Phuza Thursday, unplugged

I really didn't see this one coming. Going to an unplugged, quiet gig at a hotel with a strange name, on a week night, with Mum Friend from 6pm to 8pm. Easy stuff. Tame evening. Early night.

Yeah right. I should have known better.

I judge how my evening is going to go by how they start. My evening at the Arno Carstens and Albert Frost Unplugged gig started with me arriving at the Sky Bar at the Grand Daddy Hotel and seeing a giant Olmeca tequila banner. Nice! It was my first time there and they had my stamp of approval. Five minutes later I am fighting with my Savanna. I managed to choose the biggest slice of lemon in the dish and squirted it into my eye whilst trying to wedge it down the bottleneck. That resulted in cursing and much eye-rubbing. During all of this, the lemon decided to play ball and slip into the bottle. Actually it dived into the bottle. There was Savanna everywhere. On the bar, on me and possibly on the people next to me. I don't know, I was too busy trying to get the lemon juice (and a small piece of lemon I am sure) out of my eye without smudging my eyeliner and looking like a panda. Great start huh! It was definitely going to be a good evening.

On to find Mum Friend who was busy BBM'ing on her Crackberry. The one night she gets to go out for two hours on the town, there is drama on the homefront. Turns out hubby was having fun with their almost-two year old daughter who had poo'd in the bath and... wait for it .. had been diagnosed as having lice that day by the creche. Yup, you better believe it! I felt I needed to be useful and empathetic. I ran off to get us tequila's immediately.

Back at the bar I start chatting to a very friendly young man who was wearing a jersey with The Grand Daddy logo emblazoned on it.

Me: Oh, so you work here then?
Friendly young man: Er, yes I do. I run the place.
Me: Oh really! Ooops. OK. Well nice to meet you, I am Tequila Tart.
FYM: Ah, Tequila Tart! I'm Sergio the General Manager. Let's have a tequila.

What followed was a whole lot of free tequila's and a good few free drinks too. Sergio rocked and me and Mum Friend rocked out. Cheers to that!

As for the gig? It was bloody fantastic. Take two highly talented musicians (OK, one super-talented one and one good-looking one with a good amount of talent), stick them together on a stage, give them acoustic guitars and an enthusiastic audience to jam for and you are in for a great evening. It was awesome! I couldn't believe that they don't rehearse this stuff. Just a look here, a wink there and it sounded like they played together all the time. They strummed their guitars, sang, laughed, stomped their feet, winked at eachother and even managed to cause a small power failure. The crowd sang along, clapped, cheered and drank lots of beer. My personal favourites were Little, Blue Eyes, Genie and that famous song from the ad, Another Universe. Inbetween all that, I was running around taking pics with a semi-functional camera, bumping into old friends from Zim and ordering drinks at the bar. Mum Friend BBM'd, drank beer, reminisced about gigs in the old days (as mum's do) and informed me about the different types of lice shampoo for two-year olds. Certainly not a dull evening by anyone's standards. Nor tame. Nor quiet. Gig ended at 8pm. We did not.

We went straight to the bar where Mum Friend dished out advice on the music industry to the youngsters while I forced Albert into having a tequila with me whilst shouting "It's on the house, ask Sergio, he rocks!" Arno gave me a hug (sympathy for the hangover I was going to have the next day?) and Sergio promised to let me stay overnight in one of the Airstream trailers (I am sending him a link to this blog). Basically I drank a lot of ciders and tequila and made a lot of noise. Pretty much what I do every time I go out.

I got home at midnight with a wad of Olmeca Black Scratch n Win cards (all saying "try again" - which I did, clearly) and an Olmeca wristband. What a great gig! Even the tequila was unplugged.

Friday started with 3 panados and a toasted sandwich.

Rocking times..

Oh the rapture...

I knew it was going to be a good weekend when everyone started raving on about The Rapture. Rapture? What the hell? Er, perhaps hell is the wrong word to use here.

