UNDERCULTURE

Good
There’s got to be better things than driving around in a convertible, under the warm African sun, with a gorgeous, fun and intelligent young woman by your side, but I can’t think of any off the top of my head.

I also had the delightful pleasure of eating at the Walskipper in Jeffrey’s Bay. I had heard a lot about this restaurant from friends and family but I was still quite amazed by the décor and ambience, from the sand floor to the tin cups. Its location, right on the beach, also adds quite a bit of atmosphere (not that you need a lot to get me to like food). All in all, I think it rocked. Budget allowing, I’ll be returning!

Last, but not least, and to put an end to all further speculation, the answer is yes, I have a girlfriend. No, she isn’t a super model but, yes, she could be. No, she isn’t blind or hypnotized, she actually does seem to like me out of her own free will. No, I don’t have any photos (yet). And, yes, I think that she’s all that and more. Any other questions?

Bad
I wasn’t at the party in question but the story that was relayed to me is one that I’ve heard time and time again. Sigh. It’s the old story about women feeling threatened by other women showing attention to men they don’t even like.

Now, we’ve all got insecurities and we all want to be loved. I understand that but what I’m talking about here is specifically women who will go out of their way to run down any other female within reach of their viper tongues. And they do this for no other reason than that they are threatened. They don’t actually like the guy the other woman is talking to, and they certainly aren’t interested in even talking to any of the men around them, they just want the attention that the other girls are getting. Sigh. Go figure. I am glad I have a winkie.

In other news, when you are an obese old bearded man, it is not a good idea to sit out, in the evenings, naked on expensive furniture, masturbating vigorously. Yes, I realize that most of you aren’t exhibitionist obese old men but, just in case you are, I thought I’d put a warning out there. The less of you there are, the happier I am. Brrr…

Ugly
Yesterday, I watched a documentary called Jesus Camp. Sweet fuck. I haven’t been scared like that for a long time. If you want a good reminder of what it means to be a faithful for some people, watch it, by all means. For me, it was just a great reminder of why religion is a dangerous and stupid beast that needs to be put down once and for all. The sooner, the better.

Sigh. There’re still too many hippies in this town… You know, they say that a fool and his money are soon parted, but never say how. The saying should really be: “a fucking gullible hippy fool and his hippy money are soon parted when they give to other greedy and misguided hippies.” Thanks to Ryan for this link.

The Celibacy Report
I have been selfish. The Celibacy Report has been clearly self-serving and generally narcissistic. For this, I apologize and which to make amends.

You see, during the weekend, it occurred to me that The Celibacy Report was a perfect platform from which to do good deeds and help my fellow men and women. After all, I reasoned, I am not the only unsexed individual out here and FSM knows that there are others in much, much greater need than I.

This is why The Celibacy Report has changed from a place where I complain about my uninteresting romantic trials and tribulations, to a place where I try and get my friends laid! Woot! Because, it occurred to me that I know many smart, beautiful and amazing people who are just having a bit of trouble finding that special someone or that weekend quickie they have been looking for. I am dead serious. Think of me as an opinionated and arrogant Cupid.

How is it going to work? Well, it’s simple: I will feature a young lady or young man in The Celibacy Report. I will withhold the names but leave salient pieces of information. If that person tickles you (the reader), simply leave a comment with your email address, and if I think that you are deserving, I will proceed to match you up.

To show how serious I am, I will pay for the first date of anyone I set up via Underculture. How’s that?

My local newspaper, The Algoa Sun, has this on their front page:

I didn’t bother reading the article or the photo caption. When you’ve read about one gay marriage, you’ve read about them all…

Good
Kudos to the thousand or so people who took part in this year’s Spec-Savers Ironman 2007 competition. I, for one, am proud that Port Elizabeth got to host such a prestigious and high-profile event. Well done to all involved.

OK, you got me. I didn’t watch it and I didn’t leave my house to go and support. I only vaguely heard that some of the roads were blocked, and I got woken up by some shouting. I can also guess that it was very tough and grueling for some people, and that some people didn’t make it. Apart from that, I am completely clueless. But I did see the adverts, so that’s got to count for something…

So, to whoever won, well done. Better you than me, buddy, I would have died somewhere in the opening swim.

Bad
And then there’s Benny Hinn, televangelist and all-round money-grabbing charlatan, who is coming to PE. That liar and religious demagogue deserves to be tarred and feathered and sent packing, but alas that won’t happen. I wrote a letter to the E.P. Herald. I doubt that they’ll publish it, seeing how many other letters his arrival received in the Weekend Post. Still, I thought that it was a great letter, so here it is:

It is now impossible to avoid the massive and garish posters advertising Benny Hinn’s imminent ministry in Port Elizabeth. What this faith-healing televangelist with no formal training as a minister will do for this town is up to anyone’s guess, but we can be sure that it won’t involve inviting any poor, starving South Africans back to his $8.5 million oceanfront hacienda. Maybe he’s here to follow up his December 2006 mail asking for donations towards a new $36 million Gulfstream G4SP jet.

