UNDERCULTURE

Good
The party at Steve’s house this Friday was staggeringly awesome and very well attended. It was the way a house-party should be: It included fishbowls, drinking games and skinny dipping. All you really need are some good people, a lot of drink and some ridiculous topics of discussion and you’re set.

Personally, I honestly didn’t think that one could fit so many people in a townhouse but, go figure! Whatever the case, though, I was very impressed by the leniency and patience of his neighbors.

The best discovery of last week, though, was St. George’s Pool in St. George’s Park. Now, I used to go there regularly in my late teens and my early 20’s and, for some reason (most likely culprit: discovery of Tequila) I just haven’t gone there in years.

So, last week, it was too fucking hot to do anything, let alone go to gym. It was hot and muggy and horrible, and I was really in the need for some healthy exercise, so I sauntered over to St. George’s Pool. I was so impressed, I have been returning regularly. For a measly R6, I get a pool almost all to myself. It is well-maintained, well-kept and really, really nice. I’d forgotten how cool and big it was. In fact, it’s so big, I can pee in it to my heart’s content. I cannot reccomend it strongly enough (the pool, that is, not the peeing).

Bad
Cape Town.

Every time I go there, I keep on telling myself: “Now, that’s a stupid fucking place to put a mountain.� Honestly, in the middle of the city? Why? If I were in charge, I’d level the bloody thing and replace it with a nice parking lot. It worked for PE and Johannesburg. The DA would probably complain about it, though. Sigh.

And, on a completely unrelated topic, from The News of the Weird, I always knew that there was something not right about people who owned cats:

A researcher writing in the January/February issue of Australasian Science magazine reported that the Toxoplasma gondii parasite, carried by many cats, not only can harm pregnant women (as was previously known) but also can lower the IQ of men and make women more promiscuous. [United Press International, 1-2-07] [Australian Associated Press, 12-26-06]

Ugly
As some of you may or may not know, I’ve spent some time on the local dating sites. This, I stopped about 3 months, or so, ago. I deleted my profile (thereby breaking many young ladies’ hearts I am sure). And, as a disclaimer to what I am about to say, some of the people I met online were really fucking awesome - the one talented italina young lady, in particular, comes to mind, but that’s another story.

Anyway, feeling curious, I returned there recently and I was sharply reminded of how truly scary some of the locals can be. The PE gene pool is a dark and unsettling place, in a Tubbs and Edward kind of way. If you don’t believe me, go to here and do a quick search for women in the Eastern Cape with photos. Go on. Try it. If you dare…

Celibacy report
In a sharp conflict with my paragraph above, I met, last Wednesday, what has got to be the most beautiful and elegant woman I have ever laid my eyes upon. I honestly didn’t think that the kind of grace and lady-ness I witnessed existed any more. Those of you who think that I could be in trouble need not fear. I am still strong but, still… Wow.

Apart from that, Steve’s party was brimming with delicious alcoholic bevarages but I managed to maintain. All’s good on the Western front…

Good
Well, my dad left on Saturday after a five-week holiday in Port Elizabeth. To everyone who spent time with us and helped us make this holiday memorable: thank you. My dad spent what was one of the best holidays of his life. This summer made realize how truly blessed we are here in Port Elizabeth: The weather was warm, sunny and surprisingly windless. We didn’t encounter a single incident of crime and, everywhere we went, we were met with smiles and good service.

So, again, on behalf of my brother, my dad and I, to each and everyone of you who drank and celebrated with us, who partied and ate with us: thank you.

I have also updated the following photo galleries: Steve, Renaud, me, The Zombie, Kerren and my dad. I have also included my beautiful mug on the About and Disclaimer page to scare away would-be spammers.

Bad
OK, I lied. PE is not perfect but, then again, what place is? PE has one major drawback: PE Women. When I meet a beautiful young lady that is actually approachable, well-balanced and she tells me that she’s not from PE, I am no longer surprised.

