UNDERCULTURE

Good
Last Wednesday, I went to see Mark Banks at the Cell C Amphitheater at The Boardwalk. It rocked. I love good stand-up comedy and it was really great to see a comedian at the height of his power. He was incredibly funny, amiable and never offensive. He built up a great rapport with his audience and the whole 90 minute show flew by. It was also possible that I was not paying that much attention to the show, though, seeing as I was accompanied by a beautiful, charming and very bright woman. (Those of you who believe in the power of intercessionary prayer, get to work! I’d like to see her again.).

I was also pleased to see that Mark Banks picked on that most atrocious of fashion accessories: the Crocs. Good God, people, what is wrong with shoes, or your feet for that matter, that you have to put those things on?

Bad
I have nothing bad to say about anyone or anything, except maybe colds and coughs but that can’t be helped.

Oh, wait, actually, my neighbor got robbed. That wasn’t cool. Luckily I have my fierce crotch hounds to protect my precious stuff.

Ugly
Originally, in the first draft of this weeks’ PE Report, I was complaining about the cold and the weather. Yeah, I know, it wasn’t very original but, then again, I didn’t have anything truly horrifying to report. Well, I didn’t until now…

About 20 minutes, I went to visit my accountants and pick up some papers. There’s nothing wrong with that, I thought, but that’s before I saw the massive puckered anus on the table.

Now,I consider myself a libertine and an enlightened soul, a soul who has faced goatse and has come out begging for more, but even I have limits, and my limit is a giant puckered anus in my accountant’s waiting room.

Don’t try to tell me it’s art, by the way, because I know art. I also happen to know anuses (consider it my super power). And I know where this one belongs.

The Celibacy Report
This is for a specific person (if you don’t know who, then you don’t need to know), but I thought it was a good opportunity for a refresher course.

I have a penchant for the dramatic, especially when it comes to love. I play my part, I romanticize and swoon when I am meant to swoon, sing when I am meant to sing, and cry… well… I don’t cry… (I got something in my eye that one time, OK? Sheesh). In other words: I play the game like I’m starring in my very own romantic comedy but never, for one moment, do I lose touch with the firm ground below me (which too many of you accuse of not leaving in the first place). I have been burnt far, far too many times by Cupid (the drunk bastard) for that. For some people, however, that is not the case: they meet someone and completely lose the plot. Here’s what I told them:

Now, you would think that someone who knows so much about relationships wouldn’t be single, right? Inside, I’m laughing.

This is actually an old painting of mine, called “Hi” which I did years back (See here). It was under Andre and Robyn’s care for a fair while until recently when Andre came to me and said that the painting was too disturbing to hang anywhere in his house.

I’d been meaning to tackle it anyway (I was never too happy with it), so it was a perfect opportunity to strip away the direct imagery and delve more into suggestion and that dreamlike state that I seem to be playing in, right now.

As usual, the photo doesn’t do it justice because it can’t convey the richness of the texture and all the little scratches and marks that really make the surface work. But, hey, it’s better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.

Good
A while back, Andrew issued a challenge for us to get some of our comedy material online (Read here). Well, for better or for worse, it looks like we can finally answer that challenge because some of it to youtube. You can view the acts here and here. It really isn’t the best, and it is already a year and a bit old, but it’s the only thing we’ve got. I expect much youtube flaming…

And in what concerns real comedy, CJMPB released a new article, this time from my favorite wombat. It’s all about A.D.D.

It is impossible for me to continue with the Good section of the PE Report without mentioning Debonnaire’s Spare Rib Pizza. I swear that if Jjessica Alba was food, it would be that.

Lastly, but very importantly, we celebrated Lennon’s 30th birthday this weekend. It was a Crazy Hat party, which I attended fully sporting young girl’s pants. It was better received than when i was trying them on in the shop. Hopefully, we’ll be showing off some photos soon.

There was great company, pretty ladies and lots of tequila. Let’s hope that he lives another year so that we can do it again.

Bad
So, I went to the dentist this morning. There was talk of a crown and some root canal work. I was given a thorough history of my teeth, complete with a cute little PowerPoint presentation of gum and tooth decay. None of that really scared me, until we got to discussing the cost of the procedure (in the region of R 12,000.00). So, my choices are simple: sell a kidney or suffer unimaginable toothache. Which would you go for?

