They're Tapping All The Wires, But It Looks Like They're Tapping Their Feet

Unicorn has a new home!

2010-11-07T20:22:00.002+02:00

Dear friends and lovers,

The time has come. I have finally registered my own domain! So, instead of reading about my exciting adventures here, please head over to www.lizekay.co.za. It's pretty, and a whole lot more work is going to be put into it to keep you always informed and entertained.

Enjoy!

xo xo

And So It Begins...

2010-10-26T13:54:00.003+02:00

I am 22 years old. Though I am still studying, I also have a fulltime job, as well as a freelance job. I also have other grown-up things, like a gym membership, eye cream and a savings plan. Oh, and I own a house. But this whole adulthood thing can be pretty daunting at times! Things happen that make you realise that school is nothing more than a distant memory of when we were skinnier and played team sports.

One of these things has just happened. The first girl from the St Anne's class of 2006 has gotten engaged! Don't get me wrong, she's beyond lovely and from what I hear he's the perfect guy. It's just... scary. Because from now on every week will hold new engagement announcements and invites to kitchen teas and baby showers. On that note, there are already TWO class of 2006 babies that have been... had. [I was going to say spawned, but it seems a bit harsh.]

So, I guess that leaves just one thing to do:

Hello, rest of my life. Please treat me well. Ta.

Future Wedding Unicorn.

PS. If you're planning on having your 'special day' soon, check out this amazing competition on Kim Gray's blog here. She was the very worthy winner of the 2010 SA Blog Awards Best Fashion Blog.

The Social Network

2010-10-26T08:05:00.003+02:00

Last night we [me, The Ministress of Snark and Irish] checked out a ‘special’ screening of The Social Network at Ster Kinekor in Sandton City, thanks to Seth over at 2oceansvibe. After having already taken America by storm, the film only releases next Friday in South Africa. But is well worth seeing, even if you think there are too many spoiler alerts out there. Not to ruin it for you, but there’s this guy, right? And he invents Facebook…

Jesse Eisenberg is a class actor who pulls the role of Facebook-founder Mark Zuckerberg very well. Zuckerberg is portrayed as a socially inept whizz kid who borders on sociopathic when it comes to ambition and anyone or anything that might just stand in his way.

The movie has no single, mammoth climax. But despite this it remains interesting throughout and you’ll learn a lot you never knew about Facebook and how it got to where it is today. It is funny at times without trying too hard, and dramatic in small details and mumbled lines. The Social Network shows the dark side of many things: of money, of power, of ambition and of the revolution of digital social media. Ideas get stolen, people get screwed over, friends become enemies and pub nights are replaced by supermodels and multi-million dollar lawsuits. It’s thrilling, and I did not walk out hating Zuckerberg. Rather, I walked out inspired by the drive some people have, and also, in a sense, slightly frightened by it. Money and power are dangerous little monsters, it appears. And as we all move into a sphere where we live in-, on- and through this thing we call the internet, do remember: you may be living the digital revolution, but sometimes the hangover you get from it is a very real one.

Shot, Seth, You're cool.

Play the #TwitterThesis Game With Me!

2010-10-21T08:07:00.003+02:00

Hello, friends

As some of you know, I am currently in the throes of writing my thesis. It's about social media, specifically Twitter and I have chosen to do it about Twitter, through Twitter and to publish some of it on Twitter, in order to demonstrate the function and power of this social medium thingy [don't worry, I don't say 'thingy' in my thesis.] It is pretty interesting, covering topics from computer-mediated community formation, so Twitter and the law, Twitter and politics, new media vs old media and much more.

For this purpose I have started a hashtag: #TwitterThesis. So now anyone who wants to participate can use this hashtag. [By the way, if you don't have a clue what I'm talking about because you don't "get" Twitter, get off my blog, or get on Twitter. Okay I'm kidding about the first part. You can carry on reading, but it really will not mean much to you.]

So, on Saturday I have to present my #TwitterThesis to a room full of suits who are old and oozing academicalness [yet another term not used in my #TwitterThesis]. Now, they expect us to do a Powerpoint presentation, or use the overhead projector, or print handouts, anything along those lines. But rather than participate in these archaic time- and/or paper-wasting methods, I am doing something different.

In front of me I will have my laptop, connected to the Internet. I will have my Twitter page open and in the few minutes before I start talking I will be doing updates for all to see. Stuff like, for example:

Okay, about to present my #TwitterThesis. Wish me luck!
Remember to play the #TwitterThesis game in the next few minutes as I present it to 'The Board'.
Also, guys, please no weird sex references and such when using #TwitterThesis, please. This is serious. [@BarryTuck I'm looking at you.]
Ready to give some thoughts on #TwitterThesis? Aaaaand go! All updates will show up on the screen for 'The Board' to see.

And as I present the #TwitterThesis, I will hit refresh every now and then on the #TwitterThesis hashtag search page. See, this will demonstrate the function of the hashtag, shed some light on the processes I have used in order to do this #TwitterThesis through Twitter, and it will demonstrate the power of Twitter, overall proving the point of the #TwitterThesis.

So, if you are on Twitter and you do follow me [if you don't, please do], please play along. The presentation will only be about 15 minutes long, but for those 15 minutes I need you to please bombard me with opinions on Twitter as a new, digital, social medium with the power to do many many things.

Will you play along, please?

Mont Blanc John Lennon Event

2010-10-14T07:30:00.009+02:00

On Tuesday I went to the launch of the Mont Blanc range that celebrated John Lennon's life, as he would have turned 70 last Saturday. The first thing I can say is I want one of those pens! Maybe not the one going for about R200 000, but definitely one of them.

The event was held at the Sandton Sun, which is a dazzling venue! Did you know that they have one of the only three 'genuine' [read: amazingly awesome] concierges in South Africa? The other one, of course, being Official Concierge of Lizeland. We were on the San Deck, which comes highly recommended for fancy events, a romantic dinner or just drinks with friends.

Now, unfortunately we did not get gift bags with John Lennon pens in them [although that would SO have been the case in Lizeland], but we did have a comprehensive 'tour' of all of the pens. Very impressive stuff, I must say! Details such as Tanzanites and Sapphires for his iconic glasses, to a self portrait of him engraved on the pen, peace signs and important dates. It's a stunning range, and well worth the money if you love pens and/or John Lennon.

Arno Carstens played a few songs, including his own rendition of Imagine, which was beautifully done. Carstens has been in the UK for a few years now, and despite landing exciting gigs such as playing for Yoko Ono's fundraiser, he says that South Africa will always be his number one. Of course.

I was a bit surprised by people walking out during the band's performance, but I could understand everyone leaving straight afterwards. Much as it was a great venue and a wonderful commemoration, it was not the most exciting event i have ever attended. Jeremy Mansfield's excited claim that 'the party only starts now' was clearly false. By the time the clock struck nine most people had already left. But overall the event was well planned and the choice of venue was excellent.

PS. If any of you happen to run into my parents between now and Christmas, kindly mention to them that their wonderful daughter would just LOVE one of these [the pens, not the hotel.]

More Crazed Fans

2010-10-13T08:27:00.003+02:00

Follow yesterday's post about the war on Justin Beaver haters, I simply had to share this with you. It is amazing. This time it's a Britney Spears fan who's angry about everyone being mean to her.

The best part? I think that's a GUY! [Can't be sure, though. It's all very confusing.]

Thanks, Rick Bosch, for sharing.

Beware The Bieb Army

2010-10-12T11:48:00.002+02:00

I just had to share this with y'all. This kid [he's 14, by the way, and is still wearing braces] has declared war on all Justin Bieber haters. He sounds pretty serious. So, if you are a Justin Bieber haydurr or 'metal-loving f*ckhead' [hey, don't look at me, HE said it], careful. Tiny Bieb's army might kill you in your sleep.

Please watch the video below and enjoy rolling on the floor laughing your arse off [that's ROTFLMAO] with me.

Life's Just a Bowl of Cherries

2010-10-12T08:00:00.012+02:00

've been pretty busy, what with this whole Thesis thing hanging over my head. That, and working a fulltime job, and having to write a play, and do another research assignment and give another presentation [all for Honours], all within the next month. It's hectic. Plus I've just discovered Scrubs and that is also taking up much of my time. So I haven't had much time for blogging, and this post is not particularly exciting. Sorry.

Last weekend we went bowling. I think I went bowling once when I was about 15, but I can't even remember it so it doesn't really count. It was for Betty 'La Piep''s birthday [that nickname is a whole blogpost on its own]. And it was fun. We made up nicknames for all of us [I was, of course, Unicorn]. I did not suck and we had a great time cheering one another on. Someone baked cupcakes, which immediately puts this day on the 'Best Day Ever in Lizeland' list. I even put together a pretty sweet bowling outfit, if I say so myself.

So, go bowling with your friends, and spend an afternoon laughing, and wishing everything were neon! Wouldn't that be cool?

Domestic Disaster

2010-10-07T07:08:00.009+02:00

When I was about 10 years old, my childhood BFF and I almost burnt our kitchen down. From there, it didn't get much better. Between being at boarding school [where opportunities to cook/bake were limited and I very nearly failed Homed Economics] and not having the kind of family that gets together to even eat a meal, let alone cook it together, the domestic gene was never really developed in me. But every now and then I get this urge to prove once again how useless I am in the kitchen, and last week I decided to try make tomato and basil bread.

Tomato and basil are two of my favourite things, so when I found this recipe on Jamie Who's amazing blog on Aficianado, I had to try it. And I did. It seemed pretty simple.

You will need:

15 cherry tomatoes, halved
120g flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
3 free range eggs
Half a cup milk
125g basil pesto
165g parmesan, grated

I got all of my ingredients from Woolworths, including a delicious organic basil pesto. I used about half the amount of parmesan and added a fistful of mozzarella, but that's just me. And so I began.

Step 1: Set oven to 140 degrees Celsius. Season the halved tomatoes with salt and pepper, drizzle with olive oil and roast for two hours. Simple enough, no?

Ready to go!

Yummy yummy!

Oh. Merde! I am no culinary expert, but I am 99% sure that this is NOT what they are supposed to look like.

So, there you have it. I cannot even roast tomatoes successfully. I spent the rest of that night munching chocolate-covered crunchies [obviously NOT made by me], feeling like a spectacular failure.

But then I decided to try one more time [probably only because I had bought a mountain of rosa tomatoes and would otherwise have nothing to do with them].

Looking good [note: tomatoes are not teeny tiny coals].

We have made it to the oven. This, however, is usually where it all goes wrong. [Prays furiously to the gods of food-making].

But no. It did not go wrong. In fact, besides for the fact that the bread was quite flat [I convinced myself, however, that this was die to the wrong size of bread pan], it was perfect. I put a bit of mozzarella on top and popped it back in the over for another 5 minutes, and voila!

Perfect. Yes, by my standards, this is perfect. And yes, I danced around my kitchen for a good ten minutes, BBM'ing pictures of my success to all of my friends.

So, my advice to you is don't give up. Keep trying, and stay positive, and you might be pleasantly surprised by success. That said, do stop trying at the point where you might hurt yourself, or burn down the kitchen. Rather try a new hobby then. Also, do read Jamie Who's blog, try one of his amazing recipes and note how awesome the Aficianado team looks on the latest NoMU poster here, with make-up and hair done by the lovely Lady Kaye [not me. The other one].

, , , , , Chameleon

2010-10-06T07:58:00.013+02:00

Guys... I am confused. And I need opinions.

When it comes to hair, I am a serial colourist/cutter/changer, whatever I can possibly do [well, have done] to my hair. While during high school my hair was always an average length with an average number of highlights [for a private school girl, anyway], I have been through many phases in the last 3-4 years:

Dark, long. Excuse the schmodel photographs, my house burnt down last year which meant I lost a LOT of my photographs, including most of the ones of me.

Dark, short. Also my phase when I smoked a LOT. [This phase is now over.]

Then this happened:

And we went for this vibe [which I loved but will likely not do again]:

Then we did short, BLONDE. Like, it does not get much blonder than this:

And right now, it looks like this:

And I am loving the long hair because it is just so much fun to play with!

I mean, I think even Taylor Momsen would be proud of my Jenny Humphrey imitation:

But now, I'm considering going dark again. [The hair is staying long, though. I loves the short hair, but I won't be going back to that for a while.] I mean, blonde is fun for summer and all, but I did also like the brunette... But I'm confused! Some say my features stand out more with the blonde, some say that same about the brunette. Some say I look washed out blonde, some say I look scary brunette. [I also did get told I look like Megan Fox when brunette which I do not see at all, but I'll totes take that compliment!] And if I go brunette now it will NOT be easy to bleach it back again. But brunette is a LOT less maintenance. And, and, and... I just don't know. So, I need advice. Blonde Unicorn, or Brunette Unicorn? Do blondes have more fun? Are brunettes more fun? I just don't know what to do... What is your opinion?

-sigh-

Life is hard.

Summer Lovin'

2010-10-01T10:11:00.002+02:00

Since spring is here and summer is fast on its way [in fact, Jo'burg seems to have skipped spring entirely], spring/summer shopping had to be done. I'm not done with that yet, but when I am I will do a quick list of my summer must-haves for this year. But for now, my number one summer buy, the ultimate summer must-have, is this:

Hello, Snowcat Diana. Welcome to Lizeland.

If you want one too, head on over to Kameraz in Rosebank Mews. I got this one at a ridiculous bargain! Then again, I did have The Mermaid with me, and everyone knows Mermaids bring good luck. Also, this is me we're talking about. Come on. Kidding! I'm just a Lucky Unicorn.

I Really, REALLY Love Cupcakes

2010-09-29T13:08:00.007+02:00

In fact, in Lizeland, cupcakes are subsidised so that everyone can eat them all the time. There is also a Mr Delivery-type service for cupcakes only [which, of course, operates 24/7], and we have National Cupcake Day.

This year for my first birthday party [not me turning one, I just had more than one birthday party], I had a cupcake exchange party. Everyone had to bring 2 or more cupcakes, and we all kind of swapped- you put them on the table and grab whichever others may catch your eye. I ended up having about 300 cupcakes in my house and needless to day it was a very, very happy day. The theme was Alice in Lizeland, which basically meant all things pretty, lacey, polka-dotty or floral, plus one times fab headband. We ate until we could eat no more, I got amazing, thoughtful gifts and after almost everyone had left just a few of us remained and finished it all off with wine and a cheese platter, complete with jam, grapes, crackers and pesto. It was one of my favourite days ever.

Happy birthday me. Love, me. A Tiffany's locket.

I has about 70 cupcakes left after the party because many took 'two or more' as 'fifteen'. But they didn't last a week. If my calculations are correct, I had about 150 cupcakes in August.

[Left to right: Miss Fab, Ministress of Snark, Ads and Ayanda No Underscore Mo]

Speaking of cupcakes, head on over to Farmgirl's blog for a most fab recipe book giveaway: 500 Cupcakes. If I had this book [which I will now endeavour to find], I would make a point of getting through every single recipe in two years. Wouldn't that be fun?

I really, really love cupcakes.

SA Blog Awards

2010-09-27T12:02:00.004+02:00

I am back in Gauteng after a lovely weekend in Cape Town for the SA Blog Awards. Our blog made it to the top 2 for Best Radio/TV Blog.

It was another last-minute madness mission, but well worth it.

The awards were held at The One & Only, which is just lovely. Definitely allowed in Lizeland! Definitely. I would highly recommend going there for drinks, spa treatments and just generally soaking up a luxurious and relaxing vibe.

I went with The Nazi. Highlights include:

The MC, Mum-Z. He has been named Minister of MCing in Lizeland. He gets his own masseuse. In fact, he may have 7. Very funny guy, this.
The One & Only. Can't even decide if it's prettier in the bright sunlight, at sunset or at night all lit up. But we heart it, a lot.
Helen Zille's speech. Very insightful regarding social media [did you know she actually tweets herself? Yup.] Definitely featuring some of her wisdom in my #TwitterThesis.
Realising Helen Z and The Mermaid were pretty much wearing the same blazer. Phenom.
The Nazi receiving an email mid-ceremony enquiring whether he would be interested in buying eco-friendly hand grenades.
Meeting many, many fellow members of the Twitter Fam. Having the Ogilvy Twitterer run up with 'Lize? Lize The Unicorn? I HAD TO come meet you.' and hearing 'I don't follow you, but I do stalk you...'
indieBerries winning TWO Awards, after a fairly traumatic experience flying in from South Korea for this.
The Mermaid almost falling over the railings, almost taking off her shirt, making me touch her boobs then swearing at me because I wasn't doing it nicely enough [???] and then telling everyone that the only advice they need in life is 'NAME YOUR SON MARMADUKE, THEN PEE ON HIM, IN A CAMEL'. Thanks, Bear Grylls.
Mermaid to me: 'to me... you are... like.. a Google image... That is not pixelated... I can almost see you. And from here, you are amazing.'

All round a very successful event. Thanks to Chris for accommodating me, to One & Only for hosting a fabulous event, The Nazi for being my date ['Lize, we must be the most couply un-couple ever.'], and everyone for making it most enjoyable. Well done to all who won, and all who were nominated. See you next year!

2010-09-24T11:44:00.003+02:00

I have come to realise that The Nazi [you remember him, right? The really really bad break up that led to the The Story of the Departed Driver’s Licence?] is my BFF, confidant and all-round awesome person without whom I, as it turns out, cannot survive. On Saturday he left for a 5-day mission paddling down the Orange River and I nearly died without his perpetual BBM wonderfulness, advice and company. I think I have abandonment issues. This is what his Facebook wall looked like while he was gone:

Saturday, 18 September, 20h24:

Oh my goodness. I am having serious Stef withdrawal. I am quietly hyperventilating inside. Also, I have cancer of the upper body and may have died by the time you return.If that happens... then I don't know. Something profound and last-wordsy etc.