It’s not that they are ugly, far from it, it’s just that they think that they have really distorted opinions of themselves. It’s because of PE’s geographic isolation. The only other women a PE woman will be likely to encounter are other PE women. Unlike, say, a French or Italian woman who encounter Spanish and Latvian women on a weekly basis. That is why European women have a much more realistic self-image.

PE women, then, think that they are so special, which means that they are a lot more maintenance than they should be.

Let me ask you this and answer to yourself in all honesty: When was the last time any of you actually met a girl from PE that wasn’t stuck in an ivory tower? When was the last time you met a girl from PE that wasn’t either a complete drunken skank or a prissy my-way-or-die princess? When was the last time you met a girl from PE that was level-headed and in touch with her emotions?

Never, that’s when.

I thought I found one but I think that she’s too far gone for me to help. I give up. I’m looking elsewhere. There’s go to be one decent, intelligent girl out there who is not petrified of being in an honest adult relationship. Right?

Update (22/01/2007): I just got the following email from Deon:

When you say “from” PE, do you mean “born, bred and still living in PE”, or does the definition also include: (a) Born elsewhere, but lives in PE now; and/or (b) Born in PE, but lives elsewhere now; and/or (c) Born elsewhere, lived in PE for a while, but lives elsewhere now? If so, what length of time is necessary for her to develop for that all-important PE “fromness”? Most importantly, what is the sample size your hypothesis is based on?

And all of those are fair questions. Let me answer them: I am referring to women who spent the majority of their formative years in PE. That is between 0- and about 9-years old. It doesn’t matter where they go after that: you can take the precious little princess out of PE, but you can never take PE out of the precious little princess (Actually, I don’t think that’s true. I am pretty sure that you should be able to, but I have yet to see it happen). What I can tell you, though, is that the longer they stay here, the worst it gets.

And, it’s funny, even if they leave for a couple of years, they are right back where they started within months of returning.
My sample size for my hypothesis is based on well over several thousand casual encounters and hundreds of intimate encounters by my expert field team.

Ugly
Do you know what is ugly? Chili-flavoured Witblitz, that’s what. It is in moments like these that I am very happy that I am not drinking right now.

I am sure that in Steve’s mind the Chili-flavoured Witblitz (whose name escapes me at the moment) probably seemed to be an awesome idea. Some of us knew better. Here are “before� and “after� photos that should tell the whole story.

Before

After

Celibacy Report
It’s been a tough weekend, what with my dad leaving and having to deal with Fortress Girl. I have never needed a drink so badly. Steve and Kerren don’t help by constantly offering me tequila. God. I miss tequila.

On top of that, I got to have some drinks (non-alcoholic) with Shelley on Saturday night and Lucy on Thursday night. I can feel my resolve crack but I am in a good kind of catch-22: I won’t drink until I am with a woman, and I can’t pick up a woman unless I am drunk. I am bullet-proof.

UPDATE (22 January 2007): I was forwarded this YouTube video. It appears to be some sort of FNB pro-2010 advert. Some of you may actually like it

If I have to hear one more person tell me what a disaster the South African World Cup in 2010 is going to be I’m going to scream.

I’ve had enough, in fact, of all these naysayers. So, here it is: an opportunity for these people to put their pride where their mouths are.

Give me your name, tell me whether you think the South African FIFA World Cup in 2010 is going to be a disaster or not. I will add your name to the list below. If it is the disaster you think it will be, I will personally buy you a six-pack of beers and apologize face-to-face. If, however, the world cup is a success, with trouble on par with any other world cup, then I will drive to each and everyone of their house and do a dance of joy. In your face.

So, stop whining about South Africa’s disastrous 2010 World Cup and add your name. Pussies.

