Saturday, June 27

not about life

christ i hate adverts. well, actually, its a love/hate relationship.

i love them because SA ads are generally clever and funny and so LOCAL. and i hate them because they're so good at twisting life into misguided priorities.

between sleep, eat, work, sleep eat work sleepeatworksleepetwrk slpetwk, spetk for short then, i managed to catch just THE most fucked up advert. it's the new plascon ad (plascon is a paint company for all you not SA types).

check it out here

for those of you who don't want to bother with the download, this is the basic outline of the ad (thank you marketingweb).

Shot in Cape Town, the spot depicts the life of a young couple who have allowed themselves to neglect their relationship and their home. At night, while they sleep in front of the TV, their alter egos leave them and embark on an urban adventure that brings out their inner child. (let me just interject here and point how lovely this's so lovely i almost cried. but then again i cry at just about everything. i'm sentimental that way. they're just so happy out and about, rediscovering themselves, playing together, loving together away from the evil that is The Couch In Front Of The TV...BUT THEN...) Their ghostly selves encounter a window display on the way that has an uncanny resemblance to their apartment and demonstrates how a little paint and a little d├ęcor care can make all the difference to your life. (another interjection. here they MARVEL at the wall colour, looking LOVINGLY at the COUCH as if they're just remembered their real priorities...yes, yes, that 'outside over there' doing stuff together was fun while it lasted but LOOK, it's Shangr-La in baby-blue and coricraft feel. the 'alter egos' go back to their sleeping bodies with a clear plan. the guy wakes up first to find a COLOUR SAMPLE in his hands) The ad concludes with the simple question "Are you secretly yearning for change?"


i agree that a little colour to your walls can make the WORLD of difference to the likihood of a happy disposition.

but shit.

will our crappy lives, anemic personalities and strung-out relationships be better because of a coat of paint? actually. come to think about it, when it comes to what most everythings about lately, veneer IS about the sum of it.

Friday, June 26

who's bad

in 1987 michael jackson released a cd that would define the last three years of my primary school career. it was bad. in both cases. but in the case of school, like bad-ASS bad. we were so cool.

just to refresh your memory in case you forgot...
bad by michael jackson (abbr.)

Your butt is mine
Gonna tell you right
Just show your face
In broad daylight
I'm telling you
On how I feel
Gonna hurt your mind
Don't shoot to kill
Come on,
Well they say the sky's the limit
And to me that's really true
But my friend you have seen nothin'
Just wait 'till I get through

Because I'm bad, I'm bad - come on
(Bad bad - really, really bad)
You know I'm bad, I'm bad - you know it
(Bad bad - really, really bad)
and then the video just to be sure you got it.

badASS, muthafucka. we were 11 and totally coming into our own. skinny jacqui had a hellish crush on jacko. which was a big deal seeing as we were in pre-1994 SA and he was Not A White Man. though she was always a little preemptive.


While she was filling flip files with his pictures i was just listening to Bad over and over again. i was filling folders with pics of johnny depp. 21 jump street was on and i was positively blown away by his coolness. the force of it was practically unbearable.

fuck you betty sue. oh wait. that's his mum.

but anyway. back to jacko. so all the news of his death today made me revisit my first true obsession with an album.

by far my most rocking songs on that album were, the way you make(a) me feel, man in the mirror (shit it was deep. i think i really started understanding life then, you know...[check tutu rock out in the audience]) and then, of course, i just can't stop loving you.

damn. they're still cool.

of course, he was a very talented musician with a very fucked up life and, i'm convinced, a deep desire to be a woman. the jokes that have gone out have been awful. but nevertheless, here is the funniest one (and i only post this as a result of my deep dislike for david caruso).

sorry MJ - it's more to rip off the caruso kid than you.

anyway, you weird little man. RIP and all that. hope you come out normal in your next life.

Tuesday, June 23

The F word

Dorothy Black faked her first orgasm the other day. Read why she did it, and why she won't do it again...
You know, there are some memorable firsts in my life. My first real kiss, my first skinny dip, my first buttered popcorn Jelly Belly and my first bone fide faked orgasm.

Now, some women are pros at the big F and get stuck in a rut of performance sex every time they drop their panties, but for me, faking a full-blown orgasm had never been an option.

Until the other night.

would love to delve into this topic a little more but on deadline. some good news though is that i might have landed a gig with MH. hurrah!