Sunday, 19 September, 09h19:

Day 2. Withdrawal continues, but I have not yet died. Also, seeing Tracy tomorrow possibly, which might help. I can get all teary about how we used to talk and show her screen shots of our BBM conversation as I sob over the fact that you left me for this ridiculous river whatsit mission. Also, I came to a most profound... conclusion today. In three years I have gone from having 4 sugars in my coffee to just 1. I am an adult.

20h42:

Uhff. EVERYONE is being a douchetard. And you are not here for me to complain to.

Monday, 20 September, 13h04:

Have made it to Monday without dying.

13h05:

Also, have listened to The Suit Song 37 times since Saturday.

Tuesday, 21 September, 04h28:

Had dinner with Tracy last night. She now has a crazy person texting her. Long story. Then had a dream about you. But it was basically you driving, telling me about some girl. And me, bored. Very realistic, I think, except that your car was lime green. Up at 4 today, on air again. *blink blink*

04h30:

Too little coffee. Too much Stef Withdrawal (note: upper case). Also, am I the ONLY person who writes on your wall?!

13h18:

Just phoned Kurt Darren for his address.Stef, come back.

21h57:

In the amount of time I have just spent fretting over the fact that I have no milk (just realised. Up at 4. To go now (but am already in bed and had a fucking long day) and get less sleep (4am is no joke) or have either no coffee tomorrow, or black coffee? What to do?!) I could probably have driven to the Free State, milked a cow and still had naps before 4am wake-up call. Tomorrow I'm driving around Pretoria in a Jeep with Kurt Darren giving out R200 000 to charity people things. On the plus side, you are back tomorrow and I can cease my perpetual panic due to Steflessness. Also, I conclude that I am, in fact, the only person who writes on your wall.

21h58:

PS you are my favourite and I love you and I cannot wait for you to come back.

22h02:

PPS if something has happened to you (death included) and you are, in fact, not coming back tomorrow because of this 'something', I will drive to Namibia (after fixing my rim which I have really royally fucked up) and drag your Nazi arse to my house and subject you to 24/7 uncensored stories of the dramas of my life. Dramas like, for example, this milk thing. Still haven't made my mind up re milk.

22h03:

Listening to Suit Song. Play count: 52.

Wednesday, 22 September, 16h40:

Stef......WHERE ARE YOU?!?!

So, I just got a flight and am off to Cape Town in four hours [MERDE! MUST PACK!] to see him. Kidding. It's to attend to SA Blog Awards ceremony. The Just Plain Breakfast Blog made it to the top 2 for Best Radio/TV Blog.

More news later! For now, I must pack...

Small Change

2010-09-23T06:36:00.006+02:00

Things are crazy right now. I'm at our Good Morning Angels golf day at Gardener Ross. I'm sitting at this golf estate, fingers too cold to type, in purple Pringle bobby socks with two computers in front of me as well as my Canon SLR, a Blackberry, a very temperamental wireless network and free cupcakes and -Starbucks all day. Can you handle it?

Anyway, yesterday. That is what this post is about. I woke up at 4am, picked up Kurt Darren [yeah, I know! Me too.] and spent the morning changing people's lives. Okay, I didn't do much, I just work for the people making it all happen. But it was amazing. I shed tears [more than once] and despite a bit of drama I came back feeling like my heart may explode. And I conclude that the best way to start any day it to make other people smile. It might even beat free Starbucks! [Okay, wait... I'm not sure. That's a bit of a toss up... Can't decide.]

Anyway, you can read more about the day here. We changed the lives of four families in four hours with R120 000.

Here are some pictures I took from the car in Pretoria CBD. I love it. The old buildings, the bustle, the mix of people, the giant Jacarandas. I love it all. I was one times Happy Unicorn, all fuzzy and warm inside.

And the best part? Anyone can make a difference. Because a small difference multiplied by a million people is a BIG difference.

The Search for Cherry Red

2010-09-21T11:24:00.005+02:00

Restaurant reviews. I don't do them. But I have just found the place that has validated a whole new feature in this blog. And that place is Thomas Maxwell Bistro.

After reading The Chef Princess' blog post about the restaurant here, I knew I had to try this place out. I mean, she's from Cape Town, and lists it as her favourite restaurant. Capetonians NEVER show Jo'burg that much love. It had to be pretty spectacular. And what better occasion than a friend visiting from the Mother City?

Tracy is one of those almost annoyingly perfect people. I love her very much, but I admit to frantically searching for a flaw in her. She is a pretty girl with a great body, brains AND the oh-so-uncommon gift of common sense. She is funny and sweet, she has a good career going, head screwed on right. She loves her family, is sure about her religion, exercises a lot and is the kind of optimistic, well-mannered girl you not only want to take home to mum and dad, but show to your kids someday and threaten them with their inheritance if they don't find a partner exactly like that. She walks in briskly, armed with poise, a big smile and an air that says she has been manically busy all day, even though she looks fresh and composed.

Tracy is also very charming. So when the two men behind us are delivered a ceramic tray stacked with cupcakes [cue my unstoppable '[Gasp!] Cupcakes!' in the otherwise hushed restaurant], she somehow gets us each a cupcake from them. I love her. I love them. I love Thomas Maxwell already.

The decor is eclectic without hurting the eyes. Bare brick walls and brass and leather chairs that look like something my parents may have sat on in school juxtapose crisp white linen to give it a cosy yet cosmopolitan feel. And the small touches keep it interesting- mismatched black and white tiling, a large pin stripe counter, luxurious fabrics and an array of objects that keep you looking back for more unexpected finds.

We ordered wine by the glass in light of both of us having to be up at ridiculously hours [me at 4am and Tracy at 5am] and I went with Klein Steenberg's Sauvignon, which was light and fresh, perfect for the lovely summery evening.

Tracy was perfectly boring and had a salad. She asked me not to mention her boringness but I have to. Although I have to add that Thomas Maxwell's 'make your own salad' is a great idea and so she got exactly what she wanted, always a plus. Can we have this sort of feature on a menu for men too, please? Ta.

I had, by Chef Princess' recommendation, mussels with garlic, lemon and parsley cream served with crispy pomme frites. The sauce was tasty without fighting for the spotlight with the strong flavour of the mussels and the portion size is perfect for mains. And indeed, who doesn't love an excuse to lick their fingers? Presentation is done beautifully [the mussels more rustic while the salad looked as though much effort had been put in] without the food presented such that one does not know quite how to negotiate the first bite.

Because of the cupcake starter we had, dessert was not ordered. No regrets, though, as it simply means I will have to return to Thomas Maxwell. I already have a mental list of what I will order next time.

But then came the best part. Those two men, with the cupcakes? They never ordered those. No. Those come with your bill. Instead of the done-to-death breath mints, Thomas Maxwell places before you your bill and a tower of cupcakes.

FREE CUPCAKES.

Yes, you heard me.

This is officially, then, the best restaurant. Globally. Number one in Lizeland. I will be back.

And not just for the cupcakes. Thomas Maxwell is cherry red.

The other exciting part of the night was [part 1] Tracy and I spotting some very fine looking mens and [part 2] Tracy sending her number to one of them! Outside, on the lotto card holder thing around the corner, Tracy scribbled a note on a page torn from my moleskine and sent it to their table with a waitress. Will there be a [part 3]? Stay tuned.

Weekend Wars

2010-09-20T11:22:00.011+02:00

Because we fight for the weekend to last forever.

Saturday was Adillah's birthday. To celebrate I joined her, her man [who is only the most perfect boyfriend on the planet], Kazi and Mpumi [Ministress of Snark] at The Westcliff Hotel. I hadn't seen Kazi and Mpumi in what felt like years, so this morning [turned afternoon] of fabulosity was WAY overdue.

The Westcliff comes highly recommended by many [including 2oceansvibe, so we know we're not playing around here], and there is a good reason for that. It is officially my favourite place in Jo'burg and I want to live there. Please can I?

Upon arrival a driver [mine was Calvin and he is just lovely] takes you to wherever you need to go in a Club Car. This is a blessing as The Westcliff is very hilly and of course one must wear heels to The Westcliff. There simply is no other way.

We went to the Polo Lounge for high tea. Boschendal Blanc du Noir [the official pink wine of Team Lilac], chocolate cake, cucumber sandwiches, mini haloumi wraps, scones with strawberries and cream and, of course, CUPCAKES. Top all of this delicious food off with a view to die for and the best friends a girl could ask for and you get the perfect Saturday! In fact, I think this may become a weekly ritual.

This does NO justice to the view. The infinity pool is also beyond amazing. We love infinity pools.

Gorgeous sisters of mucho mucho talent.

Birthday girl and her man, who flew in from England for this!

Shucks, you guys shouldn't have...

Fairly self-explanatory, I think.

Even if you have to pretend it's your birthday, do order one of these bad boys.

That is not lens flare. It's sprinklings of amaze.

Fabulous. Life is not kak.

Just Like You Are

2010-09-17T13:24:00.007+02:00

Last weekend a most extraordinary thing happened.

On Saturday I went to the Top Billing Spring Event at Morrells [HIGHLY recommended- a gorgeous venue that makes you feel like you have left Joziville far behind]. It was lovely- the sights and smells of spring, pretty dresses and meeting wonderful women. At some point we had an image consultant, Janine from House of Janine, talking to us about dressing for our body shapes, skin tones and such. We talked about the different shapes there are [you’ve heard them before- apple, pear, hourglass, inverted triangle etc] and at some point we each had to mention which part of our bodies we love the most, and the part we love the least.

When it came to me, I couldn’t name which part I hated most!

Wait a second…

When did this happen?! When did I, a 22-year old girl living in a world riddled with seven foot stick figures with huge nunga-nungas, become absolutely, 100%, totes okay with my body?

Whoa. Like, whoa.

Let’s just take a moment here.

Even supermodels have body issues! I could list my imperfections: small boobs; VERY high hips; my elbows are a bit odd looking [actually, never mind, all elbows are a bit odd looking]; I am not tall; my left pinky toe was meant to be amputated years ago; I have no ear lobes… The list goes on.

But you know what?

I LOVE my body.

Big thighs. Still Happy Unicorn.

No waist. Still happy Unicorn.

Short legs. Still happy Unicorn.

After years of hating my love handles, and hating my tiny boobs, and thinking I have the ugliest ankles on the planet, I freaking love my body. I am wholly comfortable, I can look at it, and I spend much of my free time in lingerie, reading classics and eating cupcakes. I even considered putting up nude pictures of myself, but no. I just don’t see there being much demand for that… I can appreciate what I have going for me, and even appreciate the ‘flaws’. I have started to love exercise, be it in gym, dancing at a gig or just walking The Furkids at sunset, I enjoy healthy eating and I never deprive myself of the things I crave [cupcakes].

This is a small thing in the greater scheme of the universe and all that. But for me, it was pretty freaking rad. I might just start doing a ‘Lingerie Lundi’ [that’s Monday in French]- a weekly post about love, gratefulness and why life is awesome., featuring lingerie of course. I know Wonderbra SA likes the idea.

So, here’s my challenge to girls out there: love your body. I know, I know, it’s easier said than done and we all have fat days. But just take one minute to point out to yourself what you love about your body.

Spend the day in lingerie.

Look at yourself in the mirror.

Dance naked on your bed.

Go crazy.

Eat a cupcake.

And love your body, because it’s yours and it’s fabulous.

I don't want a freaking Kindle...

2010-09-16T12:35:00.007+02:00

And this is why:

Dear Future Husband,

I want this one:

Pocketful of Dreams

2010-09-14T13:02:00.005+02:00

Yesterday I took impulsive trips to Cape Town to a whole new level. Let’s talk about living life…

On Sunday evening after gym I received the following text from my agent:

Request casting tomorrow for a new morning show. Bilingual, cool, intelligent, sense of humour and knowledgeable are NB criteria. Segments are sport, comedy, cooking, gossip, fashion, health and entertainment.

Let’s be honest, they may as well name this thing The Lize Kay Show!

But I politely declined as it was happening in 16 hours, 1 600 kilometers away, figuring there would be auditions in Jo’burg at some point.

Not the case. The auditions are only happening in Cape Town, and only for one day. Upon finding this out, I start to pace, and phone almost everyone whose opinion matters to me. To go, or not to go? Between my dad and I we concluded that I should go [turning down a closed audition is just not right and audition karma will bite you in the arse sooner or later] but I should communicate very carefully with my boss when asking for leave. I did not want him to think I was looking for anything else, or walking out on him, because I’m not.

So I packed an overnight bag on Sunday night, as an affirmation that I would be going to Cape Town.

Monday morning I head to studio earlier than usual and after establishing what kind of mood my boss is in [good] I asked if I could fly to Cape Town in a few hours. Without too many questions asked I was granted permission.

By 9am I had booked my flight. At 10am my credit card was declined. Between SAA, the bank and my sister, no one could tell me why this was happening. Cards are never declined in Lizeland. I was freaking out a tiny bit.

At 10h45 I got in my car and drove to OR Tambo International at the speed of Unicorn [very, very fast]. With nothing on me, not even my overnight bag, I ran from end of the airport to the other [in heels, of course], gave someone at SAA my debit card and requested they put the flight leaving soonest and coming back latest tonight on that card. An hour later I was on the plane.

Two hours later I landed in Cape Town and bolted as fast as I could so as to avoid Greasy Mullet Guy [don’t ask]. I was met by Jaco of Savvy Tours in one of these bad boys:

Not kak.

He even bought bottled water for me beforehand because he ‘figured I would be in a rush’. Oh. Oh my. This is most certainly the official driver of Lizeland from now on!

We drove to Tokai. I, with no make-up touch-ups and still in my work clothes [see, this is why I dress well every day! In case of having to fly across the country for auditions!], floated in [no running now, must stay composed in manner of experienced auditioner] and auditioned. We left.

Afterwards we had drinks at the Radisson Blu which definitely has the best view ever [globally] for sundowners- Me, The Nazi And Margs.

Not kak at all.

And not 5 hours after landing in Cape Town, I was back on a plane, heading home. I passed out before we took off and woke up after half of the passengers had left the plane. I was exhausted! Excitement is tiring.

Today is boringly normal. I have an excitement hangover, though, as a reminder of yesterday’s craziness.

Excitement hangover.

And I learnt the following:

When people say something is not ‘meant to be’ because it doesn’t work out easily or immediately, don’t listen to them.
You can probably make it happen. It might be stressful, and expensive, and you might have to run a long way in heels. But you can make it happen.
It’s worth making stuff happen.
Traveling from one end of a country to the other and back in the space of 9 hours will make you feel a bit like a jetsetter.
Luxury SUVs do wonders for nervous Unicorns.
Do not talk to greasy mulleted men on planes. Ew.
Always live life. Be stupid. Be crazy. Be impulsive.
You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.

Mother City Madhouse Memories [Continued]

2010-09-10T14:04:00.004+02:00

There really is only one thing to report on for Friday in Cape Town.

I made my hair blue. I don't know how I did this. I washed it with the same shampoo as always, which usually makes it wonderfully platinum, like this:

Well, it looks a bit yellow here, but you get the point.

This time, however, the result was not as desired.

Me: Aaaaaah! [Runs in to The GBF's bedroom] SIMON! MY HAIR IS BLUE!!!

GBF: Nah, it's more of a gentle lilac.

Gotta love the gays. At some point The GBF's housemate said she liked it.

Asian Housemate of GBF: Your hair is... like... blue! I love it.

GBF [later]: See, she liked it?

Me: She's ASIAN. She probably thinks I have a pet Pokemon stashed in my Aldo bag. Of COURSE she likes my blue hair.

Oh yeah, baybay!

Once I felt okay enough to step outside [avec blue hair], The GBF and I went to Delaire for a tour of the hotel and a glass of vino.

Oh. Em Gee.

Like...

Ohemgee!

Dear Future Husband, PLEASE take me there. Every weekend.

It was so good, I even mastered a fabulous laugh + half-turn + flicking of hair over shoulder in the short time I spent there. There are no words. I DIE of fabulosity.

We then went for lunch at 5 Ryneveld, which was amazing as always. I do recommend their falafel burger with red pepper hummus. I also recommend going there with a GBF who will feed you tomato and cucumber bits with a teeny tiny spoon from a teeny tiny silver bowl. La Jew had the black mushroom and figs burger. Equally recommendable unless, like me, you're feeling a little worse for Bohemia wear and can only handle so much fungus inside you. The GBF had an ostrich burger. I cannot recommend this as I am a vegetarian, but he said it was great.

That night we went to Neighbourhood, meeting up with The Mermaid, Nashville, Snoddie, Byron and had another ex fest. This time The Nazi, The Sweetheart and The Gay Ex [Love of my life] were there. No hassles, though, and a good time was held by all.

Except, of course, that my hair was blue.

Mother City Madhouse Memories [Continued]

2010-09-09T12:11:00.009+02:00

As mentioned before, my reason for going to Cape Town was to 'model' for Le Jew. Laughable, if you think about it, because I am not at all a model. I was quite sure my runway debut would end like this:

So, I'm at Bohemia waiting for Le Jew, having drinks with Rolandd. I haven't eaten much, but I figure that this is helping me get in character of Model Extraordinaire.