We certainly know that he’s not here for faith healing, because these have been repeatedly debunked, but nowhere near as prominently as in NBC’s 2002 Dateline report. Other articles, such as those appearing in Los Angeles Times, have time and time again shown his failures to deliver on his claimed ability to cure “diseases and congenital defects with a wisp of his breath.� But that’s hardly surprising considering how spectacularly unsuccessful his many predictions have been (he predicted Castro’s death in the 90’s for example).

But I am worried that his presence here will just muddy the waters of rational thought and critical thinking because how can we, as a nation, point fingers at witchdoctors and garlic AIDS remedies when we give charlatans a microphone and a stage? How can we laud our free and undiscriminating society, when we give a man with virulent hatred towards homosexuals so much publicity and power? Let’s not forget that this is a man who prophesized that God would destroy the homosexual community of America by fire in the mid-nineties, who has taught that the Biblical Adam flew to the moon and that the Christian Trinity is actually God in nine persons.

Isn’t it time that we, as a collective of rational and thinking individuals, put the spiritual and religious claptrap of the likes of Benny Hinn and Gambian President Yahya Jammeh where they really belong: with the Easter Bunny and Father Christmas?

Ugly
So, imagine that you are an mind-bogglingly attractive woman at a bar (well, I know that one of you isn’t imagining that). You’re at this bar with friends who are feeding you drinks and shooters. Imagine, then, that you’re not really in the mood to pint down. Being a generous and giving soul, you hand your drinks over to a stranger - a parking attendant. So far so good.

Now imagine that, a little later in the evening, that very same parking attendant stands up, whips out her baton and smashes the back of your head in for some unknown reason.

I wish that I could tell you that this was an imaginary scenario but it isn’t. All the retarded attendant could mumble was something about not liking high heels. She, apparently, had stabbed another person the week earlier. The cops think that she might be mentally unstable. Duh! You think???

The Celibacy Report
Well, since Steve is still, theoretically at least, writing the celibacy report, I have nothing to add at this point. Nothing. Nada. Zip. I have nothing to report. Look at me with nothing to report. [Walks away whistling.]

Good
Renaud and I finally had our House-Warming/Bacchanalian Feast. It was a raucous, awesome and very drunken affair. So, to those who attended (we shall call them the cool people): thank you. To those of you who missed out (we shall call them the losers): there is still time for you to redeem yourself. Show up at the next one. It had everything: hot women, handsome men, a strip show, a food fight, hushed and secret raunchy Pauline-antics and the creation of important nicknames.

As always, though, Andre, Robyn, Brad and Janine are forgiven for not attending the party because Andre and Robyn are cool no matter what they do, and Brad lives far too close to me. There is no way to avoid the marshal flag of pain and death.

A special thank you must also go out to the attendees on behalf of my dogs who are now very over-stuffed on sausage rolls and suffering from contented indigestion.

Lastly, another thank-you must go to Gareth who came to my rescue on Friday. Thank you, man, for coming through. Your bottle of cream liqueur still awaits you at the house.

Bad
I need to change video stores. I have been going to the one in the Miramar shopping centre (I forget the name. I think it’s Video Pix or something). And while their selection is pretty good, and they are cheap, they are getting shockingly bad. I took out 5 movies (they have a 5 movies for 5 days special). One was the wrong movie, and two of the four remaining ones were scratched beyond use. If it was the first time, it’d be forgivable but it’s now getting ridiculous. What can I do? I’m not sure complaining is actually going to solve anything. Maybe I’ll just hang around and ask customers how often they polish their disks…

Ugly
Recently, I got to see Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. Apart from it being one of the most kick-ass Will Ferrell films ever, it also features what has got to be one of the best divorce scenes ever. In it, a bewildered Ricky Bobby tries to come to terms with the fact that, in the space of three hours, his best friend is now engaged to his wife and his wife is asking for a divorce. Their completely inability to understand why he is shocked at the announcement is the stuff of high comedy. Or so I thought until I realized that one of my ex’s has a completely malfunctioning irony-meter. The email-exchange went something like this (bearing in mind that this was my tenth or twentieth attempt at actually setting up a meeting):

Me: I haven’t seen you for a while. It might be nice to meet up and talk sometime.
Her: I don’t think that’s a good idea because [insert random excuse]
Me: Another excuse? You’re just avoiding me because you don’t want to to talk! This isn’t what being friends is about! There is no communication! You must discuss things. Keeping quiet doesn’t help anyone!
Her: I don’t want to discuss it.
Me: Huh… [Blinks in disbelief] You’re kidding, right? That’s what I just said…
Her: [Silence]

Maybe the captain of Road Prison 36 was right: “What we’ve got here is… failure to communicate. Some (wo)men you just can’t reach.” Others would just say that she got thruthenized…
The Celibacy Report
I have been told that I am no longer allowed to write the Celibacy Report. Instead, it will be writen by the talented wordsmith, Steve, who, for all his gifts with the pen, is slow with deadlines.