Then there’s this from Andre:

On my way to role-playing last night, I witnessed the laws of physics being broken. At the BP garage on Cape Road, a petrol attendant poured 91.8 litre of petrol into my 70 litre petrol tank without spilling a drop.

I then was fortunate to enjoy the finest Port Elizabethean customer service, when, on raising this matter with the manager of the station, he promptly told me I must pay the full amount and to ensure that this completely fair transaction take place, he contacted ATLAS security and told them that they need to come quickly because I was about to drive–off without paying. This after I had suggested that I leave my contact details with him, I pay for 70 litres and that he find out what happened.

Some days I really understand why bodies end up in dumpsters.

Ugly
Having spent another disturbing day in Port Elizabeth’s shopping malls this weekend, I was struck with the sudden realization that, had they filmed The Lord of the Rings here, they could have saved themselves hundreds of thousands of Dollars on Orc prosthetics. I’ve seen zombie movies with more attractive shuffling hordes.

And while I am aware that it isn’t the first time I’ve discussed the Eastern Cape’s questionable genetic pool, it doesn’t make me any less susceptible to surprise and revulsion. Add to that the hordes of screaming, with-hat wearing Harry Potter fans clamoring for the latest tome and you have a nightmarish landscape worthy of Bruegel.

The Celibacy Report
I was stood up on Friday. I haven’t been stood up in years, not since high school come to think of it. I’d forgotten how great to feels to hang by the phone while slowly moving through the steps: she’s late; something must have happened to her cell phone; she’s not calling me, maybe she’s just tired; I would call if I was tired; she’s not planning to call at all, is she?; Oh, boy, I’m glad I wasn’t made a fool of there at all. Shit.

On the good side of things, there’s a Singles evening on Friday 17 August. It looks like Fiona and I will be attending. But it’s in a month still (or close enough). I think I should just drink to make the time go by faster.

Good
First off, some PWOT news: I am sure that I am not the only one that is overjoyed at the return of the John Cheese’s Magic Pimp Bus, especially now that he’s teamed up with Shamus. You will love the iPhone article. But, most importantly, David Wong’s got a new article, Harry Potter book Disguises, for I submitted some material. I didn’t crack the nod but, considering how good the selected ones are, I’m not really surprised.

In news actually dealing with Port Elizabeth: We had a great time at Castro’s last Wednesday, not least of which because I ran into an entire group of sexy, but drunken women (yeah, yeah, like that’s a bad thing). Hopefully we’ll get to see more of them (well, one in particular) soon.

Now, some of you may have noticed a trend in the last few weeks of The PE Report, namely that I have been apparently meeting lots of beautiful women in bars. This is purely accidental as I don’t spend a lot of time in bars in the first place, of course. I’m just there for, you know… research… So, to those of you nay-sayers, let me put your unspoken fears to rest: our meeting in bars, the consumption of alcohol, and the beauty of the lasses in question are all purely accidental. To propose otherwise: that my consumption of alcohol somehow affects my judgment of women, is patently absurd. My use of alcohol is purely medicinal.

I probably do need to take a break from drinking for a while (again), but not now.

Let us say, rather, that I have uncovered the fact that beautiful women are actually bountiful in Port Elizabeth (I know! Shock! Horror!). It is true that many PE women have a bad rap. It is also true that, in many cases, it is completely deserved but to rule them all off, out of hand, would be doing a great disservice to Port Elizabeth’s many beautiful, charming and fun women that are here.

Oh, that reminds me, Steve is having another dinner party at his house this Thursday and I’ve got to find myself a date for it. I’m going to call her up now-now and see. Hold thumbs.

Bad
Sanlam is pissing me off right now. I invested in some unit trusts with them, at the recommendation of my broker. I need the money now and asked to get the money out. “Not a problem,” they said, “it’ll take no more than 5 days.” It has now been 11. I’m drafting my fuck-you-where-is-my-fucking-money letter. We’ll see how they respond after that.

Ugly
So, last week, I wrote about a “discussion” (I use the term lightly and in quotation marks because is bears very little resemblance to an actual exchange of information between two sentient beings) that I had with a YEC. Well, unfortunately for me, but fortunately for you, he paid us another visit. As always, the discussion was peppered with jaw-dropping inanities (mostly in the retarded “black people cannot swim” vein of myths and fallacies) but one in particular jumped out at me, and it is his assertion that: “Lions in the Kruger Park have AIDS from eating all refugees from Zimbabwe and Mozambique.”