Le Jew is late. He is also, by the sounds of things, quite stressed. I, on the other hand, am quite relaxed and chipper [read: tipsy]. By the time he gets to Bohemia we have one times giggly model, one times stressed designer and one times large slab of chocolate. By the time we get to the venue, the latter is no longer with us.

Val de Vie is lovely! It is far away from everything, but totally worth the effort. Combine polo, the winelands and luxury living and you get one times Happy Unicorn. [Dear Future Husband, please take me there.] But the decadence is, today, interrupted by furious bustling of stressed designers, excited models, judges and a general crowd likely high on hairspray by now.

The Jew and I are WAY late. We still need to do hair, make-up and sew my dress onto me! There is chaos around everything- numbers, order, judging, shoes and WHERE THE HELL ARE MY TEENY TINY SATURDAY NIGHT UNDIES???

My dress... Is not a dress. I am naked. Well, almost. There are chains involved. And BIG shoes [which have stockings pulled over them, making them even more slippery]. I am also wearing no make-up at all, my hair resembles a bird's nest [with braids] and I can only imagine that the cherry on top will be a major bail on the runway.

But by some miracle of the fashion gods, I did not fall. I walked to the end, halfway back, back to the end and then all the way back without slipping, tripping or falling on my face. I even posed, and did not burst out laughing. In fact, I think I totally pulled it off.

Big shoes + chains. Grr!

Just taking myself totes seriously as Model Unicorn.

Here's looking at you, non-models.

Does this make my bum look big?

It was actually quite enjoyable in the end. Thank you to Le Jew for choosing me [and promising me future jobs with him, where I will actually wear something], The GBF and La Jew [note: girl Jew] for coming to support. Keep an eye on this one, he's going to make it big someday. I mean, just look at his coat design:

Fab. Life, my friends, is just plain freaking fabulous.

Mother City Madhouse Memories [Continued]

2010-09-08T13:40:00.005+02:00

Where were we? Ah, yes. Thursday night. Sleep, here:

To repeat myself: not kak.

Woke up on Friday morning thanks to my inability to sleep late, combined with receiving 5 million work emails, calls and texts. -sigh-

After room service [ah, I love the Cape Royale more and more] SLK and I headed to Camps Bay for brunch with Beatnik Bazaar and Lauren Fowler. Omelettes, coffee and fab friends. Oh, and let's not forget the view! [Unfortunately Sandbar had closed [sad face, and how very dare they not inform us!], and so we had to settle for this:]

But it wasn't too kak.

[No, seriously. When I say 'not kak', please know I am pulling the proverbial leg of the mystical reader. I mean 'pretty awesome', 'way rad', 'absolutely unbelievable', 'OMShatteredSoul I can die now!'... You get the point. When in doubt, do not take me seriously.]

After brunch SLK and I headed to Stellenbosch. Here we met up with The GBF and after some quick catching up it was time for me to meet up with Rolandd.

Who is Rolandd?

Well...

A while back I got an unexpected Facebook message from one Rolandd Thompson, [subject: gratitude] saying that he had been following my blog for a while and had a gift for me. One Rolandd Thompson did go to school with me [well, I was in a girls school but his school was basically our step-brother school and his school was just up the road from my school so we basically went to school together] but seeing as we were never THAT close [we just had many many friends in common and saw each other pretty often], and in light of the fact that I did not imagine him the type of person to follow or appreciate my blog, I figured it was a different Rolandd Thompson. But no. It was, in fact, THE Rolannd Thompson I was thinking of.

We set off to Bohemia [also my second home while I lived in Stellenbosch], and Rolandd's gift was a Kid Robot Unicorn/Zebra figurine which he felt he needed to pass on to me. Her name is Mildred, and this is she, happy with me in the office:

Mildred, babe, that vintage belt is TOTES bringing out the colour of your horn.

After a fun afternoon of talking and laughing and way more drinks than I planned on consuming at Bohemia, I left for...

...

drumroll!

...

The Fashion Show.

You may remember that that is the whole reason I went to Cape Town? Yup. But more on that later. This post is to point out, once again, the power of one to make another's day. I mean, how rad is Mildred? A Unicorn [note: upper case] from a high school friend that was never even a BFF. Rolandd, you are made of awesome and will be made Minister of Awesome Thoughtfulness and Rad Surprises in Lizeland.

Another '1 thing to do today': Be thoughtful. Surprise someone. Get them the tiniest thing [expensive helps] that will totes make them smile.

Neighbour Riffs

2010-09-07T17:27:00.009+02:00

I am loving snail mail at the moment. I have BFFs in Canada [Fulton], Turkey [Nash Pash], Taiwan [Pengyou] and somewhere in Europe [The Model]. And while Facebook, blogging and Twitter are all very convenient, I have recently re-discovered the joys of brown envelopes and hand-written letters. It started with 'The Sisterhood of the Traveling Books', but more on that later. This blog is about indieBerries and magical musical mixtapes.

A while ago I was informed that one Ché Kershaw was following me on Twitter. Ché and I went to school together, we were in the same boarding house [she is a few years older than I] and the relationship was something like this:

[Except for the dress. I failed every single dress check from grade 8 until matric. Also, note, I kept the same dresses from grade 8 until matric.]

So I kind of always adored Ché [in a non-creepy way], which made me click on her profile. This, in turn, led to my discovering her blog. The above cartoon was stolen from her blog, and I suggest you head over there right now. Also, please vote for her in the SA Blog Awards. She deserves it, and she won't shut up about it.

A while ago Ché asked on her Facebook status who wanted her last magical musical mixtape. I happened to be on Facebook at the time and eagerly nominated myself. And today, it arrived. I've been off sick for half of the day [something between glandular fever, mumps and cancer of the head, I am not sure] and this made my day!

Let's have a look at the contents of this package:

1. This note:

I support this wish.

2. A letter:

For those who are unable to read it, it says:

Dear Lize,

This was the closest thing I could find in my house that resembles a *UNICORN*.

-> Don't worry, I gave him a magical pink horn- good for three wishes =)

Enjoy the magical musical mixtape.

Peace, love and happiness.

I mean, isn't that amazing?! Mind: blown.

But it does not end there.

3. The actual CD.

First, one must mention the CD cover. Hand-made by Che [if you want to know how to make these, click here.

She totally gets me.

The track listing is also pretty amazing:

Florence & The Machine- Dog Days Are Over
The Arcade Fire- Rebellion
Phoenix- Girlfriend
Cold War Kids- Mexican Dogs
Matisyahu- Time of Your Song
Dan Black feat. Kid Cudi- Symphonies
The Format- I Am Ready
Shiny Toy Guns- Chemistry of a Car Crash
Owl City- Cave In
The Magic Numbers- Morning's Eleven
The National- Slow Show
Shiny Toy Guns- Don't Cry Out
Kid Cudi- Day 'n Night
The Shins- New Slang
Eminem feat. Rihanna- Love the Way You Lie
Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros- Come in Please
The Temper Trap- Sweet Disposition

I mean, come on! How much of wow? So much of wow!

And let us not forget the bonus tracks:

Winterplay- Cha Cha [a jazzy Korean band]
Shakira feat. Freshlyground- Wakka Wakka [because she is so proudly South African, even two months after Philip left us.]

I love this kind of thing. I love surprises, thoughtfulness and people who make life a little brighter. So MY '1 thing to do today' is to write a letter to a friend. Even if that person lives down the road from you. And if you can make it a surprise by slipping it under their door or delivering it at their workplace, so much the better. Because we have to realise that each of us have the power to make someone's day.

Thanks, Ché. May your blog win and your your life be filled with strawberries and ongoing loveliness.

The Crystal, Camps Bay

2010-09-07T17:12:00.005+02:00

Nothing spectacularly interesting, just four girls having a good time.

Mother City Madhouse Memories

2010-09-06T20:31:00.007+02:00

Back from Cape Town. Alive, and with many a memory to blog about. Unfortunately I have been so very busy lately that my blog continues to be neglected. But I do feel the need to sum up my short trip in a few short posts. So, let us begin.

I arrived on Wednesday evening at 9 and I, the hater of flying, have one airport/airplane event on which to report. After dinner, I started to paint my nails. This is something I have always done on planes. Last year I flew to Johannesburg once or twice a month to co-present MK Live and Studio 1 on MK, and I ALWAYS painted my nails during the flight up. This time it was my to-die-for Chanel Rouge Noir nail polish. You might recognise it from Pulp Fiction? Yup, that one. Imagine my surprise, then, when the air hostess tells me this is not allowed.

Me: ?!?!

I thought British Airways was playing a prank on me, but no. Apparently it 'gets into the air vents' and then 'everyone can smell it'.

Again, me: ?!?!

Four crimson nails in, I could easily have panicked.

This simply will not do.

But I decided not to. The problem was, of course, that I was as far in as I could get out and whipping out some nail polish remover would hardly go down better, smell-wise. So I was forced to sneakily finish the job in the bathroom. It felt like the memory of sneaking a cigarette at boarding school meets joining the mile high club [NOT that I have done either of these]. Thrilling.

That's better.

Back to the trip. I landed at Cape Town International to be picked up by the lovely SLK. Off to the Cape Royale we went and after dropping out stuff we headed to The Crystal luxury apartments in Camps Bay [by the way, these come highly recommended (by me) if you're looking for a scenic weekend away]. We were dropped off by Concierge Ryan, who is likely the best concierge in all the world and will definitely be appointed head concierge in Lizeland. Here we met with Beatnik Bazaar [do check her blog for a spectacular giveaway] and I finally got to meet Lauren Fowler, who has some of the coolest tattoos around. There was wine, there were some snacks and there was general merriment. I feel I must interject here and mention that I had never met these people before. But after a short while they felt like old friends and I wanted my life to look like a Beatnik Bazaar catalogue, I wanted to carry Lauren around in my bag so that she could animate every story I told and I wanted SLK to be my ridiculously fabulous friend by my side all the time like the perfect accessory, but with personality! To sum it up: I did not want to leave. But soon it was a few hours into the AM and we departed.

The Crystal. Not kak.

But the stunning evening was to be rounded off perfectly. Firstly we did not die during the horrendous cab ride back to the hotel [a nasty adjustment after the Jag ride we got to The Crystal] and then we finished the night off in the most perfect way imagineable: by eating Lindt and raspberry cupcakes, freshly made by SLK. In Lizeland, every night would end like this.

Why, thank you. Don't mind if I do be ridiculously fabulous as I exit the Jag.

That's it for now, because all I really want to say in this post is thank you to the above-mentioned Lizeland VIPs for making the first night unforgettable.

This is where we stayed. Again, not kak.

Let's do that again, yes?

Mother City Madhouse

2010-09-01T08:18:00.006+02:00

I'm heading back to Cape Town. Because, you know, it has been SO long since I was last there [this is a lie] and The Mermaid is going, so I figured I should too. But the real reason...

is...

I'm...

...

Modeling.

I don't like telling people this because it is a bit of a joke. I am certainly no model. But when The Jew called and asked whether I would walk for his Fashion Week qualifying show because I am [apparently] PERFECT for one of his dresses, I simply could not say no. And when he raved about my measurements after I sent them to him, I was feeling so damn flattered that I would have hitchhiked to Cape Town is I had to. [Okay, this is a lie too. I don't even want to fly Mango to Cape Town [ew], let alone hitchhike.]

So tonight I land at 9pm, after which I am going for drinks with SLK [the brunette version of me. Or I'm the blonde version of her, whichever you choose. Either way she is awesome.], Lauren Fowler [a fab creator [for want of a better word] who I have been wanting to meet since Liam showed me pictures of her knitting needle and yarn tattoo and seeing some of her creations] and BeatnikBazaar [whose store and blog are filled with the loveliest of lovely things] in Camps Bay. I'm staying at the Cape Royale with SLK tonight [I know, right? My life is so damn difficult!] and tomorrow night I make my runway debut. [Well, not really. But the last time I did I was wearing a British flag and fishnets, so we don't talk about that.]

It all sounds fab, so if you want tickets [R90] call Elizabeth Galloway on 021 8800 775. Also, if you're religious please pray that my schmodeling debut does not go like this:

Oh. Oh my. Please, dear gods of all things stunning, don't let me be fashion roadkill.

In Between Days

2010-08-25T20:26:00.005+02:00

I am too much of a capitalist and/or princess to call myself a true environmentalist. I love shoes, I shop quite a lot and I wear perfume and make up. BUT I will say this: Where I can, I do my part. I always make an effort to get friends to drive together when we go somewhere. I recycle. I use a fair amount of organic, eco-friendly household cleaning products like Organic Worx and body products like The Victorian Garden and Green Light. I buy second hand where I can [well, vintage clothing]. I don't eat meat. The list does go on, but that is not the point of this post.

Today I went to Woolworths. I love Woolworths. What am I saying? EVERYONE loves Woolworths- their food, their homeware, their clothes, accessories and shoes. Every now and then I have a bit of a rant at their lack of vegetarian meal options, but other than that I love Woolworths. #inLizeland, my life would be sponsored by them. That is also not the point of this post.

Today I was there to buy towels for my guest bathroom towels and place mats. This whole grown-up living thing is grand, and I plan to equip myself so as to be a believable adult. Standing in the queue I am reminded of the many great projects Woolworths has put in place- organic, sustainable and environmentally friendly catch my eye in the descriptions of these projects, and I smile.

At the counter, I am asked if I would like a bag. Now, I believe everyone should carry one of those reusable shopping bags with them [or in their car] at all times. It is such a simple thing to do, and if everyone did it it would make a big difference. I have one such a bag. It is purple, made from recycled stuff and it is purple. It also folds into a teeny tiny bag, making it convenient to carry around in my over-crowded handbag.

Demonstration:

Very small

Now so big, can barely fit self and bag into screen!

Big enough to fit fair amount of self IN bag. [Would not, however, recommend this as one may likely a) suffocate and die or b) be mistaken for new purple Ku Klux Klan and be killed.]

But realistically, I do not expect people to carry more than one of these with them. I don't. So, upon being asked whether I would like a bag, I say that I do have one. I add, however, that there is a possibility that everything will not fit into bag in which case I would like [well, need] an extra bag. The woman at the teller seems to miss this part and I see the other woman picking up a place mat and sending it in the direction of a plastic Woolworths bag. I stop her and explain again why I do not [potentially] want a bag. She looks exasperated at having just unfolded this plastic bag, rolls her eyes and says 'It's a free bag! Why don't you just take it?'

I will not go into detail of my speech that ensued. It is simply too lengthy. In short, I explained [very politely] to her that it was not about whether the bag was free or not. It was not about feeling cheated for having to pay 20-odd cents for a plastic packet. My concern lies with the environment, and I am taking the teeny steps I can take in order to live as greenly as I can.

It is a sad truth that our generation is sitting with repercussions that are products mainly of our forefathers'. And while we may not be able to fix whatever terrible outcome will come of it all, we can each do our bit, which is why people with a state of mind like this woman, people who really don't care and people who think we cannot make a difference and therefore do not even try, sadden me. It all begins with a state of mind.

PS. My little bag is from Bunchy Bags, but I would recommend the Woolworths reusable shopping bags, especially the 'Green Fish' one. The Mermaid bought me one recently and it is colourful and bright, plus it is a reminder of how one can do one's part for the environment by only eating 'green' fish.

Run Run Run Run Run!

2010-08-24T20:54:00.005+02:00

The reasons my blog is quieter than usual at the moment is that the launch of my website is imminent. So I'm trying to store the cool ideas I have for when that launches. This is why I have not gone into much detail of my latest 'thing': running.

I did horseriding at school, which is not only one of the most expensive sports in the world, but also one of the most time-consuming. So when I ran it was sporadic, meaning I never really got very fit. Also, I injured my knee quite badly in a showjumping accident in 2001. So, other sports were not participated in often by me. But after 13 years of horse riding, I sold my pony and now I have a new goal: to run 5km.

Unicorn running effortlessly.

The Spar Women's Challenge is dubbed 'South Africa's Most Beautiful Road Race'. It is sponsored by Jacaranda [where I work]. It would also fall on the very last day of my 5km training programme, that day's training being 'Run 5km' [duh]. All signs pointed in the right direction, and I started training, mostly at Virgin Active.

It is only 4 days until the race and where once I thought I would surely die running this thing, I now feel quite ready. I have slowed my pace from 10km/h to 9km/h when training so as to not exhaust myself and put myself off running. While I may not be able to complete Saturday's race in any record time, I am confident I will compete without walking once and without dying. [If I don't blog within, let's say, 5 days of the race, assume that I did, in fact, die mid-race].

Today my race shirt arrived. It is pink. I am excited. It also matches my pink Power Balance band. Running is so much more fun in pink!

Me, excited.

More feedback on the programme I'm using after the race. If I survive, of course. But I highly recommend it, that's all I'll say for now.

PS. the title of this post is not just completely random and dumb. Ten points to whomever can tell which band and/or song I'm referring to.

Acceptable in the 80's?

2010-08-19T13:13:00.002+02:00

You may remember that I recently had my debut as Gym Unicorn. I got three invites to the fabulous Virgin Active in Centurion, and it was all lots of sweaty fun.

A few weeks ago I was employed full-time by Darren Scott as Just Plain Media production assistant [also content idea-comer-upper, voiceover-er and general fill-inner and helper-outer.] With this comes a salary. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am being paid. With this came the theory that I am now considerably more grown up and between great power, great responsibility and cash, I figured I should live as such.

I got a cleaner and dogwalker[once a week] and a gym membership. I joined nationwide, so I can gym no matter where I go [well, unless I got to Tweebuffelsmeteenskootmorsdoodgeskietfontein, but hopefully I won’t]. So, I have been gymming. And right now my goal is to compete in next week’s Spar Women’s Challenge. Hailed South Africa’s Most Beautiful Race, it makes sense that this should be my race-running debut. So, I need to run 5km [NO walking], and not die. This by next Saturday.