According to a religious freak (namely one Harold Camping), The Rapture was going to happen on Saturday 21 May. Before you could say ten Hail Mary's (or have ten Bloody Mary's), Facebook and emails were full of enlightening and often amusing information on this doomsday event. Fanatical Christians in the States (WHY is it ALWAYS America?) were closing bank accounts, going on wild spending sprees and gathering in groups to await their moment of glory when they would be sucked up into the sky to meet their Maker. Minivans and billboards were everywhere with messages proclaiming the end of the world (as we know it, la la, di da).

Then, my personal favourite - After The Rapture Pet Care. Complete with video showing your precious fuzzy friend watching you disappear into the sky with dramatic classical music background. I love it!! Believers could sign up for a non-believer to take care of their pet after The Rapture for a small US$10 deposit into a PayPal account. I wonder if refunds are being demanded? Actually, I am wondering more why I never come up with schemes like this?  I have to admit that I almost signed up as a volunteer, but just so I could get the t-shirt saying "After The Rapture pet caregiver". I figured it could earn me points when trying to find food in the wasteland I was going to be roaming about in. "I need food. But it's not for me. It's for the 20 dogs and 15 cats I have volunteeringly rescued". Cunning plan I like to think.

But more importantly, when exactly was this going to happen? Well, at one point all hell was going to break loose at 6pm in your country of residence. I made a mental note to phone my cousins in Australia at 9am that morning to find out if they were being raptured and more importantly, what was the zombie contingency plan. Then it became 3pm globally. 3pm came and went and I was dismally sitting at my desk doing some work. Definitely not a fun or tarty way to go and since then I have decided not to spend so much time behind a computer and more time having fun and being tarty.  But clearly our clocks are not set to the same time as God's clocks because again, nothing happened. All downright boring if you ask me. Almost as boring as being in front of a computer. Which is why I am going home soon...

Anyway, for me the only Rapture I knew about before Thursday was the song by Siouxsie & the Banshees. Which of course was quite fitting in light of the fact that I was off to a goth party on the Saturday to celebrate World Goth Day. Again, how convenient that World Goth Day fell on the day we were all going to be sucked into the pitfire of hell. On top of that, the location was changed at the last minute and the thought crossed my mind for a second that this too was done on purpose. Perhaps the Voom Voom Club (previously Bang Bang Club - c'mon, how creative are these people?) was in fact a portal straight into Satan's chamber. Who knows, but I already had my game plan sorted. I was going to go in disguise as an angel and offer redemption to anyone who bought me a tequila. Turns out I couldn't find my wings (why does that not suprise me) and decided to go in camouflage instead. If I too was clad from head to toe in black like everyone else, then I would probably get missed when it was time for judgements to be handed out. Being short can have its advantages.

As it happens, I fitted in quite well and the only thing that was being handed out was tequila, hugs from friends and Black Milk stickers. The music rocked (old school, yay!) and the dj's put a lot of effort into making sure they included some songs suitable for the end of the world. Which never came of course. Unless it did and I was having too much fun to notice. Perhaps it did all happen and now I am wandering around in a world "of horror and chaos beyond description". I don't doubt that for a second actually. But the bright side is that all my pals are seemingly still here too. Which means we are going to have a bloody awesome time. Until 21 October that is. Apparently...

Postscript:

At the time of going to publication Mr Camping had told the Associated Press, May 21 had instead been a “spiritual” Judgment Day, which places the entire world under Christ’s judgment. He went on to tell the Associated Press that because God’s judgment and salvation were completed on Saturday, there’s no point in continuing to warn people about it, so his network will now just play Christian music and programs until the final end on Oct. 21.

Wonder if he would like a copy of the playlist from Saturday night? Bugger it, I am going to send him one. I'm probably in hell anyway...

Joining the joyride



Photo by Marisa Steyn

 At risk of showing my age, I am going to start off this blog like this … Back in the day we used to buy music on cassettes. Er, we also had walkmans and tape decks. Cassettes used to get chewed in tape decks, quite regularly. I remember cursing whilst pulling out reams of tiny brown tape out of the car cassette player. It would inevitably snap and you would repair it with sellotape. This resulted in the tape jumping at a certain point every time you played it. You soon got to know when it was going to do this and would apologise to any fellow passengers beforehand. Oh, and you had to physically rewind the chewed tape using either your finger or a ballpoint pen! Ah the days … but I digress… on with the story at hand.