It will be a huge success
Cedric
Marc
Steve
Lennon
JC
Andrew
It will be a disaster
Ryan - Accommodation (not enough), transportation (not enough)
Craig - PE Will not cope. See his email.
Brad - Unsure that we have the infrastructure.
Gareth

This is on the board at my local gym, between the 11:00 and 12:00 slot. I can’t tell whether it’s a class or instructions. In either case, it sounds very tempting. Surely she must get tired after a while, though…

Good
People who complain that the world has no generosity or love left, and those who claim that PE is not the friendly city after all, have obviously never met Delene and Athel Geyer. It was thanks to them that my father, brother and I were able to spend one last weekend together in Jeffrey’s Bay, which is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been to.

Thank you again.

We spent the weekend drinking (not me – I was driving) and swimming and enjoying the beautiful weather and sea. I returned feeling, for the most part, invigorated, refreshed and ready to take on the world. My dad was overwhelmed by the warmth of the sea, the beauty of the beaches and the charms of the local young lasses.

A special mention must be made for The Mexican, by far my favorite pub in Jeffrey’s Bay. And while I did pine for a tequila or two, I was more than amply satisfied with some of their delicious B52 Bombers (Jalapeno chilies filled with cream cheese).

Bad
I actually have nothing bad to add this week except for this: I was watching my brother and Steve and Wes trying to pick up some beautiful Afrikaans ladies over the weekend. They should have succeeded. After all, they were richer, better looking and more charming than most of the guys there, but they bombed. Why? Well, to my sober eyes, it was clear. The guys, no matter how great they are, just couldn’t dance lang-arm, I believe it’s called.

This is obviously, then, an important skill but where is it taught? I have seen many classes for ballet, waltz, tango and the like, but not one single class to teach a rooinek how to sokie with the best of them. Does such a club exist?

Ugly
While in Jeffrey’s Bay, I was presented with the company Goeie Mielies who are manufacturers of T-Shirts with a distinctive Afrikaans leaning (“Praat Afrikaans of hou jou bek� and the likes). Now, I am the first one to defend someone’s culture and I think that most of the T-Shirts are cute, funny and, well, tolerable.

Unfortunately, there were a fair number of the T-Shirts that proudly displayed the old South African flag, which is nationally regarded as a symbol of shame and oppression. Is that really necessary? Is it not possible to foster pride in a culture without dredging up old hatreds? Some people may consider this point of view too PC but that would be ignoring the sentiments and underlying statement made by such displays.

You can bet that the T-Shirt manufacturers would be amongst the first to complain if they saw an old “One Settler, One Bullet� slogan on someone’s T-Shirt. A slogan, incidentally, that is as rich in history and as protected as the old South African flag.

There will always be the extremist and the misguided in any group, but I don’t see why they should be given such encouragement.

The Celibacy Report
All is well in celibacy land. Right now, the emotional deadzone in which I find myself makes it easy to ignore everything that gyrates and dangles before me. I am still adamant that there is only one woman for me. 50 weeks to go - easy peasy.

This is one of two paintings undertaken for Buli. She wanted a large seascape to compliment her appartment’s view. It may not look like it but it is quite large (2 meters by 1.5 meters), and consitsts of glazed layer upon glazed layer.

I really threw everything I had into this one. It was one of the little anchors that kept me from dying. It is as much a tribute to my love for Tracey as anything as a seascape. I kept the title as obtuse as possible. Those in the know will chuckle.

They even wear bermuda shorts in Rlyeh

I wish I was a better poet. I wanted to accompany this little picture of a very perplexed Rotting Boy with a short couple of verses.

Imagine, in any case, the panic that a zombie must feel suddenly confronted with the discovery that his own heart is still beating. Does he eat it? Does he kill it? Keeping it might attract other zombies, as might leaving it somewhere. He can’t just keep it in his hands. He might just crush it. Not only that, but how will he feed?

I suppose that, before launching myself into this year’s first PE Report, I should wish you, my demented readers, a happy and wonderful 2007. And it couldn’t have come too soon! Almost everyone that I have spoken to in the last while seems to be in agreement: 2006 was an all-round shitty year. Here’s to the hope that 2007 is better.