So far it is going well- I have a running program, toning program and eating program. I am tired but nicely so, and I feel generally better and bouncier. But a few odds things have happened at gym. I have been chatted up. Now, some of you may know that this NEVER happens. I can go to any club, with any number of people, I can wear Amish clothing or nothing more than clingwrap and nipple caps. I NEVER get chatted up/talked to/flirted with. I’m not sure why. Some say I am intimidating [fuck off, I’m fucking not!], I believe that I am secretly obese , hideous and/or invisible.

Except at the gym. The first nicident was fairly straightforward- not completely unfortunate looking boy talking to me. A bit odd, as I am sweaty and have my leg up on the bar for post-run stretch, but hey. And then, he invites me to CHURCH. Which is weirder- that I’m being chatted up in the gym, or that this person [his name escapes me] is inviting a stranger [who, by the way, has not been to a Christian church in four years] to church? I’m not sure.

Not to be put off by this, I return to gym. I do, after all, need to train so as to NOT die next weekend. It is quite late, thus not many people in gym. I have just trained my butt off with my trainer [Jamie, the Brit. We love him.] and now I am running. I’m going on 30 minutes at 10km/h. Needless to say I am sweaty and red-faced, as one is at gym. Up walks a guy. Every time this happens I think it is a trainer who is going to come help out with my technique or similar. No such luck.

Random middle-aged man: Hi.

Me [running at 10km/h]: [pant] Hi. [pant]

Random middle-aged man: You’re probably married…

Me [running at 10km/h]: [pant] I’m 21. [pant] I’m not married, [pant] no.

Random middle-aged man: Oh. Because I’m looking for a wife.

Me: [runs faster] …

Not only am I being chatted up in the gym, but by someone who is likely twice my age and desperate enough to just about propose to me, even though he doesn’t know me at all?!

Are gyms the new night clubs? Will we someday tell our children how we locked eyes from across the handlebars of our respective rowing machines? How, ‘your dad was perfect for me, I knew it by his Teesavs’? And what about people who don’t gym? The nerds, the goths, the socially handicapped and the obese people who hide out at home and hiss at the sun? Will they set up virtual gyms for chatting-up purposes? Will Stephanie Meyer write a book about a gym where everyone secretly wants to munch on the other person’s takkies?!

Oh dear. We’re doomed.

Life Lessons from Escape Town: Part Trois

2010-07-29T15:26:00.002+02:00

At the beginning of last year, I went to Tiger Tiger for the first time. That, however, is not what this blog post is about [long story short: I hate the place]. But I went there with my high school ex, The Sweetheart, who also happens to be my best friend’s brother [rookie error; I know. NEVER AGAIN]. I broke up with him in 2006 and the next 18 months were spent with him landing up in hospital for alcohol poisoning, failing most of his subjects at varsity and me randomly receiving text messages from him at all hours with detailed descriptions of what a terrible person I am, and what he wished would happen to me. It was fairly traumatising, thus I was fairly happy when we finally made peace, and to keep said peace I agreed to go with him to Tiger.

The Sweetheart had just broken up with his girlfriend post me [let’s call her Crazy]. She was in residence at varsity with another BFF of mine, and was desperate to get some dirt on me every day of her life. Sad, really. And she did not take the break up very well. So when Crazy saw us at Tiger, she went fairly mental. She basically attacked us, and two of Sweetheart’s friends had to pick her up and drag her away while Sweetheart and I made a run for it. At this point I was quite over the legal drinking/driving limit, so Sweetheart suggested I crash at his place instead, and drive to work the next morning. Perfect plan!

Oh no. Crazy turns up at Sweetheart’s house at 3am, bangs the door down and proceeds to curse him [and me] right into whichever miserable life is next for us. I would have gone out there to explain to her just how absolutely and entirely OUT of the picture I was, but I was scared that Crazy would cut my throat open or throw a microwave at me or something. Anyway, she left, eventually. I am too little to deal with angry people who are bigger than me [which is pretty much everyone]. I escaped unscathed but for bleeding ears from such profanity escaping a little girl’s mouth! Yoh.

So, in Cape Town, I see Sweetheart again. A year and a half later I am even more completely and entirely out of the picture, and he has a new girlfriend. I meet her, the whole lot of us party together in Mercury, we’re drinking champagne straight from the bottle, everything is peachy. Later [much, much later] at Shack, I am sitting down with The Nazi, Margs and Chris [my favourite new toy], when Sweetheart sits down next to me. After conversation around how the party is, I asked how he is in general, which turns to ‘How are things going with the girl?’ My answer: ‘ Swimmingly, until YOU arrived.’

???

Turns out all I have to do is EXIST, and every girl freaking hates me. This is but a short tale of the many, many times this has happened, with numerous girls and numerous ex boyfriends. I have been stalked, cursed, hated and slated by any girl who has ever come near any guy I have ever gone near to.

Lesson: Jealousy makes you VERY nasty. Also insecure, irrational, rude, aggressive and unnecessarily potty-mouthed. Also fat.

Well, one can only hope.

Life Lessons from Escape Town: Part Deux

2010-07-28T13:19:00.002+02:00

Happy birthday, Mermaid.

So, as I mentioned, I saw everyone in Cape Town. Eeeeeveryone. And it was rad, and just because I missed everyone so much, they all look amazing! It started on Thursday night, when we drove to Chevelle straight from the airport for the aKing video launch, which I missed. Do you know how late you have to be for a gig to miss it entirely in Cape Town? VERY late. But the party was not over, and even when Chevelle unceremoniously kicked us out, we took our vibe over to Shack. Ah, Shack, my old friend. The cause of many too-late parties the night before Mandarin exams with TaiwaNina.

Friday night was spent at Mercury, after drinks with The Nazi, Stormin, bangersandnash and The Mermaid at Neighbourhood which was, as usual, too full. But I saw everyone, even some old school friends! Thereafter we went to Mercury to continue celebrating The Mermaid’s birthday, and at the gig I saw everyone again- muso friends, radio friends, photographer/designer/artist friends [read: whole of Cape Town]. Of course this party too was taken to Shack, where we saw everyone that is part of everyone we had not yet seen. On Saturday it was time to return to MY town, Stellenbosch, and my second home, Bohemia. But after just one Black Label special [2 for R15, have you ever???] I saw some rugby friends I had met in Welkom during Craven Week [small world, ey?] and we [Margs, La Jew and I] were dragged to Nu’bar. I hate the place, but who am I to say no to free alcohol?

Nu’Bar is too full of people I don’t know but who [apparently] know me, and too loud with music I don’t like. But we’re sticking it out for the sake of getting expensive free drinks without having to put out [score!], when Margs whispers [read: shouts at top of lungs over loud music] ‘It could just be someone who looks very much like him, but is that The Cyclist I see across the bar?]

Oh. Eff. The Cyclist. Remember, he’s the one my mum loves so much? When I said I saw everyone, this ex was not included. Not to mention how good he looks! Damn. And we have not spoken for two years as he hates me for a) breaking up with him and b) dating his best friend a few months later. [I didn’t know, okay? I DID NOT KNOW! I swear!] Undecided as to whether I should say hi or make a run for it, we end up being shoved quite into one another’s faces. So, hello it is. Eff. This is going to be AWFUL.

But no. It is not awkward in the slightest. He no longer hates me [although admits he DID hate me for quite some time], and we chat like we’re old friends. Cycling, horse riding, studying, work, hair [he is the ultimate metro man and I love it- he always smells amazing, he is clean and his hair is nice. What is not to love?] and, of course, love life. Turns out he knows EVERYTHING about me, from my tattoo to who I dated and where I’m working. A bit creepy [although the latter can be owed to his having a television.] We end up in Springboks. You know you will suffer from a stupid, irresponsible night for the next day [or week] if you end up there. There’s a fight at the door [of course] and we’re all ‘it’s good to see you, la la la’ and I end up sleeping over at his house.

Major facepalm! I’m waking up going ‘WHAT were you thinking? WHY do you do these stupid things????’ Self-loathing ensues.

After sneaking out with him [I do NOT need his family to be questioning me right now], I feel a rush of nostalgia. Nice car, driving by a stunning view on a perfect day, with this utterly gorgeous male. My mum is, of course, over the moon. And me? I’m still in the same clothes as the night before. But honestly, it was gooooooooood.

So, here’s a lesson: Never say never. Also, expect the unexpected. Read: always carry a toothbrush in your handbag.

I'm Not Crying. You're Not Crying, Are you?

2010-07-28T10:22:00.002+02:00

When last did I blog about music? Wow. I can't be sure exactly how much time has lapsed, but I guesstimate a million years.

There's a new Arcade Fire album, and ou can pre-order it here. I have heard good things about the album and so far, so pretty. While you're at it, hover your cursor over the album cover. Too cool. If you tell me you 'don't really like' Arcade Fire, I will assume you are either a) lying or b) deaf.

Also, I have a new love. They're called Dear and the Highlights, and you can get a taste of their vibe here.

Life Lessons from Escape Town: Part Une

2010-07-26T21:35:00.003+02:00

Last Monday I decided to be impulsive. I miss being impulsive. Last year was all about that: last-minute abandonment of all that is rational; a crazy night; waking up somewhere you have never been before and spending the next day facepalming yourself while sitting in too-bright sunlight still stinking of whatever madness had gone down the night before. But now, what with having a job and all that, things have calmed down a lot. But after working myself half to death during the FIFA World Cup, and with honours about to get pretty hectic [rumour has it there is a thesis deadline looming], I decided now was the perfect time to Cape Town. So I did. And it was awesome, but in the most unexpected ways...

I am not going to go into details of my exact itinerary. It was the usual- I saw everyone, I went everywhere, I did everything I loved to do. But I simply have to share an amazing story with everyone: The Story of the Departed Driver’s Licence.

There is only one break-up I have ever taken really badly, and that was when The Nazi very unexpectedly dumped me. I smashed a vase in my house [hard enough to chip the concrete wall], lay on the ground [in a ball gown, as this happened straight after a big event] and cried my make-up onto the floor. The next day I walked halfway to campus to hand in an essay, barefoot and puffy-eyed, with black streaks of eyelines down to my collar bones [still in said ball gown], before realising I was probably attracting more attention than I wanted to. I also disappeared for a few days, and when I returned I spent many a night drunk-dialing the poor guy, blaming him for everything that was wrong in my life. So, fairly soon after this break up I went on a bit of a drinking spree. Alone [obviously, otherwise it simply is not tragic enough], and strategically having just one or two drinks at each place. And when I say ‘each place’, I mean pretty much every liquor-selling venue in Stellenbosch. Needless to say when I landed up in Bohemia [ten hours later], I was fairly tipsy. And, of course, I called The Nazi. We talked, I got angry and stormed out, only to realise that my wallet was decidedly gone. I went back into Bohemia [where I had definitely last had it], but no luck.

The next day I went through the usual post-theft admin of affidavits, running around, filling out forms and spending unnecessary money until, a few hours later, I had a new driver’s licence, bank card, student card and wallet.

Back to present day: on Saturday we went to Bohemia. As I am ordering my drink at Bar B, Unknown Barman points to me and says, “Lize?”

Me: “Yes. Why?” [Not too worried, he doesn’t look like the rugby type but maybe he watched Varsity Cup.]

Unknown Barman: “I recognise you from class.”

Me: “Oh.” [In head: creep.]

Unknown Barman: “Your driver’s licence is behind the other bar.”

Me: “Erm... No, it isn’t.” [I know this because I have not had to remove my licence yet as this is one of the few nights where I have not been asked for ID, thus licence is still safe in wallet.]

Unknown Barman: “Yes, it is. Except you had black hair.”

Me: [Pull out my wallet and show him my driver’s licence, accompanied by ‘whatever, dude’ look on face.]

Unknown Barman: “Okay. Well, anyway...” [Conversation trails off into ordering of alcohol.]

So, I decide to ask at Bar A anyway. And there it is. Two years later, my driver’s licence has found its way back to my second home, waiting for me!

Okay, I am quite sure that this story excites you less than it did me, and that you did not just buy a round for a group of strangers. But it was just one of those moments where the universe really comes to the party [albeit fashionably VERY late] and makes you go ‘Aaaaw! You are not just a screwed-up bitch, Life.’

That is my first story. There are a few more Cape Town chapters to be written, on friends, exes and other invaluable life lessons. Stay tuned.

I've Got A Dark Alley and A Bad Idea...

2010-06-29T19:09:00.004+02:00

The worst night. EVER.

So, I have been working pretty hard lately. I get in at 9am, I leave for an hour or two for dinner, go back to studio, and then leave after midnight. I also go in on weekends. But my boss told me that, in radio, the hours are crazy [true], so when one has time off, one should not rest, because one will be tired forever. Instead, one should go out and go crazy. So I took his advice.

First up, movie premier. My two first choices for dates could not make it [I am a reject], so I took my non-gay GBF. We just pretend he’s gay, because I miss my fags back in the Cape.

So, I go have lunch with my World Cup ‘boyfriend’ [it’s a long story]. I have had a crush on this boy for a good six years, and he is basically me, with a penis. As you can imagine, he is AMAZING! After lunch [read: margheritas] I decide I need shoes for this premier. Gold ones. I don’t find gold shoes, but I do stumble across the most gorgeous Aldo FMHeels ever. They are a size too big, but I am determined. Upon swiping my card, I realise I have considerably less cash left than I thought. Too late, though. We’ll just coin the phrase ‘fabulously broke’.

And speaking of late, so am I. I am in Jo’burg, and I have to drive to Pretoria, get ready and dressed, pick up my petrol card, fill up my car, do some recording in studio and drive back to Jo’burg. The premier starts in less than two hours. After a mad rush, and a little bit of getting lost [what’s new?], we arrive. And there is no one else there. But we’re an hour late. What gives? OH. The movie itself played somewhere else. Somewhere completely different, in a completely different part of town. We are at the after party. Briliant. So, I missed the whole thing.

Anyway, we chill at said after party and everyone arrives soon enough. Free drinks are Appletiser and tequila cocktails, and this epileptic ignores the fact that she absolutely cannot drink tequila, justifying these cocktails by the fact that Appletiser can be counted as one of one’s fruit portions for the day. A considerable number of cocktails and drinks later, a few hours of mingling and many promises that I will buy the DVD of this thing, I decide it’s time for one last one. Free drinks have run out, but that’s fine. I get my bill. R67. SIXTY SEVEN RAND, for a SINGLE tequila and Appletiser. I have never sworn so much in my life. I mean, seriously? SERIOUSLY?! Bank account maxed out in one day, on shoes and a drink. By now I am over Jo’burg, and praying that the drink is at least spiked with heroin. [Kidding]. After picking up the guys, we head out to Parkhurst. And what happens? I get asked for ID. Seriously?! At what point in my life am I going to stop looking 17?

In Jolly’s, I am a LOT overdressed. It is dark, and smoky, and loud. We meet up with two adorable German virgins who are in their first year of varsity. Some bitch ashes a hole in my brand new stockings, and I am angry. By the time we’ve each had some beers, nine shooters [Goomf likes to buy these things in sets of three] and I hear “’cause I’m your laaaaaaaaaaaadyyyyy”, I know it is time to go home. But no, why don’t we stop in Greenside first? Why not, I say. The shoes are [unsurprisingly] still too big, and for fear of Lize breaking her neck, World Cup Boyfriend [WCBF] carries me. I have now removed prostitute- like, hole-filled stockings, and flash every human being in Parkhurst. Nice.

Gin is great, as always. I keep being fed more shooters, and upon calculating that I have drunk my bodyweight in alcohol, I put my foot down. I am still sober, and I quit. I’m going home. But certain parties want to go get weed first. And then, my driver’s licence seems to be missing. Now, bear in mind that I have to drive across the country [okay, 300km] for work in a few hours. Fairly fed up, I am relieved to be offered a bed at Virgin #1’s house. We get there, and I am offered weed. I don’t smoke [epilepsy, once again] but I [still sober] make some joke about ‘No thanks, unless you have cocaine...’ Virgin #2 giggles nervously and tells me that I “shouldn’t do bad drugs”. She is so cute that I don’t even have the heart to point and laugh.

Eventually we get to bed at 6am. Bed is a fourteen year-old German boy’s room. I am on a blow-up mattress, and I have never seen so many toys in my life. For someone who believes that toys come to life at night, this is creepy. This bedtime, in itself, is not a problem. Except that I have to be up at 7am. Because I need to drop off the guys, drive to Pretoria, wash myself so that I don’t smell like a shebeen any longer, tidy my disastrous house a bit, get a new driver’s licence, find money to get said driver’s licence, pack for a week away for work [in WELKOM!], do more recording in studio, go see my dad [just back from Austria] and leave for Welkom. I have until 11am to do all of this. Besides, I calculate that I had a total of about 22 drinks [of which most were shooters and cocktails] and, in light of my weighing less than 50kgs, I am dreading the epic hangover with which I am about to be sledgehammered in the face.

I have no hangover. NONE. No nausea, no headache, no facepalming myself over the multitude of stupid things I did the night before. I feel absolutely fine. My licence is in the car. I remember someone telling me something amazing at 5:30am. Now, if that isn’t reason to smile, what is?

Jo’burg, last night was awesome. Let’s NEVER do that again.