One of the very first cassettes I ever bought was Look Sharp by Roxette. I absolutely loved it. I danced to it, sang along with it and I probably even cried to it. Or course it eventually got chewed. So imagine my suprise when I got offered a ticket to go to their concert. What! Roxette playing a gig! Unbelievable. I simply had to go. So with ticket in hand and a few bucks for a drink or two, I was suddenly on my way to Grand West Casino to see a bunch of Swedes who had shaped much of my youth. With great excitement I might add… teenage excitement.

The ticket said 8pm so I got there fashionably late at 8.10pm. All was quiet in the arena so naturally I headed straight to the bar. There I chatted to other fans, remarkably all my age and some more overweight than me. Some even had Roxette shirts from the concerts “back then” and a few had even got dressed up in 80′s gear. You gotta love us older set, always game to go the extra mile. Even if it requires us to haul out our bad 80′s wardrobe that we keep “just in case it comes back into fashion”. Anyway, just as I had acquired my first drink, the doors were flung open and along with it a resounding roar from the crowd. Then I heard it … “Dressed for Success”… Thinking this was the support band playing a joke I casually put my change away and thought of going for a ciggie before the show. Then it dawned on me that this was no cover, it was the headline act. The ticket said 8pm folks and they wern’t kidding. Old rockstars don’t keep you waiting because they don’t need to. They won you over years ago, along with a whole lot of chewed up cassettes.

What a rocking evening indeed. I am not ashamed to say that I loved it all (this also comes with age – you don’t need to dislike a band because everyone thinks they are crap, or the band is not deemed cool, or heaven-forbid they are too commercial). They played all their classics, some of which I had even forgotten. I jumped up and down and sang along to Dressed For Success, Joyride, How Do You Do!, Dangerous and She’s Got The Look. All my teenage angsts and broken hearts came flooding back when they played It Must’ve Been Love and Listen To Your Heart.

Marie Fredriksson and Per Gessle were sporting leathers and looked pretty good in them too considering they are older than me, gasp! Per still has that frog-leg thing going though. Some things from the 80′s need to stay there. Along with Roxette, probably. But good for them, they are still rocking it and judging by the crowd, have quite the fan base. Perhaps some of the youngsters there were dragged along by their parents, but none of them seemed to be complaining.

The Swedes did two encores and finally retired for the evening at about 10.30pm. Two hours of entertainment by an aging rock band is pretty good going! Ok, I will admit there were times when I did feel a little old, especially during some of the slow songs. The ones I didn’t know that is. I found myself thinking “Gosh, some popcorn would be nice now”. I also got highly peeved to find the bar had closed mid-concert. Who in their right mind closes a bar during a concert?? Talk about drunken crowd control. It was probably the most sober concert I have ever had. But it was also one of the most fun. Here’s to you Roxette … long live your joyride!

Oh, just to finish off, I just have to leave you with some pearls of songwriting wisdom from the Swedes:

• “I hit the road out of nowhere, I had to jump in my car. And be a rider in a love game, following the stars.” – Joyride
• “I’m gonna get dressed for success, shaping me up for the big time, baby.” – Dressed for Success
• “Make believing we’re together. That I’m sheltered by your heart. But in and outside I turn to water, like a teardrop in your palm.” – It Must’ve Been Love
• “You know she’s a little bit dangerous. She’s got what it takes to make ends meet.” – Dangerous
• “I ran a long long way from home to find a heart that’s made of stone.” – Fading Like a Flower
• “Well, here we are crackin’ jokes in the corner of our mouths and I feel like I’m laughing in a dream.” – How Do You Do!
• “Never was a quitter, tasty like a raindrop, she’s got the look.” – The Look

Go on … admit it. You are humming one of those tunes. Yes you are!!

A rotten little tale of foxes, papsaks and gangrene

I should have known better. Those weekends that you think will be quiet and focussed, with perhaps one small outing to keep you from climbing the walls with tequila-deprived anxiety, very seldom turn out that way. Not for me anyway ...