The satement deserves a moment of pause because it betrays a staggeringly large gap in our young man’s understanding of the world. It is a veritable Everest of stupidity supported by a Himalayan chain of myths, lies and misunderstanding. In order to be able to assert such a statement, he must have gotten the following things wrong: AIDS, How HIV is transmitted, HIV in general, basic biology, viral transmission, Lion population in the Kruger Park, Number of refugees from Zimbabwe and Mozambique, Number of refugees eaten by lions, Infection rate in Africa, Infection rate amongst refugees, and, I am sure, many other things besides.

The conversation ended with me saying: “Do you know that the H in HIV stands for Human?” Which was followed by a very blank stare.

The Celibacy Report
I have nothing report at this time, unfortunately, which is kind of the point of The Celibacy Report, I guess.

I had a visit from a YEC (Young Earth Creationist) yesterday. It wasn’t so much a visit as a rude interruption into a conversation I was having with someone else (but, still, let’s be polite).

I have encountered many of these propaganda sheep online (as some of you may remember) but never really had the pleasure of meeting on face-to-face. I was both elucidating and frightening at the same time, like watching a fascinating documentary about giant centipedes (I provide the link especially for JC who, I know, will love it). The conversation went something like this:

Me (Talking to Ryan): I just read a very elegant talking point on the IIDB which was: “if YECs believe that fossil fuels were created by all the dead animals during the flood, where did Noah get the pitch from?� [Note: God instructs Noah to cover his ark with pitch.]
Ryan: Touché
YEC (interrupting our conversation): Are you talking about the Biblical flood?
Me: Yeah. Rarely, but every so often, there are guys that come on line and want to tell us that the biblical flood really did happen
YEC: I am one of those people.
Me: Ah. Well, then, we’ll leave it at that. I am not going to discuss this in the office.
YEC: I don’t mind. I like these debates.
Me: Alright. Do you beleive that fossil fuels were created by the flood?
YEC: Yes, but I don’t know about fossil fuels and pitch. The flood really did happen. There was ice canopy above the planet - more than enough ice to cause a flood. They’ve discovered planets covered with similar ice canopies. [Note: This is all made up stuff.]
Marc: We know enough about the earth to know that it’s not true. We know that there are no ice canopies on any of the planets on our solar system, and we are nowhere near close enough to be able to make calls about planets in other solar systems. So which ones are you referring to?
YEC: Erm. Changes tack. There was a thin layer of water between the earth’s crust and the mantle. There were no oceans. The crust ruptured and the water shot into the sky and rained down on the earth forming the oceans. That’s how the Mariana Trench was formed. [Note: I wish I was lying about what he said, but this is pretty much verbatim. It’s a pity that this flies in the face of all established empirical evidence. Here is a starting point for basic geology.]
Me: So what happened the rest of the earth once its water cushion was removed and shooting up into the sky?
YEC: It moved down. There were lots of earthquakes. [Note: That’s not an earthquake, this is an earthquake.]
Me: That is just not physically possible.
YEC: Yes, it is. The water was under massive amounts of pressure and it shot up and started raining down.
Me: Erm. The amount of energy and heat released by rain falling down to cover the earth in 40 days is monstrous. Let me look it up.

I go off to look up some information and come back. [Note: I reccomend Talk Origins for some easy referencing.]

Me: The amount of pressure generated would increase the earth’s surface to thousands of degress Celcius. It would boil the surface of the planet, let alone a wooden boat. Do you understand that water falling down increases pressure and raises temperature?[Note: The maths involved can be read up here.]
YEC: Why is it cold when it rains then.