I Can See Clearly Now

2010-05-18T21:13:00.002+02:00

I saw a clairvoyant today. It was an appointment sponsored by Meggy [after shoes I can barely afford food, let alone personal help] for helping her move. So I went to see Robynne [note compulsory extra letters for flair and mystery].

My future looks quite bright. Very bright, in fact. Did I need someone else to tell me that I will NOT die fat, alone and unsuccessful? Yes, I did. Right now it served simply as a nice little booster for a little girl feeling quite down and out.

But I am not going to believe every single word she uttered. Instead, I have kept the paper on which I jotted what she said, and we'll see what happens, shall we?

I can tell you, however, that there IS a future husband! Yes, ladies and gents, Lize is going to find someone stupid enough to actually 'for better or for worse' her. AND have kids [hopefully in the very distant future]!

Also, if you drive a charcoal grey car: lock your doors.

If you are a girl friend of mine and are not married: do not have unprotected sex.

If you do any action sports, be careful.

If you are blonde and your name begins with C, take care of your stomach.

AND if your name begins with N, A, T or S: hurry up with my good news already!

Don't get freaked out if you are any of the above. I am totally kidding.

Everything is Average Nowadays

2010-05-15T20:48:00.006+02:00

Photo by Skillie.

Nina is officially in Taiwan. But that is a destination with quite the story behind it.

On Thursday night I threw a surprise retirement [read: farewell] party for her. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to organise a surprise party for someone who is sitting right next to you ALL THE TIME? Never ever have I ever told so many fibs, and there was a moment of panic when I thought that I actually could not get everything done on time, but it was worth it. The other problem [besides for catering, gifts, timing, planning, alcohol and and and] was that Nina knows a total of, like, three and a half people in Pretoria, so I had to invite all of my friends instead. But we did it. People actually pitched and Nina was actually surprised. So, Thursday was sehr cool. But Friday? Oh no.

Lize wakes up with quite the hangover. Whilst on bed [still in clothes from night before], I get a call from Supersport. Some of you may have seen me present on Varsity Cup? Well, my next gig was the FIFA Soccer World Cup. Yes. Me. I was the only girl, the only freelancer who would be presenting World Cup matches for Supersport. Added to this major career move was the fact that I would be doing news bulletins for four radio stations, a total of 3 million listeners. I was a bit excited.

Supersport: Lize, you're not going to love me, but I'm just the messenger.

Immediate reaction is panic, but I calm myself down and think, 'Maybe my clothing sponsor has pulled out. I can deal with that.'

Lize: ?

Supersport: You're no longer on World Cup.

Lize: ?!

Supersport: We think it would be better to take one of our guys. Someone who knows the sport inside out.

This sucks so royally. I did not want to write about this, but I'd rather do it this way than have everyone ask me about it individually when I do not appear on their television screens as threatened, and re-living it over and over and over again. So the last two days have been spent in a state of epic depression because I will definitely never ever make it in this industry, and will someday die a doggy parlour waitress who is fat and eternally single. Added to this was the frustration of executing the final steps to ensure Nina would be getting on her plane to Taiwan.

Lize: Excuse me, is there an Absa in this mall?

Mall info woman: The bank?

Lize: No, the ice-cream parlour, obviously.

So I spent my hangover in Absa and Forex, being annoyed by people because it is not bad enough that my entire career has just gone up in flames, everyone has to suck too. Blind zit the size of Kenya on my chin also not helping matters at all.

And then, of course, saying goodbye to my amazing friend. Nina and I quite despised one another at first, but it took just one Howard Roark album launch, an all-nighter and many stimulants to have us realise that we were destined to be BFFs. After one last cigarette and a shot of Kleine Keiler in the airport bathroom, we said goodbye. There were many tears, but I did it. This go-to gal got her friend on that plane, and now it is time for Nina's adventures in Taiwan. Painful as it was to say goodbye, I am excited for her.

After saying goodbye I walked through the airport for approximately 3 days [slight exaggeration] looking for the parking lot that contained my car, unable to decide which is worse; walking around crying with make-up streaming onto my collarbones or walking around with sunglasses indoors. It was The Hero and The Mermaid to the rescue though, and The Hero, as well as my mother, told me something along of the lines of 'the sun will shine again tomorrow'. To this I replied that I bet it wouldn't, that tomorrow would be rainy and miserable and I would die in my sleep of sadness and fail.

I am tired beyond belief after a day of helping Meggy move into her new place, driving a bakkie that is a full-body workout with every gear change, after getting into bed at 4am. But the sun shone today, and I did not die in my sleep. So, at least for now, my story will be continued.

She Took The Midnight Train Going Anywhere

2010-05-13T09:54:00.002+02:00

On Tuesday night, Nina arrived on the Intercrap from Windhoek. Six hours late, and after reading many a tweet about Nina’s ‘Future Husband’ she had met on the bus, I picked her up. As well as Future Husband and his friend, and we went for drinks. Cheers to making new friends! And yes, we approve of Future Husband: he is about to qualify as a medical doctor; he has just spent seven months working at hospitals and animal rehabilitation centres in Africa; he is joining the Dutch air force in August; and he is totally gorgeous- a real Aryan, but with cool scars from cheetahs and such. He plays chess with strangers on the bus, he loves cheese, he counts cards and he really, really looks you in the eye when in conversation.

Alas, the fun had to come to an end as the next morning was an early start. Nina was set to fly to Taiwan on Friday. By Wednesday morning she was still sans Visa and any clue what was going on. I swiftly took the position of personal assistant, chauffeur, mother and friend. I also bunked class for her, but seeing as this happened all the time at Stellenbosch, it felt just like the old days.

It was a day of banks- getting a new card, setting up internet banking, setting withdrawal limits, getting statements, stop orders. It was a day of gathering information- flight details, Wikipedia’ing the town. And then there was misc- photographs, invitation to the country, forex... Five hours later we got back in Peter [my car] and headed off to the Taiwanese embassy. Sans GPS and avec traffic like I have never seen before, we found it, and arrived only three hours after Visa applications had closed. But they took pity on us [I think they could see that I was so hungry I was about to eat Nina] and after something along the lines of ‘you look tired. Sit down and I’ll do everything for you’, Nina has a Visa. Yes, she is going to Taiwan tomorrow. We’re not sure where exactly, but go she will!

So, I [well, we] pulled it off. There were many mini dramas in between, but her big adventure is about to begin. And I got to thinking about this whole ‘go-to gal’ thing. So maybe I am not a professional shrink, or a legal advisor, and maybe my relationship history is one big fail. But maybe, just maybe, I am a good enough friend to be able to help. Not because I can, but because I really, really want to.

Gym... 'As in, Morrison?'

2010-05-11T11:10:00.003+02:00

So, I woke up knowing that today is that historical day of the Gym Debut. Yesterday I went gym-clothes shopping. No one warned me that all gym clothing is apparently hideous. Anyway, after much searching [and buying non-gymmy styff along the way], I settled on plain black stirrup leggings which, if I absolutely hate gym, can be worn under normal circumstances too. They call this a 'sound investment', I think.

That was about the most interesting part of yesterday, after which I came home to finish my assignment. And in the few hours I sat in front of my laptop, I received approximately three million phone calls. When did I become everyone's go-to gal?! Okay, I get that you might call me to find out how much cover charge is at whatever gig [even though I never pay cover and even though you have Facebook!]. But now people are calling me about all sorts of other problems for advice. Now, don't get me wrong, I love my friends dearly and would love to help. But asking ME for relationship advice?! The love of my life is GAY! Okay, so he was my standard six boyfriend and I very stupidly thought we would be together forever, but still. I have more failed relationships under my belt than John Mayer has one-night-stands. And money!? I have never managed to get by with my allowance until the end of any month. Ever. You could pay me double, in February [of a non-leap-year] and I still wouldn't make it to March. I budget for shoes before electricity. So, much as I am both flattered you would come to and desperate to help you, my best advice would be to do what Lize would NOT do.

Anyway, so this gym debut. Everyone on Twitter kept telling me that it doesn't matter what I wear. That, my friends, does not compute. I'm not going to try exercise in Burberry tights and high heels, but I would like to look at least a little bit cool [in an effortless kinda way] while I get all sweaty. I mean, my odds of dying alone are way high [once again], and what if I actually do meet someone at the gym [heaven forbid]? If this were to happen, I would like very much for him to be struck by my effortless cool. Something along the lines of white leg warmers, black tights and an oversized Diesel boyfriend jersey, y'know? So, after searching furiously for the perfect, totally effortless-looking oufit, and then searching furiously for the actual gym, I took a dance class and did some work on the treadmill. I felt pretty good afterwards too. Not exhausted beyond walking ability, but kinda bouncy. Endorphins! It's not sex, but I think the gym and I might become good friends soon.

Skinny Love

2010-05-10T09:35:00.003+02:00

I am an odd girl. I say this not because I think it makes me sound cool and -interesting, but because of one phenomenon. You know when girls are sad [because of boys], they just sit in front of the telly [or in bed] and eat ice cream straight from the tub [after tub after tub] with a spoon whilst throwing bits of bread and other dry, carb-loaded food at whatever sop is on screen? Well, I do not. Firstly, I only like the Woolies Madagascan Vanilla Bean ice cream, and Haagen Dasz. And secondly, I do the opposite. When I am sad, I do not eat. Well, hardly. Talking to a friend about my recent heartbreak-causing event a few days ago:

Me: My appetite is mucho absento at the moment. I don't know where it's gone, but I think it should stay there.

X [he's not my ex, his name starts with X]: I lost 8kgs in 2 weeks with my last break-up.

Me: What?! Yes! I'm excited now!

So, my heart sucks but soon, hopefully, my body will not and I will be wholly love-handle free. See, I am fairly thin and all that, but my love handles irk me. They are bigger than my boobs. This is NOT right.

Anyway, tomorrow I make my gym debut. I went to a gym once to sauna, and another time to join. But I have never really utilised the gym for its exercising purposes. I have an invite to Virgin Active and tomorrow morning I am taking a dance class. This is way overdue. I used to do horseriding [which is obviously not oodles of fat-burning, muscle-toning exercise judging by some of the whales who submit their poor horses to carrying them, but it is more than most people think], and that was enough for me. But these days, shopping is my cardio. Yesterday, shopping for Mum's Mother's Day present, I go looking for this pashmina I have been eyeing out for weeks now. It is not there. So, in a frenzy of desperation and self-loathing for leaving it so late, I whirlwind into every other store until I find something similar. On the way I buy stuff for myself too, obviously [I am starting to realise that I have one times gross spending problem.] So, finally, I rush back t my car and start wrapping it hastily [as am now quite late for lunch] only to discover it has a hole in it. Run all the way back to store.

Me: Sorry, this pashmina I just bought has a hole in it.

Assistant: Really?

[pause]

Me: No, I just felt like running all the way back here because, as you can see, I need the exercise.

I don't why people think I am joking about such serious things! Like when I expressed my shock last year on Twitter when a Stellenbosch student died of swine flu, and some chick replies with 'Really?!' No, I just like to joke about death and such. I phoned his parents too, to see what they would say. Daft cow.

But I digress...

So, maybe it is time I find another kind of exercise. Em has told me more than once that I WILL be fat someday when I'm older, so maybe I should shock my body with exercise now, before it's old and dies of heart failure at the sight of a dumbell [or whatever those are called]. I agree with Kate: Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. I like skinny, and I am never going to have big boobs [seeing as all my weight just sinks down to my love handles], so I may as well by boobless with killer legs, rather than boobless and kinda squishy. Ick.

So, stay tuned. I have a funny feeling that I will be in much pain on Wednesday, and you will hear about it. For now, I'm off to go buy gym clothes. Now that DOES excite me...

Jou Ma Se Dag

2010-05-09T23:00:00.005+02:00

Sorry this post is so late, I have been very busy doing nothing.

So, this was going to be a funny "yo' mama"-type post, but no. I actually think my mother deserves much credit. Not only did I turn out quite well, I am also not the easiest person ever. Arguably. My mother has two Leo daughters who are VERY Leo-esque, and she is a very sensitive, soft-spoken person. Basically, I get annoyed [ergo aggressive, as is my nature] because she gets emotional, which makes her get more emotional, me more aggressive- you get the idea. But I do love her, I do owe her very much [including good skin; as a child I was yanked out of the ocean every ten minutes for yet another layer of sunscreen, and to this day I wear sunscreen every day. Yes, even in winter. Yes, even in winter in Cape Town.] and she is very beautiful [duh.]

That said, I sometimes have my bratty 'no one loves me' moments, especially when it comes to her dogs. She has five, and I love four of them dearly. But then there is BB, which is short for Bella Beautiful. She is not very beautiful. I swear she gets uglier by the day! Every time I think it is impossible, this rat in Dachshund's clothing is more manky looking. She attacks everyone, barks at everything and generally adds nothing to anybody's life. On my first holiday back from university in Stellenbosch, I was actually quite sad to be leaving home to go back to varsity. This is a notable moment in the history of Lizeland, since I got homesick maybe once in my five years of boarding school. So, I'm sitting at the breakfast table.

Lize [avec sorry face]: 'It's pretty sad that I'm going back today. Won't be back in two months...'

Mum [not even looking at aforementioned daughter]: 'What's wrong with BB?!'

Lize: 'Yup, I know. It is tragic, my leaving and all.' [See? Nobody loves me!]

So, BB had to be rushed to the vet, and my stepdad took me to l'aeroport. Turns out when BB got to the vet, she was running around and feeling quite alright again. The bitch hates me, and will do anything to steal all of my well-deserved attention.

So, today I got to thinking about mother-children relationships. The woman spawned me 21 years ago, it makes sense that she would have some kind of connection to me that means that she does, in fact, know best. But a few days ago I texted her something along the lines of 'of all my boyfriends I've had, which one could you see me with long-term? Like, serious, and long long term.' At first she wanted to know why I asked, but I couldn't go into the detail of my countless failed relationships and the fact that the love of my life [grade 8 boyfriend who I was convinced would be with me forever] turns out to be gay, so I just said 'Because.' She's quite used to this answer from my teenage years so, no surprise, she accepted is. And she answered that the person she could most imagine me with is... The Cyclist. The first and last cyclist ever to be my boyfriend. Don't get me wrong, I dig the sport and all that but I will never date a cyclist again. Never ever. Because besides for the 04h30am wake-ups [on the weekend!] to sit in a place where nothing is open [ergo no coffee], and see him for a total of fifteen seconds as he races past, it is like dating a girl. Well, I imagine it is. I have actually never dated a girl. Cyclists are always on diets. And I really do not need to be told 'don't eat that, that's the bad part.' Dude, I know it is. I'm drowning my sorrows in a duvet of fat because my boyfriend's body is a bajillion times nicer than mine [gross exaggeration]. That said, you may also refer to The Jock as The Arse. Sweet Hitler's panties, the boy had a body worth drooling over. The Jock was a nice guy and all that, but ultimately we moved in very different circles, lived at very different levels of ambition [Lize: 1 000 000 ; Jock: 3] and had nothing to talk about. So, we broke up. And he took it really badly, blah blah blah, I felt for the guy but there is little of me [read: zero] that pines for him.

So, the question of whether mum really knows best is potentially unanswered. I can tell you that I will never take shoe advice from her, and that she hates my hair short [while everyone else loves it. Or maybe they are all lying to me.] Maybe sometimes I know best, because surely that connection might go both ways? That said, I owe her a lot. I owe for her good parenting, and where I felt it was not so good, I got material for a 21 year-old textbook on how not to raise kids. Joking! She wasn't that bad. In fact, she was great. And she still is.

So, thanks, Mum. And I love you.

On Freedom Day

2010-04-27T13:35:00.000+02:00

The western land, nervous under the beginning change. The Western States, nervous as horses before a thunder storm. The great owners, nervous, sensing change, knowing nothing of the nature of the change. The great owners, striking at the immediate thing, the widening government, the growing labo[u]r unity; striking at new taxes, at plans; not knowing these things are results, not causes. Results, not causes; results, not causes. The causes lie deep and simply- the causes are a hunger in a stomach, multiplied a million times; a hunger in a single soul, hunger for joy and some security, multiplied a million times; muscles and mind aching to grow, to work, to create, multiplied a million times. The last clear definite function of man- muscles aching to work, minds aching to create beyond the single need- this is man. To build a wall, to build a house, a dam, and in the wall and house and dam to put something of Manself , and to make Manself take back something of the wall, the house, the dam; to take hard muscles from lifting, to take the clear lines and form from conceiving. For man, unlike any other thing organic or inorganic in the universe, grows beyond his work, walks up the stairs of his concepts, emerges ahead of his accomplishments. This you may say of man- when theories change and crash, when schools, philosophies, when narrow dark alleys of thought, national, religious, economic, grow and disintegrate, man reaches, stumbles forward, painfully, mistakenly sometimes. Having stepped forward, he may slip back, but only half a step, never the full step back. This you may say and know it and know it. This you may know when the bombs plummet out of the black planes on the market place, when prisoners are stuck like pigs, when the crushed bodies drain filthily in the dust. You may know it in this way. If the step were not being taken, if the stumbling-forward ache were not alive, the bombs would not fall, the throats would not be cut. Fear the time when the bombs stop falling while the bombers live- for every bomb is proof that the spirit has not died. And fear the time when the strikes stop while the great owners live- for every little beaten strike is proof that the step is being taken. And this you can know- fear the time when Manself will not suffer and die for a concept, for this one quality is the foundation of Manself, and this one quality is man, distinctive in the universe.

If you who own the things people must have could understand this, you might preserve yourself. If you could separate causes from results, if you could know that Paine, Marx, Jefferson, Lenin, were results, not causes, you might survive. But that you cannot know. For the quality of owning freezes you forever into “I”, and cuts you off forever from the “we”.