Friday work drinks was welcomed with open arms as thanks to numerous public holidays we hadn't had one for ages. I reckon if they had've cancelled it again, there would have been mutiny. But they knew better and no-one was scampering down to the "free drinks bar" faster than yours truly. A few drinks later and I was whole-heartedly agreeing to go to the Red Ox for a tequila. Then I went half way across the country to Milnerton and had a fat party with The Tonester, Reckless Freckles and a dude who used to be a heroin addict. We had an absolute blast and at some point were joined by The Swede and The Zulu. Friday ended for me when birds across the land were waking from their good night's sleep and about to start their day.

The next day I checked my phone and it turns out I was sending text messages that went something like this:

8.20pm: "Wassuuup! Am at Red Fox. I am the red fox. No. I am the fox."
8.30pm: "Ooops. Turns out I am at the Red Ox. Which makes me an ox. Pfft. I prefer fox."
10.05pm: "Sometimes you think wtf? And then you just go with it."
10.30pm: "Mumford. They even on DMX. Like Jesus n Christ."

In future will someone please take my phone away from me the minute I hit my first Savanna. If you miss that boat, wrestle it from me after the first tequila.

Most of Saturday was naturally spent in bed recovering, apart from a small visit for tea by Vuvuzella. Who was also feeling a tad rough after having a party at Mom Friend's house the night before. A party I was supposed to be at. Ooops! But seemingly I was not missed too much and they still had some gin left over the next day (which of course would not have been the case if I was there). Sometimes it pays not to have me at your parties.

Then it was off to the rugby at Newlands which I was extremely excited about. Not only was I going to my very first big "sold out" match, I was also going to be watching some fine young men from New Zealand running around the field sporting tattoos and hot bods. It was a bit disappointing that Dan Carter was not going to be making an appearance, but Sonny Bill was a fine replacement for the day. First stop was the beer tent where I had a much needed stabliser and then into the stadium we filed. We had the R50 standing tickets (that's what happens when you leave it to the last minute) and seemingly so did half the nation. But we managed to get inside in good time and found an excellent spot. We could see the field clearly and The Crusaders were warming up right in front of me. Not bad for the cheap seats! The teams ran on and within minutes my team scored their first try. Right in front of me. Bonus! I was delirious... the rest of the Stormers-supporting stand was not so delirious. Anyhoo, this sounds like a fairytale doesn't it. All sweet, civilised and mushy. Except it turns into a rotten little Grimms fairytale quite smartly.

About 15 minutes into the game, there was much pushing and shoving and before anyone (except me) could say "WP jou lekker ding", we were surrounded by the Papsak and Gangrene Brigade. It seems the seats were so cheap that even the bergies could afford them. Or perhaps they just let them in, who knows. What I do know is that apart from reeking of the week's wine intake, the one with a bandage on his foot is going to lose that foot by the end of the week. The smell of rotting flesh (told you, grimmmmm) was enough to have me almost gagging and I even saw his pals wrinkle their noses occassionally. It also turned out that the P&G Brigade were staunch Stormers fans and after their arrival their team scored a few points ... so there was much clapping and hugging and singing and waving of flags. They also decided to involve everyone else in the celebration. Including me.

Ten minutes before half time we decided that gangrene feet and stale wine make for bad rugby viewing and went to the beer tent. On the way out we were told that there were no pass outs. Considering we had almost passed out there was no bloody way we would be going back. But the beer tent was a rocking affair where you didn't have to queue for beer and you could get boerie rolls and pizza's for supper. There were big screens so I could really feast my eyes on Sonny Bill up close and we even had a Stormers slut doing a striptease. All very entertaining and worth the R50 ticket... which we needn't have even had.

I had a grand time at the rugby and will always be able to say that I got poked by a Stormers flag and got hugged by bergies at my very first big game! Just a pity I never managed to get us all on telly ...

All men are dogs ...

... is actually a lie and merely wishful thinking on men's behalf. In fact, it is an insult to dogs to be compared to men in many ways. I would know, I have two dogs and have had quite a few men! I had to laugh the other day when TDB met Tino (aka The Slipper) when we went visiting Monster and said "So, is this your man?". No, Tino is not my man. He is my dog and nothing like a man.