I look at him open-mouthed and blinking

Me (slowly to make sure he understands): Because you need a drop in temperature to initiate precipitation. You do realize that it does stop raining and there are reasons for this. [Note: Who’s interested in the weather?]
YEC: Did you know that a human being is at optimum under 20% more pressure and 10% more oxygen? [Note: This is, in fact, not even close to be true. It is pure fabrication. If you are interested in Homeostasis, and optimal living conditions, good luck finding those results.]
Me: No. I did not. What do you mean by optimum?
YEC: You know, optimum. The theory of evolution says that everything that lives is optimally built for its environment.
Me: Erm. No. You’re just inventing stuff. The theory of evolution says no such thing. All the theory of evolution can say is that an organism was fit enough not to be killed. Optimal isn’t part of the process. You really should read something about it. [Note: Many, many people misunderstand what the process of evolution through natural selection is all about. They are not stupid, just ignorant on the matter. You can read some stuff here, here, here and here, just for a start.]
YEC: Changes Tack. Never mind, we still heal faster and things grow better under those conditions. [Note: This is just not true. you can read about hyperbaric medicine if you wish (although our YEC had never heard of it).]
Me: Wait, are you telling me that simply by increasing pressure, people heal faster?
YEC: Yes. The NFL uses that to cure its athletes, and they use the same principles to grow tomatoes as big as footballs.
Me: Wow. Why don’t we use it in hospitals and in agriculture?
YEC: It’s too expensive.
Me: Pressure and oxygen are too expensive?
YEC: Yes
Me: Excuse me while I look this up.

Spends a good 20 minutes trying to find some information.

Me: OK, you’re going to have to supply me with the information because I can find nothing about NFL treatement, boosts to agricultural yield or just fucking anything to do with your claim. I did, however, look up the world’s biggest tomato and it is nowhere near as big as you say it is AND they make no mention of using increased pressure to grow it. So, until you can actually show me some information, a medical paper, some studies, any proof at all, I’m going to put a big question mark over your claims.
YEC: I saw it in a video. I’ll bring it to you. [Note: Guess who is still waiting?] In any case, (Changes tack) how accurate is carbon dating?
Me: Reliably accurate up to 30,000 years or so, which is why scientists use multiple, corroborative methods of dating fossils and artifacts. [Note: I was wrong, Radiocarbon Dating is accurate up to 60,000 years. For more information on dating, read this article.]
YEC: So why do they use carbon dating if it isn’t accurate.
Me: Erm. They don’t, which is what I just said.
YEC: In any case, you can’t use isotopes and atoms to measure anything because of the Heisenberg uncertainty principle.

I blink at him, disbelieving. This is a joke, right? No-one can get things that wrong, can they? [Note:This is the Heisenberg uncertainty principle.]

Me: Aaaaallll-right-y-then. Are you aware that there is massive archaeological evidence that shows uninterrupted growth and development. According to the YEC timeline, the Egyptians were building pyramids underwater.
YEC: (Ignores me) And how long do you think flesh can remain preserved?
Me: I don’t know, a couple of hundreds of years.
YEC: That’s right. Flesh can’t (emphasis his) remain preserved from millions of years and they have found some dinosaur flesh.
Me: They have? That’s pretty awesome. Show me.

He points me to a site and shows me the article. I am disappointed. We apparently won’t be cloning T-Rexs anytime soon. [Note: That’s right. It was only more misinformation, and misrepresentation. Sigh. AND to top it all off, it doesn’t even contradict existing evidence. How very sad.]

YEC: This proves that the earth isn’t millions of years old.
Me: You don’t really know how science works, do you?
YEC: You won’t replace my world view with yours!
Me: And that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it?

I walk away with the feeling that I just wasted an hour of my life.

Good
It’s about time. Steve’s finally dusted off his ink-stained papers, and taken the time to submit his various humorous articles and short stories to Underculture. They will be hosted right here, in the Letters from Harvey Dent section. Go read them. Go!

I’ll wait.

Go!

And, talking of updates to Underculture, I’ve finally started picking up my paintbrushes again. You can expect some new paintings to appear soon. In the meantime, though, you can view these retarded oeuvres for PWOT.

Last Thursday, I also rolled up my sleeves and cooked a kick-ass curry for a few friends. Well, when I say a few, I mean a lot (16 to be exact). It ended, as it should, in the small hours of the morning after far, far too much wine, which sorted of fitted the theme of last week. Because, apparently, the theme to last week was: “Cedric’s social calendar explodes and he has to drink every night.� I am hoping that the theme of this week is something more productive, like “Cedric meets a beautiful woman who likes bald, pot-bellied Belgians.�

Bad
I went to two farewells this weekend. I am sad to see that two awesome and fun young lasses, namely Chantal and Megan, will be leaving us in the coming week. It seems that the lure of a Cape Town man and London paycheck (respectively) have proved too much of a lure to resist. I wish them the very best. They will be missed. Already, Port Elizabeth seems a little less giggly.

