lee tugs on my arm and tell sme she how she wants to see this move and how she loves this actress. She wants to see EVERY movie. She squealed when she saw the trailer for Mama Mia, I love her but seriously.
7) Paper crackling freakout
If anyone and I mean anyone, should have the audacity to rudely reach into their box of popcorn or re arrange their sweet packet Lee will cringe. She finds this super annoying. I tell her several times (8 at least) throughout the movie to just calm down.
8) Kissy Kissy Freakout
If there is any Sexy Time onscreen Lee will freak out. It embarasses her and she hides in my arm when it happens. If it involves boobs I love it. Polar opposites I tell you.
9) The Movie Ends
And we have to get out of there AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE!!!!!!!
10) Cake Time
We get cake and coffee. Sweet hey?
What's watching a movie with your significant other like?
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
I spruced up my CV and started trawling the market. In three weeks I applied for 60 job offers and I sent 35 e mails to various publication companies asking about possible career opportunities(I counted them while I waited for a response).
How many replies did I get? One.
I had the good fortune one day to get a call asking me if I'd like to come in for an interview for one of the copywriter positions I applied for.
I said yes of course and a week later I walked into said companies offices all smart like, bright eyed and bushy tailed.
I was shit scared.
After my interview I thought I might have clinched the job but I wasn't sure. I didn't want to get my hopes up too high in the fear that if they called me and said they went with someone else I would be shattered. So I just forgot about it and three days later I left for a tour to Cape Town.
In the middle of the journey I was woken, something was buzzing. It was my phone.
Tom: Ugfghdfjndlns Hello?
Company: Hi tom this is Klaus (lets call him that) from The Company. Good news, you got the job.
Tom: That's great thank you!
Company: When can you start?
Tom: Um, can we meet next week to discuss the contract and everything? I'm just in Cape Town
Company: We really need you to start ASAP. I'll e mail you the contract. When do you get back?
Tom: Ok, I get back on Thursday
Company: So you can start on Friday?
Tom: Can we just meet up to talk about this?
Company: I'll call you tomorrow -click-
What I didn't know at the time was that the decision to take the job would result in three weeks of indecision, back and forths about contracts, salaries, you said this no you didn't until I got what I wanted.
Although I still had three months of University left I took it. I spent the rest of my varsity career getting up at 5:30 so I could drive 1h 30mins to work, work, drive 1h 30mins back, go to class, eat, go to gym, study/do assignments and sleep. It was stressful to say the least.
In November I wrote my final three exams and moved a whole bucket load closer. That was the end of that.
Now I'm working for the man full time.
So I'm pretty cool right? I got my first real job at my first real interview. The only problem lies in the fact that my job is agonizingly boring and repetitive, I also don't want to be a copywriter anymore.
Tomorrow I go for my second real interview. The job looks way cooler, pays better and the offices are only 2km's (1 mile) away from my house.
I'm shit scared again. I really really really want this job.
Anyone got any interview advice? I'm not exactly a veteran after all.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
When the time came for me to actually get one I lied to my parents about where I was going, I drove an hour out of the city with my new band, lay my 18 year old ass on a table and got some words pinned across my stomach. It was scary and exciting; I can still hear the whir of the gun in my ears and smell of the ink in my nose as the (incredibly friendly) tattoo artist worked her way across my abdomen.
Man my Dad was pissed when he found out where I was, so pissed in fact that he never mentioned it at all. That's weird for my Dad by the way.
A few months later I went back to get two giant swallows on either side of my pride and glory. It hurt like hell but in the end it was worth it. Two days later I went on tour around the country and tried not to put too much pressure on either side of me when I slept on friends couches and floors, to do so would be too painful.
When I showed my Mom she got so upset that she slapped me. She knew I did it and she got over it pretty fast but I guess it was the initial shock of seeing her baby's flawless skin painted over that upset her so much.
A year later my family went on a trip to an exotic island. I spent the entire time hiding from my Dad in fear that he would see. He knew about it of course, I'm just that much of a wimp.
The next time we went on holiday I refused to hide. It was a little awkward at first but eventually my parents came around and accepted that my tattoos were there and that there was nothing to be done about it.
They're awesome about it now but it took almost four years for my family and I to be ok with the fact that I went behind their back and got tattooed at such a young age.
Looking back, I can't believe how immature I was about everything. If I was that sure about it I should have just taken it like a man and happily exposed myself to everyone.
Do I regret it? No, not at all. Ironically enough my tattoos didn't commemorate a lesson learned like some, but rather a lesson to be learned in the future.
Why am I posting this today you ask? Well, we've just admitted a new (very tattooed) bassist into our band and he's going back to get some more ink in a few weeks time. I figured I'd tag along and mull it over. See, I'm still unsure of whether I should get any more. I'm a lot older and wiser but going through what I did was really hectic for me at the time.
What do you guys think? Do you have tattoos and how do you feel about them?
PS: That interview I told you guys about? I got it :)
Monday, January 26, 2009
Bella from That Damn Expat inspired me this morning with her eloquent ranting skills. She questioned the idea of tipping and why we tip people and I found myself all fired up at the end of it, ready to write rant of my own.
So here it goes:
Car Guards are as useful as a broken leg.
In South Africa when you park your car at a shop, school, university, place of public gathering, power plant, park, fountain, mountain, valley, river, lake, dam, amusement park you'll be assaulted by a man in a yellow jacket posing as a keeper of the peace.
These men will show you to an open parking space you've already seen direct you into said parking with wild hand signals (even though you know you can get in there with your eyes closed) and will stand at your window until you leave the car.