Here are some reasons I can think of offhand why men are not anything like dogs. 

1. Dogs can lick their own balls
I can safely bet every man out there has tried. And failed. Which of course is is why they require us to do it for them. As frequently as possible.

2. Dogs don't care what time you come home
They always happy to see you. Even if you have been gone for five minutes and especially if you have been out all night.

3. Dogs don't care if you smell of booze and cigarettes when you do get home
In fact quite the opposite. The more you klunk, the more interesting you become. They also don't care if you fling open the front door, trip over the mat onto them and then make them "dance" with you in the lounge. 

4. Dogs love going outdoors with you anytime
It doesn't matter if it's windy or threatening with rain and there's rugby or footie on telly. They also don't mind being on a leash.

5. Dogs are happy eating whatever you give them
Scraps from your plate are even considered a treat and they are content to eat the same thing every day. Dinner is also acceptable any time from 7pm to 4am. 

6. Dogs don't have a problem expressing affection
Even in public. Anywhere will do. They love you and they let you know. And nothing says I love you more than a great big lick on the face. Except if a man did it, it could be considered a little icky. 

7. Dogs miss you when you are gone
Dogs don't run around to all their mates talking of "pink slips" and how they going to drink as much booze and watch as much porn as they can while you are away. They sit quietly and wait expectantly for your return, whilst licking their balls. 

8. Dogs don't play games with you -unless it is a game of "fetch"
And we are not talking about "fetch me a beer" while the game is on. They also don't laugh at how you throw the ball.

9. The worst you get from a dog is fleas or worms
Ok, you could get rabies. But then men can also make us rabid.

10. Dogs love to sleep right next to you
The closer the better, especially when it's cold. Dogs love cuddling. And they don't steal the duvet. Or put cold feet on you in winter. OK, I do admit some snore and many fart. But they don't fart and force your head under the covers. They also easier to kick out of the bed if they do fart.

11. Dogs don't care if you are overweight
In fact they don't care if you are fat or thin, blonde or ginger, have pimples or wrinkles. They also don't complain if you have PMS or a headache.

12. Dogs don't mind if you cry
Crying doesn't have dogs running for the door or feeling uncomfortable. They tend to snuggle in close, letting you know that everything will in fact, be OK. Even if you are being silly and over-sensitive and especially if you are crying over a man.

13. The only time dogs like bitches is when they are on heat
Men love bitches. All the time. Anytime.

14. Dogs don't mind your driving
No complaining about your poor driving skills or the fact that you have taken the long way round. They just love the fact they going for a drive somewhere. Anywhere. In the back seat.

15. Dogs are only around for an average of 15 years
If you marry a man, you could have the old bastard around for a lot longer and he won't be nearly as endearing when he's all tatty and smelly.

And now that we have that cleared up ....

Why men would LIKE to be like dogs

1. They could lick their own balls.
2. Humping anything would be acceptable.
3. Sniffing someone's crotch as a greeting would be standard behaviour.
4. Disliking cats would be the norm.

Simply put, men would like to be dogs because it means they could shag everyone, pee wherever they feel like, get fed without having to cook and spend most of the day sleeping.

Quite frankly even I want to be a dog in my next life! But right now, I shall enjoy spending time with my dogs. Although I have to admit that spending time with a man would be cool too... but he must like dogs, because I can bet his non-wagging hairy arse that he will be nothing like one.

"The more I see of men, the more I admire dogs." - Jeanne-Marie Roland

Sowing the Seeds ... of mayhem ...

8.00am
Wake up with dog breath in my face and eager dog thinking it is a perfect time for a walk. Look at clock and realise I have overslept and should actually be driving to Gordon's Bay.

8.30am
Hit the road with a cup of tea - nothing gets in the way of my morning cuppa. Dog gives disdainful look as I shoot out the door.

8.40am
Tea falls over on passenger seat. On the cigarette box. Realise the day is probably going to go pear.

9.30am
Get to Vuvuzella's house. She is still eating breakfast. I sort through the cigarette box trying to salvage non-tea-covered fags.