-The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck

Would the real Anton Taylor please shut up?

2010-04-16T11:43:00.005+02:00

A lot of people are up in arms about this Anton Taylor chick who wrote some very nasty hate mail about Stellenbosch University. She displayed her sore-loserness quite clearly and said things which I feel are either untrue or true of both universities. Now, while I did not want to give her the satisfaction of a response, this cannot be ignored completely. Nor can the fact that Stellenbosch won Varsity Cup fair and square. Just like last year. And the year before.

I thought perhaps she was ridiculously good-looking, suave and gifted with an enormous penis to justify this douchebaggery. But oh, oh no. Oh... NOT.

She is the hairy one with the big thighs and the vomit.

[PS. I only assume this is a girl because of the whining, the bitching, and the boobs.]

My New Drug

2010-04-08T21:07:00.003+02:00

I once saw pictures Liam had taken, which had in them what had to be South Africa's most well-dressed male. His name, I later found out, is Christopher Wagner and I was instantly a fan. I met him at Oppikoppi last year and seeing as I was so smoorverlief with his style, I ran about a hundred meters back to where Liam and I had said goodbye to him, just to tell him exactly what I thought of his dress sense [think every positive adjective in your vocabulary]. Since then we have hung out more often, bumping into one another at gigs and things like Audi Joburg Fashion Week. Now, he has gotten me onto what has to be the worst addiction I have ever had: Lookbook.

I have used half of my cap for this month, and it is because of Lookbook. Check it out, and please do have a look at my profile and - 'looks' here.

Enjoy the addiction!

PS. Also DO check out SuperSneakyStreetScene.

The effing D-words using the k-word, ET. SMH.

2010-04-04T13:33:00.004+02:00

Between having watched Sweeney Todd last night, being a quarter of the way through In Cold Blood and Eugene Terre’blanche being murdered, life is feeling pretty gorey right now.

Firstly, Dozi has been making all sorts of unnecessary racist comments. This D-word has been using the k-word. And by ‘D-word’ I am not referring to his name. I mean he’s a doos. It is because of attitudes like his that the ‘Rainbow Nation’ remains an ideal which describes only South Africa’s demographic variety, not its attitudes.

Let us not forget the deaths for which Eugene Terre’blanche was responsible. Rumours are he was killed by farm workers. With his history, combined with his having allegedly refused to pay wages and –gotten into trouble before for physically abusing a worker, many people are surprised he lasted this long. I am not justifying his murder, but one must not lose sight of the fact that this 'leader' was a terrible man in many ways, and to suddenly create Facebook groups in memory of him, where the Boere must 'stand together' tells me people have forgotten what he really represented.

Let us not make this about race. Stop, and consider the possibility it was a senseless murder like the countless others that happen in this country. We simply cannot always make everything about race; what will we DO when a white person kills another white person? Because here is a shocking truth: white people kill too. They rape, they steal and they do all the other bad things we seem to blame only on black people [or coloured people, in certain parts of the world] in this country. And yes, racism goes both ways. It is wrong, in both directions.

Let us not tie this to Julius Malema. What he has been doing is not right, but this cannot be made his fault. Make connections where there are linked paths, do not get all Nancy Drew on matters that are either far more complicated than you understand, or far more simple than you may think.

Let us not forget the other man who died this weekend, albeit a long time ago: Jesus Christ. He died for the sins of all, regardless of colour. And for those of you ‘Christians’ making racist comments, sitting innocently in church today: that is NOT Christianity. Christianity is Christ’s teachings, and he preached loving one’s neighbour, not loving only those with whom our skin colour or political beliefs correspond.

When people cry out that he did not deserve to die like that, I ask, ‘Does anyone?’ But his, like any other, was a murder. A death, an untimely exit and, to some, a tragedy. Nobody deserves to be murdered, and that is what we must focus on, rather than the hype the media and ill-informed people are creating about race, Julius Malema and all the other political bullshit they know nothing about.

Let us not fight violence with violence. Your logic may tell you that this is counter-productive, especially when the primary goal is not peace but victory.

Let us not get irrationally scared. This is not war. This is not the end of South Africa, or life as we know it. For all you Afrikaners stocking up on locks, ammunition and racist Facebook statuses, remember this-

‘Imagination, of course, can open any door- turn the key and let terror walk right in.’

-In Cold Blood, Truman Capote

Nothing Better

2010-04-03T11:54:00.005+02:00

Last year I busied myself with a lot of things. Well, obviously 'a lot' is subjective, but for a 20 year-old, this seemed like a lot.

I got up at 04h30 every day to be at studio at MFM at 5am to do the Breakfast Show from 6-9am. I had 22 lectures a week, my majors being Political Science, English and Mandarin. I also had 2 extra modules. I co-ran a website called LifeAfter5 with The GBF, writing features, taking photographs and trying out new restaurants. I wrote for YourLMG, One Small Seed and occasionally the campus paper. This entailed going to gigs a couple of times a week to write reviews and get photographs, getting me into bed some time around 2am- not ideal for someone with a 04h30 wake-up call. I had this blog, and I did shows twice a month on MK. I also kept a fairly healthy social life alive, and always managed to dress well before running out the door. I was busy.

I hate not being busy. I work well under extreme pressure, and the more I do, the more I get done.

This year is different. Mondays are all Supersport- whether I am flying somewhere or driving-, between meetings, facs checks, make-up and rehearsal, Mondays are out for anything but work.

Tuesday afternoons from 3pm I help out at an orphanage, then I have class from 5-7pm.

Wednesday mornings I have class from 9am until we finish [which may not be later than 1pm], and then I'm back at the orphanage until 5pm.

Thursdays to Sundays I do whatever I want. This is a bit of university work, some admin, housekeeping [or makeovering, in my case] and a lot of shopping.

As I write this I am still in my pyjamas, and the clock has just struck 12. It is afternoon, and I am still in my pyjamas! So, I have learnt a fairly important skill this year: how to relax. I realised a few years ago I find it impossibly stressful to lie on the couch doing nothing. I am always finding something to do, fidgeting, making plans and I sometimes think I leave everything to the last second just for the thrill of it, the ongoing quest to never find myself standing still! But here I am, chilling. I still cannot sleep later than 9am or I panic that I have wasted a day of my life. But I am watching more television [good film and the mindless stuff like lifestyle programmes], I am reading more [just finished Jude the Obscure which has shot to close to the top of my list, now onto In Cold Blood] and I am learning how to 'take it easy'. I still get done what needs to be done, but I also find time to sit down and eat, rather than going through a day forgetting to eat or, as sometimes happened, pee.

So, although it seems everyone is more expert at relaxing than I am, I have a tip: chill. Things to do on this long weekend Saturday: watch a good film; watch Man U vs Chelsea later [and do cheer for Chelsea, please]; read Jude the Obscure; walk your dog [especially if it has taken to chewing every thing you own] and go shopping. Speaking of shopping, I have found [after 6 years of questing] the perfect boots. And no, I am not telling you where they're from.

So, enjoy this Saturday being useless and getting fat! That's an order.

PS. I need a job. I am bored out of my mind.

Guess Who's Back

2010-04-02T09:13:00.003+02:00

Hello, it's me [for a change].

I have been neglecting this blog. It was a combination of settling in to a very new lifestyle and starting designing a website. So, soon you will be clicking on www.lizekay.co.za for something that is even cooler than this!

The following post has no specific agenda. It's a ranty-updaty-I'm-still-alive post, just for just. I was going to do this yesterday, but with April Fucking Fools you would probably not even have clicked on the link in case something stupid happened, like the computer told you you're pregnant and before you can even stop and remember you're a virgin you're so wound up and suicidal, and just as you're about to hang yourself with a laptop charger you get an e-mail saying 'You're an idiot. But if you want a bigger penis, click here.'

Let's start with an update. I have moved from Stellenbosch to Pretoria [but you know this because it happened in January]. I am doing honours in Media and Culture Studies at Tuks, but don't ask me how that is going. So far my marks are good, but between only having classs twice a week and knowing all of three people in campus, it hardly feels like I am studying. It's just so different from Stellenbosch where you not only live in campus [because the entire town is 'campus'], but I also got there at 5am every day for work, and had at least 4 lectures a day. So, studies: 'whatever'. It just doesn't feel like a big feature in my life.

I moved into a 2-bedroom house [and I live alone because I don't like people and I had my fair share of psycho flatmates in Stellenbosch], and much of my free time has been spent home makeovering. The living-/dining room area is finally done, and it looks amazing. Now to muster the strength to start on my bedroom. But seriously, it is hard work and it looks great, so please come visit and tell me how great it looks.

I got a job. For 8 weeks I presented Varsity Cup on Supersport, and I loved it! I had a lot of fun being on camera but also working with my crew [which, in two months, included ONE other female]. I was recognised by many people [which is great not for the 'fame' bullshit, but for being recognised for what I do], every Monday I received about 15 Friend Requests on Facebook [IGNORE] and I even got one times hate mail. Maties also won, like we knew they would. It was great! Varsity Cup is over now so who knows what's next, but if I could stay in sports television I would.

Speaking of work, I miss radio every day. I am trying to get back in, but I understand that walking out of a community radio station into something big is going to take time, hard work and standing out. And as hard as I am on myself [I am currently one step away from depression over 'What next?' and 'I'm not doing anything with my life!'], I had something of a revelation last year, and it went like this: 'Lize, you are only 21. Chill the fuck out.' I am trying.

I love Pretoria. The people are great and making friends is easy. For my industry, work is better [and more plentiful]. I have been back to Stellenbosch and Cape Town a few times for work, and though I miss the scenery and things I used to do there, I miss the people the most. But people tend to act like the Cape is perfect and everything else is terrible. It's not, on both accounts. I love Pretoria, and though I sometimes miss Cape Town I know I could never live in Stellenbosch again. But it's the people, not the place...

Now, for a little rant. I have seen 3 people in the last few days who are guilty of this, and I must voice my opinion. Said people are Afrikaans. Yet they choose to write, blog, tweet, speak and do all the other 'communication' things in English. Why? Fuck knows. I have a feeling it has to do with 'acceptance'. Maybe accessibility? But why would you suffer through the labour of writing in the language that is not the language of your mind, to produce a piece of writing so ridden with errors that it may as well be a different language altogether? If you think it better to write in English because more people can understand it, think again: those English people are more likely to give up halfway through whatever you are saying because your grammatical abomination is making their eyes bleed and the laptop is starting to fizz. Instead of trying so desperately to 'fit in' and cater for the masses, why not embrace your differentness? There are countless people in South Africa [and the world, obviously] who only speak one language, which I find a little sad. So, be proud that you can speak something other than English, and cater for those who are with you. Also, you're more likely to get it right. Small things like there vs. their, to vs. too and spelling errors doth a bad writer make. And yes, I am Afrikaans. The difference is I went to an English pre-primary and -high school, where I took English first language on Higher Grade. I think in English, therefore I am, in English.

Stay tuned, I'm back on the blog. More stuff coming soon.

Also, Happy Easter to my believer-friends, especially Mpumi, who is smart and funny and talented and all-round amazing, and Skillie, who is one of the goodest people I know. Note I did not blaspheme in this post.

Enjoy, and before you tuck into that next chocolate bunny, think about my reasons for not eating chocolate. [Sorry to kill your vibe, slotters].

Let Your Hair Down For Me...

2010-01-30T15:15:00.005+02:00

Thieve and Desmond and the Tutus at Hotbox Studios, Wednesday 27 January

I am still on Cape Town time, where the suns sets inordinately late and gigs only start once everyone has arrived [which is late, because arriving early is almost as uncool as showing that you’re enjoying the music] and thus I am late. Thankfully I arrive with the band, and I have a little rockstar moment as ‘we’ are, literally, what they have been waiting for.

The crowd is in place, and things get underway almost immediately. Standing in the crowd, right near the stage, I am alone. So far I know all of four people here, and they are all on stage. No matter; I determinedly seek the company of cigarettes and booze and stay glued to the spot. And despite this alien occurrence of attending a gig not knowing everyone, nor being surrounded by my music-loving friends, I enjoy myself. It’s all thanks to Thieve. I had been craving something familiar, and it came in the form of a Cape Town-based band.

Having had their debut album Gold on repeat for weeks in my car I know every word and –note off by heart. The lyrics are stirring without any facade, and surprisingly the Pretoria crowd is singing along and even requesting songs by name. Relieved to see that the hype has reached the north, I watch the crowd dance along eagerly. Even during quieter moments of Thieve’s songs, they have their fans captivated. Having recently changed from a four- to a three-piece, the band seems to work better. I for one prefer frontman Andrew Davenport on bass guitar, and with Fred den Hartog joining him up front and contributing significantly to back-up vocals the band is a cohesive troop. Andrew acts a real leading man, and we welcome him [and the rest of Thieve] happily to Pretoria.

No strangers to this crowd, Desmond and the Tutus are up next. By now I have found friends [old and new], and we are raring to get dancing. And dance, we did. With frontman Shane Durant’s spastic on-stage moves and quite arbitrary lyrics, spirits are high and the crowd does not stand still for a second. There is much claw-action, of course, and by the end of a set that seemed too short there are loud protests for more. We got a taste of the older tracks we love, the new material we were getting to love and the vibe we could never grow tired of. Having seen Desmond and the Tutus a fair number of times, I must say that this has been one of their best gigs, and the crowd certainly showed its appreciation.

Photos by Liam Lynch

This was my first 2010 gig. We stayed at Hotbox [where the fun apparently never stops] well after the music had stopped, and the next day my body is confused by the late night, the late morning, the smoking and the drinking. But oh, it was worth it. Hotbox, Thieve and Desmond and the Tutus go right to the top of my I Heart list.

Could there be a familiar ring ...

2010-01-24T11:22:00.002+02:00

I have a strange memory from my childhood that I have never forgotten.

I was a little girl of about 7 or 8, and I was sitting on the kitchen counter while my mum cooked dinner. Though I was raised in an Afrikaans family, I had been to an English pre-primary. This meant I was pretty much the only person in my class who could speak any English. But at this age, my vocabulary was still very limited. So, while sitting on the counter chatting, I sniff the air and say to my mum 'That smells familiar!' with a big grin. See, I thought 'familiar' was a complimentary adjective. This was because of movie I watched over and over again called The Little Mermaid. When the prince is all near-dead and Ariel has just saved him, she [now sans fish tail] is leaning over him and he looks up in his dazed state saying 'You look familiar'. Now, knowing that Ariel was a beautiful princess, my logic told me that 'familiar' was a compliment. And that is how I made an error that has eaten at me since the day I figured out the true meaning of the word. Thankfully it was a mistakle only evident if you were in my head, or are now reading my blog.

Having just moved to Pretoria, I get to see my family and boyfriend all the time. But I have a strange sense of lostness and loneliness at times. When I am alone at home I realise the great lack of people to text for a quick cup of coffee. I know many people in this city and its neighbour, but so few of them are what I had in Stellenbosch and Cape Town. They are, for now anyway, not the Naomi or Nina I meet for a cup of coffee and cigarettes any spare minutes we have. They are not the Stef who will text me on any night that the drinks are flowing, and manage to drag me from bed to Bohemia in a matter of minutes. They are not the Simon, with whom I have fabulous lunch dates, wine tastings and shopping sprees. They are not the Nash with whom I make plans to go out, always getting out of hand and the next day nursing hangovers over breakfasy, coffee and recollections of the embarrassments of the night before. They are not the countless familiar faces at gigs I always run into at gigs, the Melissa I always see at the stage, with whom I end up partying unexpectedly into the wee hours of the morning.

I crave something familiar. In the true sense of the word, of course. I crave Bohemia pizza, Mystics dancing, Neelsie coffee and a gig at Klein Libertas. I want to walk everywhere, spend a day wandering aimlessly around Long Street and have sunset cocktails at Buena Vista.

It will come. Change is good. This will be a new year with a whole new start. But for now, familiar is my favourite word.

On that note, Thieve is coming to town! Catch them at Hotbox on Wednesday along with our spastic favourites, Desmond and the Tutus.

Be there. You know I will.

Home Is Where You Hang Your Hat

2010-01-20T11:24:00.002+02:00

As most of you know, I have just moved from Stellenbosch to Pretoria. The reason had to do with the fact that my entire family lives here [the closest family I have from the Cape is Bloemfontein!], and that this is a sound career move; there are far more opportunities here, especially considering I have something of a baby toe in certain doors. I also needed to get out of the bubble that is Stellenbosch, having grown up in one small town and having gone to highschool in another, and as much as I LOVE Cape Town it holds few opportunities for me right now.

So, here I am, living in a city which has a lot of stigma attached to it, coming mainly from Cape Town [and surrounds] people. It goes without say that everyone does [and should] love Cape Town, but it seems the second someone says they love Pretoria they must have something wrong with them.

When people think Pretoria, they think ugly, Afrikaans and conservative.

My experience is that it, like Cape Town, has beautiful areas as well as areas one would rather not inhabit for the view.

My experience is that there are racists everywhere across South Africa: black; white; Afrikaans; English; Xhosa- you name it! Except here, unlike Cape Town and especially Stellenbosch, there are actually black people! And when someone is racist in Pretoria, you know it. In Cape Town, on the other hand, 'nobody' is racist at all- they just love the natives and they EVEN invite them to parties AND let them use the same cutlery as the others. Believe it.

My experience is that Afrikaans people are African. Yes, you heard me. Some of the most truly 'African' people I have met are Afrikaans.