When you gather your things you will be greeted in a number of ways:
"Hi there sir/Madame"
"One time my brother"
If you acknowledge them in any way you enter yourself into a silent contract with the yellow shirted man. A contract by which you agree to let the man 'look after' your car, protecting it from the vandals, thieves, hoodlums and neredowells that supposedly trawl busy parking lots in the middle of the day in exchange for a unspecified sum of money when you return.
If you choose to ignore these men you will often be responded to with a condescending hiss and click of the tongue. did I forget to mention that you will also run the risk of having your car scratched by the set of keys he carries in his pocket for just such an occasion or dented by the trolley he tugs around?
While you're spending time doing whatever you happen to be doing he might be bargaining with common thieves over how much he should be paid to look the other way while they steal your radio or at worst, your car. If this should happen you will notice the yellow shirted man swiftly skulk away when the police arrive.
If you are lucky enough to avoid these misfortunes you'll be greeted by a warm smile on your return, a smile that silently says "give me money" behind clenched teeth. If you get into your car without paying up you will be directed out of your parking space in a manner that wouldn't seem out of place in a driving instruction yard. As soon as you're out and ready to go he'll be at your window once more telling you how safe your car is and how it's still in one piece. If you refuse to pay up you're more likely to receive an angry swish rather than a friendly wave.
Yes, it's true. I hate Car guards.
They're completely ineffective, often playing parts in the crimes they're supposedly sitting there waiting to stop.
Do they carry guns? No.
Do they carry sticks? No.
Do they perhaps carry mace? No.
What do they carry then? A pocket full of change, given to them by hard working people for sitting there all day doing nothing.
Call me mean, call me insensitive, and tell me that it's providing jobs.
Sure it's providing jobs, jobs that are encouraging guys off the street to try and make as much money doing as little as possible.
Besides, why should I pay you to keep a car I paid for in one piece? Are you a mechanic perhaps? Because if you are we can talk.
She's a really talented, really funny lady who has a pretty funny outlook on life.
All you need to do is go here and follow the rules. She's trying to garner votes for Top Web Comics 100 Real Life Comics list which will spread the word even further over the internets!
If you haven't checked out this blog then make sure you do, oh and you can win some pretty mean prizes too!
I tried to upload an example of what the comic is all about but my PC wasn't working out, you're just going to have to trust me.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Today I'm a happy man. Want to know why? Here's why.
Most of you won't know what this is. But If you do please skip the next few paragraphs.
Cricket is a sport. We play it a lot here in South Africa and it involves hurling a really hard, really red ball down a straight pitch at a batsman. Behind the batsman is the 'wicket keeper' who catches the ball if the batsman misses (whic can happen a lot). At any given time there are 11 players (fielders) on the field (which looks like a big oval with the pitch in the middle), two umpires (the bosses) and two batsman (one on either side of the pitch).
When the batsman hits the ball he has the option to make 'runs'. A 'run' is what it sounds like:one length down the pitch by both batsmen. The batsmen can be given 'out' in a few ways:
Being bowled: where the bowler manages to hit one of the three stumps located behind the batsman (kind of like a strike in baseball).
Being found LBW: where the ball hits the batsman on the pad and the umpires decides that if the batsman had not been there it would have hit the stumps.
Or being caught: (this one's obvious).
When the batsman is given out, the umpire sticks one finger up into the air like he's hailing a taxi.
It's all very complicated.
Anyway. We beat Australia today which is a special thing for many reasons but mostly because we in South Africa hate Australians when it comes to sport. Enough said.
Oh, and this:
A New Job?:
Recently I submitted my CV for a host of new jobs, most notably an Events Manager position. I got a call straight away from the recruitment lady for the Events position telling me how cool I was and how rad I am that kind of thing.
It looks like I'll get an interview and I'm really excited because if I get the job I'll be making a lot more money, I'll be out and about all day, I'll actually be responsible for something and I won't be bored out of my skull.
Why events you ask? Well, it's something I've been doing for a while with my own company Horse Productions. I've put together and organised almost live 40 shows now and I really really enjoy it.
Hold thumbs please!
Alan Moore's famous graphic novel Watchmen has been made into a movie by the same fella that made 300 and Sin City. Needless to say I'm practically wetting myself with excitement.
Check out the trailer to find out why!
I get paid this weekend. That means I'll have money to blow at strip clubs:)
Finishing Call of Duty 5:
I finished Call of Duty 5 last night. It's the longest game ever made. How do I know it's the longest game ever made? Well, I started growing my hair when I put the disk in and now I look like Orlando Bloom from Lord of the Rings.
It's a great game but good lord did it just go on and on and on and on. I'll be sure to slam it in the review I write for it this weekend.
My hair is this long now
Flight of the Conchords Season 2:
Bret and Jermaine are the only two good things about New Zealand. If you haven't watched this sitcom yet you should crawl out of your nuclear bunker and get some culture. Then tune in every week to watch season two. You will not be dissapointed, and if you are I'll eat my shirt. Really.
This site is the only thing between me and (complete) insanity right now. It's rad. You click on links and it brings up interesting articles on everything from cow methane gas caputurers to pictures of baby Kangaroos. Thanks Future Backwards!
Trip to Americaland Dec '09:
Yeah that's right, I'm coming back for the fourth time! In December Lee, my parents, brother and myself will be jetting off to the land of the free (burger). We'll be in Washington, Florida and New York between mid December and the beginning of January. If you're there and you like me I wanna see ya!
My blog is growing like one of those sponges you put in the water and and then a day later it's a dinosaur. I just want to say thanks to all of you that have started reading/commenting and following. It makes me so warm and fuzzy inside:)
Oh and for you Lurkers, here's your chance. I know you exist. I have Statcounter. Unhand your um, hands and comment!
Hooray! It's Friday! Happy weekend everyone!
PS: Another clown picture to get you in the party mood. I'm sorry, last weeks' was better.