9.40am
Hit road back to Cape Town. Vuvuzella burps up said breakfast. Had the smell of bananas all the way back to the Mother City.

10.15am
Decide that I HAVE to get more milk and tea from shop. Worst decision of day.

10.45am
Back at my house to pack for day out. Sunblock, hat, jersey, camera, blanket, water and a hipflask of tequila.

11.00am
Head to the Cape Town station. Pass a dog with an afro and swear at incompetent drivers on road. Especially those adhering to the speed limit.

11.15am
Arrive at station to find entrance to parking closed off. Go long way round.

11.18am
Run through the station in an attempt to catch the 11.20am Daisy Train. Naturally it is leaving from platform 2 and we are at platform 25. Try not to skid on slippery floors. Vuvuzella had damaged her knees the day before so I run/slide ahead shouting "I will hold the train". Because I'm important like that.

11.19am
Arrive at platform 2 to see the party train leave. Suddenly feel most unimportant.

11.25am
Frantic phonecall to The Porksta to see if he can fetch us from Simonstown station. He can.. he rocks!

11.30am
Head outside station and congregate with Vuvuzella and Bob (who also missed the train).

11.35am
Hit the tequila and get acquainted with Bob. Most impressed to hear he has "heard about the infamous Tequila Tart". We are soon joined by Jesus from the Congo who advises us that people have "lost their human".

12.05pm
Board the Simonstown bound train. No free booze trolley on this train. But we did have music. Two sets of blind serenaders.

12.20pm
Finish remainder of tequila with Bob and Vuvuzella. Mixed with quava juice. Tequila Guava.. could be a new drink.

1.05pm
Catch lift with The Porksta and Cookie Man to Scarborough. There were kids everywhere. Vuvuzella was on my lap and I had a baby carseat wedged up my arse.

1.30pm
Arrive at Cape Farmhouse in the howling wind.

1.40pm
Get food and booze vouchers and have our first beer! Yay!!

2.00pm
Go check out the food section. Most impressive. We try a butternut samoosa for starters. Yum!

2.15pm
Time for a tequila.


2.30pm
Time to check out some bands. Jeremy Loops was a firm favourite and Hot Water rocked.

4.00pm
Discover the double vodka and red bull stand.

4.30pm
Boerewors roll is the way to go!

5.00pm
Go get our photos taken in the Airwaves Extreme booth. Epic fail or epic hilarity, depending on how you look at it.


6.00pm
Realise we are not going to get the photo thing right so grab a handful of free chewing gums and head back to main tent which involved clambering over small walls and dodging clumps of fynbos.


6.30pm
Manage to weave (er shove) our way through the crowds to get up front for aKing gig.

7.00pm
Try dispose of sticky chewing gum in empty Hunters bottle. Gum gets stuck to fingers, in hair and on bottle. Make a mental note not to buy that gum. Ever.

7.45pm
Acquire a TITS sticker. Which I proudly stamp inbetween my, er, tits.

8.00pm
Time for another tequila. Bump into Bob who barely recognises us, but buys us a tequila. Bless Bob!

8.15pm
Get a tea-time treat from Cookie Man. Sans the tea.

9.00pm
Thanks to the tea-time treat, drum and base* has never sounded this good.

9.30pm
Feeling hungry. Spend last part of voucher on a lamb pita. The best thing we ate all day.

9.45pm
Get on the bus for us. There is NO way we are missing the train. No sign of Bob.

10.20pm
Bus eventually leaves. It dawns on us that we have spent all our money and we may have to crash through the booms at the station.

10.45pm
Get on the train. Most disappointed at lack of free booze that was promised and concerned at the amount of police officers. They constantly stalk me. It is starting to become a problem.

11.30pm
The car guard is being difficult. He wants R60 and is refusing to lift the boom. I cannot find my parking ticket and have R10.

11.35pm
Bribe car guard with the R10 and he allows us through. Wave at the disgruntled festival-goers behind us and leave. Damn I love being a tart! And music festivals...

* Although I love music, clearly my knowledge is utterly crap. BASS people .. my apologies. And apologies to the person who pointed this error out - especially as I thought you were a BASS player! Another error on my behalf... Yikes...