My experience is that a place is what you make of it. We may not have a mountain, or the ocean [which none of the Cape Tonians actually ever use, except to lie next to it and look good. Hey, I don't blame you, that ocean is effing cold!], but we have people who are genuine and down-to-earth. We have an amazing music scene [including Hip Hop], great coffee, real traffic, and a buffet of malls to choose from. We have Oppikoppi [twice], countless radio stations and Tings 'n Times.

At the end of the day, a place is what you make of it. So, I fully intend to live the holiday up here in Pretoria. Updates on the blog about gigs and such will focus largely on Pretoria and Gauteng, but of course I will not neglect Cape Town. And I will come visit y'all down under, I promise.

Eddie Izzard in South AFrica

2010-01-14T09:11:00.002+02:00

I am sure we can all agree that Eddie Izzard is one of the funniest men currently alive. And as far as I know ancient times weren't exactly all fun and games, so let's call him one of the funniest men ever.

Now, the important thing is that he is coming to South Africa. It's a 46664 gig, and you can catch him in Durban 1 and 6 February at the Durban ICC, in Cape Town 4 and 5 February at the CTICC and in Joburg 2 and 3 February at the Nelson Mandela Theatre.

I got onto booking tickets immediately, and imagine the tears when I found out that Johannesburg was already sold out. So I started planning a road trip to Durban and such, but I took my chances at Tweeting him to ask him to add another show to the Joburg leg. It went like this:

lizetheunicorn @eddieizzard have more shows in Jo'burg, please! Rumour has it they're all sold out.

And lo and behold, he added another show! Coincidence? I think not.

Be there, or you suck.

Also follow Eddie and myself on Twitter.

New Arno Carstens video

2010-01-14T09:02:00.002+02:00

I know guys who worship Arno Carstens so much they want his leather-weather, guitar-gracing babies. And he has a new album coming out on the 26th of April this year. While you wait for that, here is the video for Dreamer, the debut single from Wonderful Wild. Oh, and the very beautiful girl in it is my BFF model friend, Naomi. I'm just sayin'...

Enjoy!

Balthazar back in SA

2010-01-14T08:39:00.005+02:00

For those of you who were at Oppikoppi Smoorverlief in 2009, it was awesome. But that's not really my point here...

You may remember a Belgian band that graced the Most Amazing Myn Stage. Their name is Balthazar and it turns out they loved us so much that they're heading back to South Africa for two more shows.

The first is in Cape Town. It happens on 26 March at Mercury.

But the one you really want to go to is in Johannesburg on 28 March. It's Joburg Burning in Melville, and other bands include Ashtray Electric, Fire Through the Window, Wrestlerish [are you in musical heaven yet? I am], The Uncut, Josie Field and The Shadowclub.

So, be there, and show some support to a band coming a very long way to see us. And join their Facebook Fan Page.

New Jimi Hendrix album on the cards

2010-01-13T21:28:00.003+02:00

Some of you may know that I love Jimi Hendrix. I have his lyrics tattooed on my side, for goodness sake. The man is one of the ultimate legends of all time!

And now, nearly 40 years since his tragic death at age 27, a new Jimi Hendrix album is set to be released. On the 8th of March this year, an album containing previously unreleased material which was recorded between 1967 and 1970. The album is called Valleys of Neptune, and was produced by his stepsister, Janie, as well as John McDermott and engineer Eddie Kramer. Some tracks you can look forward to include a Cream cover, and the original version of Hear My Train's A-Comin'.

Janie has also mentioned that the plan is to steadily release music- and video material over the next ten years. That is ten years of bringing to life original masters locked up somewhere far far away!

Amazing news. I heart 2010 already. Keep an eye out for this, and if you want, do buy me a copy. The 8th of March is my graduation day. Coincidence? I think not.

Africa 1000 on the Adventure Bus: Part 3

2010-01-11T22:56:00.002+02:00

After spending another night at Mubaya Camp in Lilongwe, chilling by the pool and allowing ourselves some time to unwind, we had another early morning to follow, having to cross the border back into Zambia and get to Lusaka. At Mabuya Camp we had met some fellow travellers, though they were doing things in a slightly different way- they had been following one another around the globe for years, after which Sue [the girl] moved to Cape Town where Albert [the boy] was living, and they are currently living happily, potentially ever after. They each had a tiny rucksack with them, little money and no real plan as such- instead, they took everything as it came. We ran into them at the border [they had hitchhiked there] and gave them a lift to Chipata. We got stuck there for quite a while, trying to draw money and such, and we got to Lusaka a little later than planned. But once we got there, we decided [over Wimpy coffee and other vaguely familiar food] that we would drive on to Livingstone. Now, besides that it is a good six-hour drive, the 60-odd kilometres before Livingstone is without doubt the worst stretch of road I have ever seen. Needless to say we only got to Jollyboys after midnight, but we managed to check in, set up our tents and sleep. And boy did we sleep!

The next day we slept in [well, at this point 7am was indulgent], woke up for another early swim and then set about our day of doing... well, not much really. We each did some laundry, and then read, chatted and dozed off in the wonderful "Chill-Out Zone" at Jollyboys. Late in the afternoon we went to the Livingstone market, where we spent time bargaining, meeting locals and buying the usual- copper bracelets, Nyami Nyamis and such. The day of taking it easy was exactly what each of us needed!
That night we spent time at the bar. We drank, played 30 Seconds [I absolutely must mention I was not once on the losing team] and made some friends. Travelling is great, especially when you run into the kinds of South Africans you aren't desperately trying to get away from! We also spent that night devising our plan for the last few days of our trip.

The following morning [keep up- it's the 9th of January] we left for Botswana. We drove through the Caprivi strip [next on my list is to do a trip of Namibia and Botswana] and headed to Maun, the gateway to the Delta. Here we stayed at friends of Sarah's, one of whom generously allowed us to kick him out of his bed. After much discussion, a trip to the Okavango Delta turned out to be time-consuming and pricey, and so we decided it would have to be done another time. Instead we hung out at yet another very cool backpackers, The Old Bridge, and went on a lovely sunset cruise on the river. We saw little wildlife [and after two weeks of wanting nothing but to see one freaking giraffe, they still did not show] but the view itself was enough. A few more drinks back at the bar, a pack of Marlboro filters and a huge dinner later, we were more than ready for bed. Of course we would first have to get rid of the giant snake that had decided to make itself at home in 'our' bedroom...

And so, this morning, we hit the road for the final stretch home. We left Maun at 6am, very nearly ran out of fuel, and made it back to Pretoria in time to order pizzas for dinner. Having showered, eaten and made a mess of my room [knowing I won't have to pack it all up tomorrow morning at 5], I am happy to be home, and satisfied with a very successful trip. I learnt a lot about myself, about other places, other people and I developed even more of a hunger for travel! Tonight will be spent listening to all my favourite music that didn't fit onto my iPod, abusing the internet, and not covering myself in Peaceful Sleep.

That said, I am already planning the next one! Who's in?

Africa 1000 on the Adventure Bus: Part 2

2010-01-06T13:16:00.002+02:00

So, where did we leave off? Ah, yes- I was just about to go party it up for New Year's Eve in Livingstone. We partied at a place called Fez Bar and met some interesting people, albeit very few- Fez Bar was fairly empty. There were some South Africans [including a very drunk guy from Upington who are to be having ve most delicious accent], Livingstone locals, a man who danced by balancing a bottle on his head all night and another who was more drunk than I have ever seen someone. No, really- EVER. We danced to everything, from Hoobastank to Akon and even the Macarena [more than once], drank, got merry and I count this as my best New Year's to date.

The next morning Liam and I had an early swim [Jollyboys really is an awesome backpackers], and after some breakfast of bread and peanut butter [it is your friend while travelling], we set off for Lusaka. South Africans, be grateful for your roads! 'Potholes' hardly does justice to what we experienced.

Zambia is a gem for anyone who wants to see Africa, regarding the landscape. It is lush bushveld, dotted with typically African villages here and there. There are also hills and rivers, and the drive never once stopped being breathtaking. Lusaka, on the other hand, is not exactly my choice of destination. It is an eerie city, with nothing beautiful to it. The fact that it was a public holiday and everyone on the streets was hideously drunk did not help. But we found ourselves a place to stay, a Wimpy [or something to eat that was familiar but not bread and peanut butter], and had ourselves a decent night's sleep.

The next day it was off to the border to head into Malawi. It is true what they say about the locals here- they are some of the friendliest people you will ever meet! We realised our tyres on the car were a little done for, and after finding every store in Lilongwe closed on this Saturday we decided we'd leave the car at the backpackers while we headed north, and rewarded ourselves with some beers in the pool after a long, hot day of driving.

The following day [where are we now? Ah yes, the third of January] we took a bus north to Mzuzu. Now, this was probably our most African experience so far. The seats were filled, but so were the aisles and personal space flew out the window as people leaned on and -over everyone and used one another to prop up elbows and goods. But that night we stayed at Sarah's uncle's place, and all got involved as we raided their enormous vegetable garden and cooked up curried rice with soya, spiced chicken and salad, all while drinking local liqeur and snacking on fried aubergine on bread. Showering, a bed and good food were a nice change.

The next day was spent in Nkhata Bay, on Lake Malawi, and I have to say that Lake Malawi is my favourite place on earth! I want it for Christmas. The water is blue like you've never seen [and 30 degrees Celsius], and all around there are beautiful trees, quaint houses and a most stunning view of seemingly endless water. We snorkled, canoed and while the others explored the village I went scuba diving. This was my first dive since qualifying, as well as being my first boat dive, altitude dive and freshwater dive. The fish were beautiful [highlights include upside-down fish, huge catfish and dolphin fish], and the rock formations are enormous!

After a good lunch we swam until dusk, then packed our things to board the Ilala Ferry. We took it to Nkhotakota, which took about 24 hours. We slept on the deck [a blessing that it didn't rain, but even getting drenched in one's sleep would be more pleasant than the smell on the lower levels], and spent an entire day chilling out on the decks, reading and chatting, having the odd snooze. The Ilala is something you must do when in Malawi, and the views of Malawi and Mocambique are beautiful from start to finish.

We got onto the transport boats and headed to shore at abour 8pm. When everyone started jumping off before we even reached the beach, we realised we weren't going to reach the beach. So we jumped off, and trudged ashore. Wet jeans? Not so pleasant. But sitting on a little overloaded boat, looking up to see more stars than I had ever seen in a sky made it totally worth it all.

We were filthy after the ferry trip [the only things dirtier than us on it were the bathrooms], and we were grateful to find a lovely backpackers right on the beach and, much to our surpirse, run by some Afrikaans tannies from Pretoria! We spent some time admiring the view from the roof, had three showers each and slept on bunk beds which turned out to be cheaper than any of the camping spots we had been to.

This morning, after coffee and toasted sandwiches, we caught a taxi back to Lilongwe. Once again it was completely overloaded [turns out there is no such thing as a full taxi], and by the time a man boarded carrying three live chickenes under his arm, we knew we were in Africa! After four uncomfortable hours we got back to our camp in Lilongwe, and here I sit. It is boiling hot, with the promise of rain later.

Tomorrow we'll head back to Lusaka depending on our car situation. But for now, I need a beer and a swim.

More later [with pictures coming soon too!].

Africa 1000 on the Adventure Bus- Part 1

2009-12-31T19:33:00.004+02:00

This may well be the most rushed blogpost I ever write, but I felt the need to update you on my most amazing holiday ever [goodness, I can't believe it's only been a few days] and put it all in words before I forget.

Ess arrived on Sunday, and Margs on Monday. Monday was spent sorting out admin- from international driver's licences and third party insurance to malaria medication and board games! It was a tiring day, but good organisation has made this trip run fairly smoothly. We set off on Tuesday morning, not getting started as early as we would have liked [you know how these things go!], and we crossed the border into Botswana. The drive was long, and initially the country looks much like South Africa [as can be expected]. We were told that speeding is a major offense here and stuck to the [sometimes absurd] speed limits, meaning we were going nowhere slowly. Eventually we had to stop short of our goal destination, and managed to hook up a free stay at Nata Lodge. After driving in the rain all night, we passed out and not much else.

The next morning was another early start, and we decided to stay in Chobe. Elephants roam the main road, and we saw [and nearly hit!] plenty. Anyway, one again we had free accomodation! We were taken on a game 'drive' along the river, had some sundowners and saw elephant, hippos, crocodiles and letchwe. That night we had a lovely dinner and went on a game drive. Not 2km from our house, we found ourselves on top of a bakkie, watching a herd of buffalo being stalked by a lone lion, as well as some hyena, a wildcat, crocodiles, a lone hippo, nightjars and stork.

Today we slept in, had a slow breakfast [not on the road], and set off for the border. This took a long time and it was near-unbearably hot, but the ferry ride across the rover was cool. We are staying in a great backpacers in Livingstone called Jollyboys, equipped with bar, restaurant, pool, a 'chill out' zone and a great vibe! Once again, this is free of charge. We just returned from the Victoria Falls and nothing could have prepared me for how awesome they are! Three wows, and too many exclamation marks here. It is something everyone must see!

For now, we're off to have ourselves a jol, and bring in 2010 in the best possible way. Tomorrow we'll stay in Lusaka, and then it's finally off to Malawi. Photos will come soon, and they are worth the wait!

Happy 2010!

Collected Memories: Blood Bank

2009-12-24T08:09:00.019+02:00

It's been an interesting year. Many ups, major downs. And as we head in to 2010 [which bodes to be a good year], I can't help but look back one last time at 2009 before I move forward.

I got up at 4.30 every weekday morning this year, to be at studio at 5 and start the Breakfast Show on MFM at 6am. My co-star, SeanO, was amazing to work with and the show was always exciting. Between interviewing anyone our hearts desired [except Barack- he never did get back to me], and getting free stuff, plus all the laughs we had in studio, 4.30 was worth it. Even when I hadn't slept, or had been drinking. I have no idea when I'll be back on air, but I'm hoping it will be soon.

My house burnt down. No, it was not my fault. Yes, I lost a lot of stuff. Thereafter I lived with two psychos, and resultantly I have moves four times this year. I never want to move again! And I think I'll live alone next year.

I was diagnosed with epilepsy. This means no drinking, smoking, driving, drugs, too much time in the sun, very hot baths, caffeine... And the list goes on. Hey, at least it isn't a brain tumour, as they suspected.

I walked down the street in my underwear. This was an on-air dare, thanks must go to my wonderful co-star. I hope this will die with 2009, although it does seem to keep coming up at very random moments, with very random people. This made newspapers across the entire country. I kid you not.

I got a tattoo. I love it. Jimi Hendrix.

I got a boyfriend. He is amazing, and the reason I made it through a lot of the downs. My brother got married. My sister had a baby. My stepmother had another baby.

I made new friends. I got closer to old friends, gave up on others. Some will stick around, some won't, others will come back around. Whatever happened, they were/are/will always be here for a reason. I lost a friend to cancer. A few weeks later I shaved off my hair.

And then I went platinum. Just for a change.

I was a guest presenter on MK Live and Studio1 once a month. I met a bajillion new people. I saw more local bands live than I can count. I went to Oppikoppi, RAMfest and Rocking the Daisies, all of which rocked and were 'the best weekend ever!'

I went to Zimbabwe with the UN. It was an amazing experience which only inspired me more to save the world.

I turned 21. And my birthday party was epic- The Revelators, 3rd World Spectator and Ashtray Electric. Much champagne. Awesome friends, awesome presents.

I went to the zoo. I dressed up like a unicorn for Hallowe'en. Next year, I am living in Pretoria. It is a big change that is both daunting and exciting at the same time: living close to my family [for the first time since 2001]; new people to meet; a new music scene to explore. I'll be doing my honours in Media and Culture Studies at Tuks, and pursuing this career thing of mine.

I know I'll miss the Cape. But Stellenbosch is a bubble, and I was dying to get away. Cape Town is pretty much my favourite place on earth, but unfortunately jobs are scarce and you can hate it all you want- Johannesburg is where it's at. And being close to my family is probably necessary, even if it only to prove that I can't do it. But at the first opportunity I will be back, Cape Town. Make no mistake about that.

Happy Christmas, and may the ups of 2010 exceed the downs. Cheers to the future.

You said "'aint this just like the present,

To be showing up like this?"

As a moon waned to crescent

We started to kiss.

And I said I know it well.

What's that noise up the stairs babe?

Is that Christmas morning creaks?

And I said I know it well.

-Bon Iver: Bloodbank

STFU

2009-12-18T06:37:00.004+02:00

It's the end of the year and between having to shove your way through over-crowded malls to buy gifts for people out of obligation, being so sick of work you could gnaw off your wrists and that general festive season meltdown, everyone is being even more retarded/douchebaggy than usual.

Our former health minister Manto Tshabalala-Msimang passed away two days ago. And just hours [in fact, was it even one hour?] Gareth Cliff tweeted the following:

Manto is dead. Good. A selfish and wicked bungler of the lowest order. Rotten attitude and rancid livers - all 3 of them...

And I am quite horrified. I will try express my views in brief, because everyone is up in arms about this and we have all had our say [including me, on Twitter]. I have always thought Gareth annoying. Sometimes I laugh at what he says, an example being his rants about fat people which even I could not express better [although, let's be honest- GC is no supermodel]. But he is offensive not only because he is outspoken about serious matters, taking a stance different from most. He thrives on getting a reaction from people. Reaction [read: pissing people off] should never be the primary reason for expressing anything. It should be because you feel stongly about something, and voicing opinions should stem from a desire to be heard and to make heard that which you believe. It should not be to get your many listeners texting/emailing/tweeting you, enraged at what you express. And Gareth's opinions seem less passion-driven, and more aimed at getting people to respond. It's one thing when your desired reaction is getting a president to change a country's children's rights policy [for example]; it is quite another when you do- and say things for the sake of getting attention from your thousands of [sometimes equally uninformed] listeners and followers.

