Friday Ramble 21/04/2006

Welcome to the worst ramble ever.

They say you are what you drive. I’m not sure exactly who ‘they’ is but no matter. I guess I am a little bit like my car: well-worn, not taken care of as well as it should, has a few problems, but it gets the job done (I was going to throw in ‘all the petrol attendants ask how much it’s selling for’ but…). Anyway, I discovered this Easter weekend that I’m like another of my belongings: my cellphone. Like my car, it’s got no bells and whistles but it fulfils it’s primary function. The most glaring similarity though is it’s battery life. If you charge it for a little bit, it shows ‘battery full’ but within a day it needs to be recharged substantially again. So you stick it in for another little bit before it shows ‘battery full’ again. The process can be repeated for a few day before the battery is truly worn and really needs a good few hours of charging before it’s good to use again. At 7 o’clock on Easter Sunday I realised that I am exactly like my phone.

Easter Rock fest was nice.
Hellphones. Rocked.
New Academics. Very cool, check them out.
Zen Arcade. The frontman has an awesome sound.
Finkelsteins. Always good for a laugh and some jump up and down music.
Watching Prime Circle was about as exciting as standing in a bank queue. It’s really painful for me to watch the bassist wearing groot bril and tight pant and pretending he is a rock god. I especially dig it when he strikes the pose with one foot an amp and thrusts his groin to the adoring masses. Iggy Pop watch your back. Backstreet Boys were more rock than you in that 80s hair-band rip-off video buddy. But local is lekker I guess…yeah…yee ha…wooooo…or whatever.
Parlotones were a bit disappointing to be honest.
Fuzigish, guys, you had me at hello. They are the support band for Lagwagon – Bassline, June 21, R160, book your tickets now.

On they way back, a day of drinking in the sun starting taking its toll on me. We suiped some Bear and Coke for good measure. Scal was driving and I was the only one who knew where we were. So I decided to be a smartarse and annoy young Scal by taking him on a detour. About a minute later I was completely lost. Hee hee hee. Sorry dude.

Later on that very evening a fuckwit called David Falcon-something or other tried to kill me by slamming on brakes because he felt someone was driving up his arse. As the car behind flashed past my shoulder I think I left him a little present in his backseat. Assil. If you damage this beautiful visage I will have to go all Sicilian on you.

Knappy completely fucked up my universe. Let me tell you how: I told him I wanted to get some photos from him. The next day I got an email from him asking me to view his photos at some or other stupid website. I duly went there. They wanted me to sign in and become a member. No sweat, just another fucking company trying to extract and sell my personal details to the banks and real estate agencies and corporates. I absent-mindedly clicked through the registration process. BAM!!!! Next thing I knew I had clicked some button that emailed a request for people to view my photos to my ENTIRE address book. If you aren’t familiar with gmail, it automatically saves anyone to whom you have sent an email in your address book. I HAVE OVER 500 ADDRESSES IN THAT DAMN THING. Recruiting agencies, work contacts, prospective employers, the annoying secretary I worked with last year, porn subscriptions, mail order bride correspondences, etc. They are all there. Not to mention my ‘never fear’ attitude when it comes to reply all-ing those huge group emails. I have so far received over 200 emails in return for that little lapse in concentration. The scary thing is how many random people want to join my photo group. But who wouldn’t want to look at a photo of handsome me? Knaps, thanks buddy, you fucked up my universe.

I can’t stay mad at you guy, especially when you turn me on to Sufjan Stevens. Check it out. Very cool.

Shot to Smythers for this little contribution:
What is Jen looking at?




I like to quickly slip in a GUUUUNNNNNNERS and then I’ll be out of your way.

Dan got arrested for two hours because there was a warrant for his arrest due to an unpaid traffic fine. After two hours they realised that there actually wasn’t a an actual warrant per se; only an unpaid fine. Ha ha. Stupid pigs.

FOUND: 1 x Sheep. Got an email from the elusive character. He still loves me. Sigh.

