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.