No supermodel

Furthermore I feel that what Gareth 'said' [tweeted] was the height of insensitivity. I acknowledge that Manto made bad decisions regarding our country's HIV/AIDS policies, and that she was responsible for many deaths in South Africa which, yes, has the highest number of infections worldwide, with 5.7 million. There are things she did and/or said with which I disagreed. But what we must remember is that Manto was a human being. And while her death might cause you no pain, there are loved ones mourning her death. The least one can do is shut up and pay respect not to her, but to her friends and family who are experiencing much pain. The easiest way to explain it is to put yourself in this position. Imagine your parent or sibling or significant other passed away, and moments later a public figure of sorts who has thousands upon thousands of followers states that it is a good thing. It would hurt, and it is disrespectful. I am not saying support her, or her policies. But the least we can do is show respect, and shut the fuck up while her family deals with this. So, please note, I am not saying I am a supporter of hers. And just because she is dead does not suddenly make hre a saint or erase what she did. I am simply saying that basic respect need be shown for now, while the pain is still fresh for those who loved her.

You can feel however you want, but Gareth has, in my opinion, sunk below the very lowest order of humanity with this one. And now he is taken aback by the ANC Youth League's demanding an apology. He also refuses to apologise, and I for one am very interested to see how this all pans out.

Oh, and for those of you whose defense of Gareth was that 'the dead have no rights'- give necrophilia a shot. Turns out the dead do have rights.

The Fun Never Stops

2009-12-11T18:47:00.010+02:00

Everyone knows Stellenbosch becomes something of a ghost town during holidays. Exams are over, graduation has passed and now I am pretty much the only person left in this town. But thankfully Cape Town is always alive, and there are some worthwhile gigs to attend.

Firstly, tomorrow sees a HUGE party at The Assembly. It is the launch of Supra Familias, the record label of Fokofpolisiekar, aKing and Die Heuwels Fantasties genius Hunter Kennedy as well as Pierre Greeff, also of Die Heuwels Fantasties and formerly of Lukraaketaar. You can catch Die Heuwels Fantasties [their first ever show in Cape Town] as well as Thieve, Jack Parow and The Wedding DJs. This party promises to be epic. Even Seth Rotherham is talking about it. I mean, then you know it's going to be big!

For something a little more long term, be aware that the Rock Summer Tour is underway. The only details you need memorise are Friday, 18 December, Mercury Live: Fire Through The Window, Ashtray Electric and Taxi Violence. You can't really ask for much more.

Lastly, the Kirstenbosch Summer Concerts are happening again! Yes, it is that time of year when we see our favourite bands perform at what is without doubt one of the top venues in South Africa. Leaving our the lame/random ones, your gig guide looks like this:

27 December: Ashtray Electric and The Pretty Blue Guns

31 December: New Year's Eve Concert

17 January: Zebra and Giraffe

24 January: Fokofpolisiekar

31 January: Lira and Friends

7 February: aKing

7 March: Goldfish

14 March: The Dirty Skirts

21 March: The Cape Philharmonic Orchestra

4 April: Gang of Instrumentals, Tidal Waves and Tumi Molekane

Then of course there is some Freshlyground, Just Jinjer and Prime Circle in there. But if you want to go to those instead of my suggestions above, look for the details yourself.

Lastly, do enjoy the new Fire Through The Window video for their track Do Do Do. It will make you happy. It was also used for the new iPod Nano advert.

Don't Talk With Your Mouth Full

2009-12-07T10:17:00.003+02:00

With 2010 just days away and next year being the one that marks our hosting the FIFA World Cup, football is quite the trending topic. But we're not just talking about goals and red cards- everything we do is being carefully watched by the world. One such an example is the Ukweshwama ritual, a Zulu tradition whereby a bull is killed at the hands of men. It was suggested that this ritual be done as a sort of inauguration of the football stadiums. This suggestion was contested by animal rights groups, as was expected.

I am big on animal rights. An animal lover and -owner myself, I am a vegetarian and I also take care not to support companies that do animal-testing [see below], as well as showing support to those companies that are animal-friendly. I do the things that are within my [and anyone else's] reach, and anything else I can, be it volunteering at animal shelters or raising funds for them. But I am on Zulu King Goodwill Zwelithini's side on this one.

The thing is that this ritual has been done for over 3000 years. Yes, I agree that it is a cruel process because the bull does not die instantly. But consider a few things while you bitch and moan about this process with your mouth stuffed with chicken nuggets.

The number of bulls killed in this way is small. Like, really really small in context. So while you may not physically kill animals, you are probably doing a lot more damage, albeit sans getting blood on your hands.

People eat fast food. It is part of modern living and hardly out of the ordinary. But eating your Big Mac, even if it is only every now and then, has ramifications far beyond a lifetime on your hips.

Firstly, millions of animals are killed to provide you with that juicy greaseball of a burger. And don't think these animals are killed in any more a humane way than these bulls. McDonald's and Kentucky Fried Chicken kill their animals in horrific ways that are far from quick and painless. Then, there are the other repercussions. Deforestation occurs mainly because of the need to provide these millions of animals with grazing. So, trees are cut down, cows graze in the new space after which they are killed en masse by cruel means, and often soil becomes eroded because it has not been properly prepared and it cannot take the strain of all these animals feeding off it. So now we have a bunch of dead cows, no trees and useless soil. This is going well! Next, we need abbatoirs and factories for all of this. More trees are cut down to make room. Moreover, the meat industry is one of our worst environmental disasters around! Cows are transported from farm to abbatoir to factory to factory to butchery to supermarket to your home. This means carbon emissions for processing as well as all of the transport involved and lots of waste from packaging in all the various phases. Finally, you have a whole bunch of fat people who need bigger clothes, more medical treatment, stronger cars, more junkfood and are generally sweating it up in here, pushing us faster down the slippery slope of death by climate change.

So, while you're perching on your high horse about a tradition of one of the many cultures of this country of ours that so values diversity, put down your Kentucky Fried Cruelty burger and think. Doing harm is not necessarily as blatant as the things you criticise. Yes, the bull-killing is cruel. But it is part of a nation's culture that has been alive for thousands of years. But it is not a speck of dust on the disasters we are creating just by continuing our everyday lives.

Who Ever Said Money Can't Buy Happiness...

2009-12-04T09:24:00.004+02:00

... clearly didn't know where to shop. And I am not talking about the global human desire to have more and more of the best stuff around.

I spent some time on Peta's website, checking out the animal-friendly companies out there. But there are also the companies not to support. These are the ones who do cruel testing and -experiments on innocent animals; any animals from cats to sheep and even monkeys can be victims. Many of those listed are not available in South Africa, so I have compiled a list of widely used brands in South Africa. Try not to support these, as earning a profit will only give them free rein to continue their inhumane practices. One person taking a stand is a small difference. But a small difference multiplied a million times becomes a big difference.

Dove

Garnier

Gillette

Giorgio Armani

Head and Shoulders

Iams [as well as Pampers- a cruel irony that pet food causes such pain to their 'clients']

Johnson & Johnson

L'oreal [possibly the guiltiest culprit!]

Lancome

Listerine

Lux

Max Factor

Maybelline

Mentadent

Neutrogena

Olay

Pantene

Ralph Lauren

Redken

ROC

Sunsilk

Unilever

Vaseline

Veet [shave, or wax. Hair remover is gross.]

Vicks

Vichy

MK Awards Nominations Are OUT!

2009-11-30T09:51:00.005+02:00

And you can begin voting now. Nominations are listed below, as well as a few comments from me [because it is, after all, MY blog], and who my choice would be, in italics.

Best Video:

aKing feat Khayelitsha Black Mambaso- In The Twilight [better than 'You and I' which was a cool video and whatever but why in the name of all that is good was it necessary to fly all the way to South America to shoot something you could have done on the West Coast?]

Crash Car Burn: Heroes

Fokofpolisiekar: Antibiotika [not quite 'Ek Skyn Heilig' (yeah yeah, call me biased, you bitches) but still good]

Foto Na Dans: Natuurlik Verlig

The Dirty Skirts: Daddy Don’t Disco

The Parlotones: Push Me To The Floor

Best Group:
Die Heuwels Fantasties: Sonrotse
eF-eL: Sing My Net Aan Die Slaap

New Holland: Uhuru

Straatligkinders: Gewonde Standbeeld

The Parlotones: Push Me To The Floor [can we please open our eyes to bands other than The Parlowanks and Knob Circle?]

Van Coke Kartel: Wat Het Van Ons Geword?

Best Solo Artist:

It would appear we cannot find a decent solo artist in this country. Remember last year, when Lianie May beat Dan Patlanksy? Let's not have a repeat of such idiotic voting, please.

Albert de Wet: 3 Jaar

Jax Panik: Hit Or Miss

Jesse Clegg: Today

Josie Field: Law Of Attraction

Vaughan Gardiner: Gooi Jou Arms Om My

Best Special Effects:

Cutout Collective: 8-bit Logic

Dear Reader: Great White Bear [though I find it shameful they were only nominated in this section. Europe laughs at us.]

The Cavalier: Lonely King Of Hearts

The Parlotones: Overexposed

The Sick Leaves: All These Foolish Things I’ve Said

Best Newcomer:

Colour Blind: My Identiteit [WHO]

Die Lewens: Die Soet Revolusie [THE]

Gazelle: Die Verlore Seun

Locnville: Sun In mY Pocket

Macgyver Knife: What Do You Mean? [HELL?]

Best Colab:

aKING ft Khayelitsha Black Mambaso: In the twilight

Die Heuwels Fantasties ft Soweto Gospel Choir, HHP & JR: Our heritage

Koldproduk & Straatligkinders: Desvalido

Martin Rocka ft Tamara Dey: Knock knock

Winterstasie ft Bouwer Bosch: Outokrasie van die hart

Neon: [I am not exactly sure what 'neon' means, though I assume something along the lines of electro?]

Flash Republic: Twister

Goldfish: Soundtracks and comebacks

Haezer ft Jax Panik: Sirens in the night

Kidofdoom: Gotham city

Yesterday's Pupil: Lines and colours

Best International Hit:[not that this has much to do with MK. Maybe Lady Ga[g]Ga[g] or the B.E.P will grace us with their presence...]

Black Eyed Peas: I got a feeling

Green Day: 21 Guns

Kings of Leon: Sex on fire [not my favourite Kings Of Leon track by FAR, but while I recognise her music is cool and unique, Lady Gaga scares me and it only the most overplayed artist of the year. Second is The Black Eyed Peas.]

Lady Gaga: Poker face

Linkin Park: New divide

Campus Hit:

Colour Blind: My identiteit [Why have an English band name when a. there is the Afrikaans version of it and b. YOUR SONGS ARE AFRIKAANS? Explain to me, please.]

Die Heuwels Fantasties: Pille vir kersfees

Koldproduk & Straatligkinders: Desvalido

eF-eL: Sindikaat

Cutout Collective: 8-bit logic

Skinny Jeans Tune: [again, why not just say 'Indie', or whatever category you wish to convey with your kak wording?]

Ashtray Electric: Quite overstared [Why are they only in ONE category? Nevertheless, you may remember they beat Zebra and Giraffe last year. Yes, yes they did.]

eF-eL: Sindikaat

Pretty Blue Guns: Bad liver blues

Taxi Violence: Devil 'n pistol

Zebra & Giraffe: Oxymoron

Sexy: [I am quite sure sexy should have inverted commas. Have you heard the Jizz In My Pants 'reply' song, Puke In My Mouth? That is what this category makes me do.]

Diesel en die Dats: Super sexy

Kurt Darren: Kaptein

Robbie Wessels: Player 23

Snotkop: Katrien

Wicus van der Merwe: Spietkop

[I refuse to put 'my choice' here. My choice would be to scrap this category. Sies!]

Best Pop Artist:

Eden: Kniee lam

Elizma Theron: Ek soek jou

Izak Davel: Is jy in of is jy uit?

Kurt Darren: Kaptein

Nicholis Louw: Generaal

[No comment, although I think the above a no-brainer as to who might win.]

So, go on. Think, and then vote.

Party With A Purpose, But You May As Well Rock Out Proper

2009-11-12T10:40:00.001+02:00

Another 48-hours with no sleep. I was nearing the third all-nighter, and this time of year does not really allow for afternoon naps. But I was more involved with this party than usual, this time we were partying for a cause. Read the rest at Mahala.

Wrestlerish's Werner Olckers at Shack

2009-11-09T16:26:00.001+02:00

With two exams happening the following day [Mandarin exams, I might add], plus the fact that I get up at 4.30am for work every day, I should really have stayed home, studied, and gotten a good night’s sleep on this day. But, I mean, a big fat F would be a small price to pay to see this gig.

First up was Paul Melis of Yes Sir! Mister Machine. If you have seen this band live, you will know that they are really, really good, but also that they are pretty hardcore. So seeing Paul going solo, with but one guitar and a totally laid-back vibe was quite a surprise. Though they are difficult to make out, Yes Sir! Mister Machine’s tracks have beautiful lyrics, and it comes as no surprise that Paul writes most of their music. He played a short set of acoustic songs that made me sit up and really notice this musician.

We busied ourselves with consuming much alcohol [R5 shooters? It would be rude to say no!] until Werner Olckers finally sat down in front of the microphone. The crowd congregated around him with palpable eagerness, visibly eager for him to start. The set was short, and though one or two of our favourite tracks were excluded due to his being unable to do it justice sans the rest of the merry Wrestlerish men, it was a gig that will quietly stay in everyone’s minds for a long time. Werner has a clear voice that is exquisite without being too much to handle. His songs are equally superb, and just by looking around at the faces of his fans it was quite obvious his music touched every one of us. Most present knew the words to every song, a great thing to see considering the band is still fairly new, and not even from Cape Town. And if Cape Town welcomes anyone with open arms, you know it’s got to be good. Watch this space, and learn the words to their songs. Trust me.

From there on, the night got horribly out of hand. I remember many a purple shooter, beers, cheers and eventually losing count. I remember driving back with Wrestlerish blaring, because one could never get enough, nor grow tired of it.

PS. By some miracle or fluke, I passed my exam. I think I’ll arrange for Wrestlerish to play before all of my exams, and I have a feeling nobody would protest.

Collected Memories: Growing Old

2009-11-08T12:45:00.013+02:00

This is a story about my people- family, friends, acquaintances, enemies. Everything is a story of the people in it.

At the end of this year, I am moving from the Cape to Johannesburg or Pretoria [my plans are still a little vague], and in the future I plan to spend some time living in China, France, Germany and England before heading to Russia to explain to them that I was a Russian princess in my former life. I am mooi emotional about the immediate move, though I have put the tears on hold while I deal with my final exams.

Most people who were at school with me ended up studying at Stellenbosch University, UCT or some or other college in either one of these towns. I lost contact with most of them, whether by choice or circumstance. But every so often I stop and think of our days at school. Hilton vs Michaelhouse, stargazing on front lawn, midis, horseriding, boyfriends and breakups- the myriad of things we went through together in our five years at boarding school.

Similarly, I think of the past three years at university. I remember living in res, making new friends. JOOL, drinking too much, making the mistakes we were supposed to make but wish we didn't. I remember gigs, festivals, drugs, coffee dates and cramming for exams. Wine tours, rainy weekends at the beach, changing our opinion of one another unexpectedly. Sickness, paranoia, reconnections and midnight texts when we are feeling at our most honest.

I also remember a handful of deaths, and the realisation each will not be the last one. No longer being a teenager, and ignoring the realities of the future, something we convince ourselves is a faraway thing, possibly even a myth.

Tomorrow night I will attend my first farewell, for someone else moving from here, going on to bigger places and other things. There are many people who live in the same area as I, who I don't see nearly often enough. There are many people I may never see again, as we leave this bubble and start a new chapter in what has, unitl now, been a fairly sheltered life. It saddens me that it takes a departure to realise the importance of a person. It saddens me that it takes death to realise you have no idea what your last words were to a friend, that you beat yourself up as you try recall the reply you received when you carelessly waved a rushed goodbye, never knowing it would be the last. But it turns out we sometimes realise things too late.

So I would like to spend the last few weeks making time for every person who has, in any way, been a part of these three years. I may call you, or contact you in whatever way. I may have lost your number, I may be too scared to call. I may be waiting for you to call me. I may take a while to formulate the perfect day to create the perfect memory of you. Call me, and let us have our last cup of coffee, that last cocktail at sunset, the last afternoon of swopping music and watching illegal DVDs. Send me a message, and let's get drunk, eat dodgy pub food, eat junk food at three in the morning as we walk down the street singing songs from Moulin Rouge, and laugh when we get the words horribly wrong. Let's dare one another to eat something we would never dream to eat. Call me, and tell me what you may remember, what you always hated, my most annoying habit. Let's discuss what we have in common, how complementary our differences are. Let's make plans to meet up again in five years, on Table Mountain or Jammie Stairs, with a bottle of vodka and five years' worth of catching up.

More importantly, do this with other people. Old friends, new friends, family friends, ex-friends, morethanfriends. In the end the memories will be all we have, so we may as well make them great ones.

A life of glory,

a little taste of fun.

But beware it's only just begun,

Begun to take you away.

Let's be gone,

away from here.

-Thieve: Getting Old