Wednesday, June 17




schadenfreude: n largely unanticipated delight in the suffering of another which is cognized as trivial and/or appropriate

although i love my car, i mostly love my scooter more in rush hour cape town traffic. because, seriously, capetonians can be fucking stupid. i mean look at the gridlock above. that might be shanghai but it could be buitengraght on a rainy day. the only difference between the shanghai image and any intersection in the city centre of the cape is that we have TRAFFIC LIGHTS.

moreover, instead of following the easy-to-understand colour codes of red, amber and green, that would prevent much rush-hour suffering, capetonians also seem incapable of deductive logic.

no space for car on the other side of the road + amber light = blocking way of traffic flow = gridlock

with my scooter i laugh in the face of this sort of retard behaviour. I thrill with delight as i work my way around the morons who have successfully gridlocked themselves.

morons. i love them. they make me smile.

Wednesday, June 10

The birds and the birds

Boys who like girls who like girls who like boys? Dorothy Black's all about fluid sexuality...
I kissed my first girl when I was 18. Well, like most kids, I did my own measure of fooling around with my friends when I was younger, but up until then I hadn't actually kissed a girl like I would kiss a guy. Read more...

Monday, June 8

postsecret pics of the week

i never trust people that hanker for the days of yore 'when things were simpler'.

though, i'm sure they were. in one way...

your kitchen help sure never stole from you

daddy could go hunt a tiger skin for you without all the pesky bad publicity

if that bratty little poor kid in the cotton fields bothered you, you could just set him to work in daddy's mill

and then, of course, the industrial revolution, where we learnt how to rape and pillage the earth even quicker to make a buck

those sure were the good old days. i'm so glad they had nothing to do with the crap we find ourselves in today and weren't the first stepping stones on the path to our eventual and inevitable self-destruction.

and speaking of which. i watched the day the earth stood still circa 2008.

what i loved about it the most (barring kif nanobots and glowing sheres) was that jennifer connely is finally looking at least thirty! YAY! she's joined the rest of humanity on the aging thing. i mean, shit, she's looked 18 for, like, the last 50 years and it was uncanny and wierd and was starting to make feel uncomfortable with her pitch of being fully human.

sarah got lost in the labyrinth and came out a little...different

wierd. anyway. here's the second postsecret with a subtext i found interesting.

its odd. once you realise that the universe does not revolve around you and that shit happens and that its not personally aimed at you and that god doesn't actually hate you and that human rights are a social construct, it all becomes a little easier to swallow.

Thursday, June 4


this is by far the coolest LARK song. this was the lark gig i went to that inge was lovely at. thanks for posting dudes. was radical.

if you don't like looking at some weird half cut-off screen, go here.

be gone foul boyle

Two years ago, a quiet, shy, not very well kept little man from bristol wowed audiences with an outstanding performance of a pitch-perfect nessun dorma on britian's got problems talent. paul potts. go here to see his first performance on that strange programme and i defy you not to cry a little river. he stole hearts, won the competition and cleaned up good.

we hate ugly people. so potts got a makeover.

but now there's boyle. or at least there was boyle. a nobody that had a unibrow and couldn't sing for shit, made famous cos we all need a success story every three years or so.

I'M A SUPERSTAR! oh. wait.

watch this now (after the paul potts thing) and tell me this whole boyle issue wasn't just a whole makeover wet dream wannabe for the producers - she's got nothing on potts. NOTHING.

personally i like success stories involving people that have some talent to begin with, whether it's a raw talent like being able to sing or play the stock exchange like a demon, or an acquired talent like eating 38 eggs in a row.

and when that success doesn't happen for people that deserve it, i'm all for breakdowns and general unhappiness.

however. we're been slavishly following boyle's breakdown because of a huge non-success, because she sucked and the world judged her for it. boohoo. go home. this meme is DONE with.

(but before we do away with it completely read chris mc's column on her here. funny.)

Monday, June 1

postsecret pic of the week

i'd rather have sex in a museum than look at art or people.

for some bizarre reason - which i am almost positive has no psychological kick-back to anything in my childhood - i find museums and galleries an incredible turn on. At least when ambling through said establishments with an amenable partner.

but not the modern galleries and museums mind. no no. i like the old, crotchety ones with dark little corners and odd rooms with low ceilings and surprise stairwells...oh. wait. that's starting to sound like some jungian metaphor. shit.