A found the most awesome program on BBC Prime: Grumpy Old Men. It is hilarious. Basically, they pick a topic (the one I saw was ‘The Media’) and then interview a range of older guys who are well-known for one reason or another and let them ramble on. They are so cynical it is ridiculous. I was in a very happy place.

TODAY’S FORECAST

SMYTHERS: Sunny and mild.
DAN: Cloudy.
HOBBO: 95% chance of gay.
KNAPS: Fagg Foggy
ZULU: My member am black. As Black as night. It are an ebony rhythm stick. Heavy cloud.
JIMMY 12”: Herpes.
WILLIAM: A delightful little ensemble: Striped pink shirt by House of Camisa; White suit by Boss; Fabiana Tie; Kurt Geiger at Spitz belt; Sunglasses by D&G. Underwear by Princess Tam-Tam.
RUM: Will lie in bed until 14:00 nursing a hangover, snapping like a PMS-ey little girl at anyone who comes near him. Then he will rise and go for a jog. After a shower he will make his way down to campus to take a tutorial. On his way back he will stand at the St. Andrews Prep fence for about…45 seconds. And then it’s time for the pub.

Thanks to Labs for the Danko Jones. Check it out too. Very cool.

If you wanna learn to play the blues,
Get yourself a woman.
[nice little guitar riff].

A snippet of a conversation I had with my [dirty] Old Man over dinner:
(The topic of lip rings on girls had somehow come up)
Me: I’m not really a fan to be honest.
Him: Nor am I. On either pair. But at least the other one is not so obtrusive.
At that point I became bulimic.

My good friend Karel spent the entirety of his 5 years at Rhodes building a legend. He was Karel (Ali G as he was known around those parts), the guy who would do anything, drink everything and then sleep with your girlfriend (the legend of Ali “tripod” G was well known in the female community). If someone did something insane, he made a point of going one better. [Truth time: he and I once kissed to prove to some UCT students that Rhodents had no laws. I don’t think Karel even remembers it because it ranks so low on his list. I on the other hand, wake up in cold sweats, screaming “Brokebaaaaack”.] When a girl he was sort of seeing tried to make him jealous by telling him she really liked one of his digsmates, he responded by going back to digs and saying, “dude, you’re in there”. Our hero very seldom had clothes on (why would you when you are the tripod?). The legend of Karel starting growing to mythic proportions. When his name was spoken people would kind of laugh and shake their heads. “That Karel chap. Ha. He’s mad.” More recently, he has become a prolific forwarder of emails. And they are filthy. Some of them were even too disturbing for me to tug to. And…then he got a girlfriend and sent this little gem:

This is why men have dogs!!!


And just like that, the legend, the myth, the legacy, and dare I say – the man was destroyed. A reply email from one of his mates was too good not to publish:

Some of you I know and others I don't, but the one thing we all have in common
is that we all know Ali "pass the crackling" G.

Acquaintances aside I
write this to you in order to say: Our friend Ali...has changed.

From
the boozing, pissing, cursing, obnoxious Ali we have all come to love, comes
this moment of nauseating sensitivity. Could it be true??? Has our little Ali G
grown up??? For the sake of fun and friendship I certainly hope not.

A
man I came to regard as a hero of the anti-feminist movement has fallen so far
into the grips of love that we are unable to save this soldier of the night,
this Hercules amidst mere mortals!!

Ali I say these things to help you
lose the rails once more. Throw away the compass of love and come back to us...I
beg you. I look forward to joining you on the deck of your yacht one day as we
pop open an imported bottle of Autumn Harvest (The Bomb Edition of course) and
laugh about this little kink in your previously impenetrable armour.

In his defence, I will say that the man rules do state that it is OK for a man to cry in a movie when a brave dog dies to save its owner. And this is sort of on that track. Sort of. A little. Maybe. Just a bit.

Chopper. At the end of his emails, his signature is ‘Department of Awesome’. You are one of a kind man. And to think I almost killed you at Monkey Puzzle that night. I’m so much strongerererer and manly than you.

I bid you good day.

Love, kisses, Zulu's ebony rhythm stick and Hobbo’s mangina
Jamo