I guess I should give him the benefit of the doubt.

Oh, and before you get any ideas, I don’t mean to imply, in any way, shape or form, that Steve is in charge of my celibacy. So get the thoughts right out of your mind, OK? I’ve got a girlfriend! It’s not like that! It was just the once, ok!

Good
Holy Shit! Finally, a Booze Cruise that lived up to its name! Thank you Pauline! What was good about it? Well, firstly, it had a great crowd of party animals, with not a single princess or wallflower amongst them. Secondly, it didn’t go to the same tired five pubs that everyone would go to in their cars anyway, if only they’d been smart enough to come up with decent excuses.

There was only one such boring choice, which was Barney’s on the beachfront. But I wouldn’t have enjoy it anyway because it made me think of the last Booze Cruise, when I got dropped for an empty shirt of a lesser man in what must be a great cosmic joke that I’m just not getting, but that’s another story…

What I am trying to say is that this booze was fresh and exciting, from the rocking foam party at Aqua, to civilized drinks at 78’s in Mount Pleasant, to the more traditional shooters at Brewmasters.

Very importantly, though, I made two important discoveries. The first is that Castro’s (now renamed Li’l Cuba) has been turned into a marvelous, hopping trippy House club with an upstairs dance floor, DJ and all. I will be back! Those of you who know me, know how much I love to shake my considerable booty in an embarrassing and awkward fashion on the dance floor. Those of you who don’t can come and join me at Castro’s to witness the car-crash-like beauty that are my house moves. Word!

My second discovery is a new drink which I will now copyright as The Cedric. It is a simple mix of tequila and Red Bull. It doesn’t look like much but, after 12 or 14 of these, I have now named it as my new favourite party juice. Zoom! This may, or may not, have had anything to do with my dancing at Castro’s.

She said she was dancing, but you can’t fool me. I know a drunken frotage when I see it	Alec is still single and looking good, girls! He also asked me to tell you that the rash is almost gone.
Chrissy, looking happy because she managed to handcuff a young man to a bus seat. During the rest of the evening, her gleeful laugh and his pleas for mercy were heard echoing from the bus.	Graeme, shortly before he was handcuffed to the bus seat.

Also, over the weekend, we got to enjoy some drinks and a few choice foods with Andrew and Lisa’s friends and families. Congratulations again, guys. They’ve set the wedding date for sometime next year, probably carefully planned not to clash with any important Rugby matches.

Lastly, and as an update to my dinner evenings, have any of you ever shown up to a place with a date so ravishing and elegant that all the guys just shut up, and all the women just glared? That happened to me last week and it feels good. Yes, yes, I’m just showing off now.

Bad
So, in the EP Herald last week, we had a letter from some woman wrote a letter complaining on how she was being robbed by the underground parking ticket system at Walmer Park. That’s right! The system is apparently a whole 7 minutes fast! How fucking petty and irrelevant my problems, and everyone else’s now seems in comparison to this great calamity! This International Crisis! We’re all should be ashamed of ourselves. Thank goodness that we have this vigilant watchdog of oppression championing our cause in the face of such injustice. How does she find the time? How tireless she must be, shopping and timing parking meters and writing important letters! How… Fuck. Who am I kidding? I can’t do this anymore.

Ugly
While I was away on my Booze Cruise, John and a few others had a few birthday drinks (Happy Birthday, John!) in my house. What started as a quite few drinks in pleasant company, ended up in a NIGHTMARE OF DEMONS! BEHOLD!

The thing that should not be…

Things that would give God nightmares. They should be in the Hunks of Underculture Calendar

Also, as some of you may know, I like to spend my Saturday mornings window shopping (staring at the ugly people with horror and fascination) in Greenacres, and I have made a startling discovery: jogging pants and jogging suits are nature’s way of identifying the truly hideous and not-so-bright. This is so that you don’t mistakenly talk to them or have sex with them – a bit like the bright markings on some poisonous frogs.

The Celibacy Report
It’s getting hard. Really hard.

A Map by any other name (2007)

This is the second, and last, painting commissioned by Buli G. I must be honest, it was one of the most difficult paintings I’ve undertaken. The commission was a protrait but not a representational one. I have added layer upon layer in a vain attempt to capture a few of the key elements of her personality. Afterall, how do you reduce something as powerful, large and complex as a human being to a few colours and shapes?

Again, the flash sort of ruins the glows that I managed to get. And the photo just doesn’t do justice to the intricate details and marks and textures that adorn the painting. It features many elements of clocks, dreams, and anticipation.

I alos need to point out how monstrously large this one is. This is, by far, the biggest painting I’ve ever undertaken: 2 metres by 1,75 metres.

And, as a last update, I have added a new gallery page to the Art section.