Good
For the first time in a very long time, I was able to go to the beach very regularly this summer. The weather was great: warm but not baking and the wind was notably absent (OK, so there were one or two days of miserable rain). This allowed me to spend quite a bit of time at Sardinia Bay, which is still one of PE’s most attractive beaches. It has everything, from sandy beaches to Braai nooks and warm, warm waters (although I could possibly just have been down-current from some kids). It even has bikini-clad lasses, for those of you who are into that. It really made me forget about a lot of things, and reminded me of why I love the coast.

The main reason that I was spending so much time at the beach, was to try and restore some sort of vaguely humanoid shape to my body. To assist me in this, I redoubled my efforts and retuned to Profiles gym on William Moffet again. Listen, it’s not the greatest gym in the world but its fucking cheap and is populated by the more middle-of-the-road clientele. As such, I cannot recommend it enough. If you have some good resolutions that you would like to keep, join up.

My best discovery this summer, however, has been the jazz evenings at Godwana Café at Dolphin’s Leap. The band kicks ass and I haven’t seen an ambience quite lit up like that. To be fair, I have only been there once but I was swept up in the driving rhythm and sexy, sexy sounds. Do yourself a favor, go there one Sunday evening and see what passion music can arouse. And, as the ladies present were sweeter than honey, maybe there’ll be more to arouse than that.

Last, but not least, I would like to give a special word of support to The Pancake Fairy, on PE’s Boardwalk. It is held by two of the coolest, friendliest and nicest French people who I have ever had the pleasure to meet: Xavier and Sandrine. I don’t visit them nearly as often as I should. Not only are the pancakes delicious and the coffee superb, but the guys really go out of their way to be nice to you. Support them or die!

Bad
I was clever this year (as I am most years, to be honest) and did my shopping way in advance of the Christmas season. Nevertheless, despite the best planning, I ended up having to be in a shopping mall two days before Christmas. It’s a fucking miracle I did stab someone with a plastic star stolen off some decorated tree. The vast herds of men and women, shuffling to and fro between glittering Mecca to glittering Mecca was enough to send me over the edge. Add to that, hideous tans, vomitous fashions and poor hygiene, and you have the perfect recipe to turn a mall into a death trap for your soul.

I only managed to escape by bludgeoning a fat woman to death with a Harry Potter doll and making a quick get away on a stolen pram.

Ugly
I don’t know where the fashion started, or when, but, for God’s sake someone stop it. Everywhere I look, more and more miserable bags of flesh that make up humanity are shuffling around with these hideous, perforated, plastic clogs. Somehow, someone managed to marry for impracticality and sheer hideous design into a simple and ineffective shoe. Someone shoot me.

The Celibacy Report
Seeing as though I am still numb and dead and hollow, the temptation to stray from my vow of celibacy hasn’t been very strong. In other words: so far, so good.

Update (20/02/2007): We’ve got a full house! Behold the beauty and sexiness that is the HUNKS OF UNDERCULTURE!

WE ARE NOW ON YOUTUBE!
So, last week, I got a gem of an idea for making oodles of money (a present crisis has pushed me to me more innovative than usual). And I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner!

You see, I have lots of really great, good looking friends. I think it’s pretty much a given, seeing as I am so hot myself (I think we just naturally congregate, birds of a feather and all that). And I also take a lot of photos of everything and everyone around me. I have no mean skill with the camera, even if I do say so myself. And this leads me to my super-genius plan: I will put together a calendar with a new hunk every month! A bit like he FHM calendar except with hot guys! And I won’t need a proffesional photographer to boot, seeing as I’m such a snap-happy hot shot! It’s fool-proof!

So, without any further preamble, here is the first of many: The hunks of underculture! (cue drumroll)

January	February
March	April
May	June
July	August
September	October
November	December