Ugly
I love this country. I really do, but, like all countries, it has its share of problems such as the continued and embarrassing presence of HIV deniers, from our president down. Still, as long as we continue to tolerate people’s beliefs in the irrational, we shouldn’t be surprised at all.

The Celibacy Report
You know when you share a “moment� with someone? That moment in a perfectly ordinary setting when you share a look or a silence, and everything else just goes quiet for an instant? I had that this weekend. It was electrifying. Alas, nothing happened. I wasn’t sober enough, and it just wasn’t the time or place.

I know that many of you will disagree with me but, sometimes, the best thing you can do is shake hands and walk away, and hope that you get to meet them again.

Good
So, I went out drinking, last Thursday, to the News Café at the Boardwalk. I went there because there was this Cape Town comedian (something Dunn, I can’t remember, he wasn’t that good), and ended up having a great evening with some of the locals, namely Margie and her crew. I’d forgotten what a delightful establishment it was. I had a great time and will definitely be returning, not least of which because the manageress/owner/goddess (?) is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Really. AND, as an added bonus, I managed to endear myself and make a really good impression by running down Barry Hilton who was, unknown to me at the time, her guest that very night.

The words came out of my mouth as she said: “well, he’s coming over tonight.” This was followed by a few moments of akward silence, and then followed by: “Oh look, there he is.” That was five minutes of my life I’d rather take back.

Incidentally, if you go there, mention that you’d like to see some stand-up comedy. I spoke very briefly with the manageress (Sigh) and she is keen to have some regular stand-up comedy nights. I think that it’s a rockingly good idea. Let’s face it, Port Elizabeth could definintely use another regular stand-up comedy and open-mike night spot. And God alone knows that I could use the practice. I am keen to get cracking again. Help me help you.

Did I mention how dreamy this woman is?

Bad
I had to pick up my step-father and my mother at the airport yesterday. They are back from jet-setting and gallivanting across the world. Problem was, you see, that I was like an hour or so early. Don’t ask. So I have to ask you: “What do you do for an hour in the Port Elizabeth Airport?� The answer, as it turns out is: “Not much.�

Luckily, however, after having explored the various eating establishments and visited each of the restrooms in turn and counted the number of tracksuit-wearing locals I could spot (132), I found my entertainment: a woman talking loudly on her cell phone.

I love these people: if you sit close enough (which is not very close if they, like my victim, have no understanding of personal space and volume control), you can pick up the entire half of the conversation. It’s like Dallas but without champagne or guns.

Well, I was in luck. It turns out that this woman was talking to a chronic depressive, or someone who just went through a horrible loss or heartbreak. It could be that she was even talking to someone suffering from bipolar disorder. Whatever this person was suffering from, they weren’t happy. Luckily for them, though, we had our resident loud-mouthed airport guru dispensing the following advice: draw the curtains, sit in your room and read The Secret. Yup. That’ll be sure the fix her/him/it in no time.

Because, as we all know, The Secret is based on real science and is not crazy fucked-up woohoo nonsense at all. Fucking Hippies.

Ugly
My crotch. My crotch is on fire. I say burn, motherfucker, burn.

Imagine, if you will, that you are back home on a Saturday night, after a night out of drinking. Imagine, then, that you are hungry because you drank a lot of beer and a few vodkas. Imagine that what you are craving is a cheese and chilies sandwich. Yummy cheese. Spicy delicious hot chilies. Imagine making yourself such a sandwich and then eating it in all its burning hot goodness, and thinking to yourself: “Damn. This is a good chili and cheese sandwich,� as you prepare to head off to bed because you are tired and you are drunk.

Lastly, imagine yourself suddenly realizing that you need to pee, and then going to pee, after which you’d head off to your bed for a good night’s sleep. Imagine your reaction as you feel your crotch burning. Burning bright, like a symmetrical tiger in the night. Your first reaction, of course, if to do a physical, manual check and make sure that your wedding tackle really isn’t doused in gasoline, as it clearly feels that it is. Imagine then, your mind frantically working through all the possible reasons for this pain (I wasn’t with XXXXXX tonight again, was I? No. No. It couldn’t have been her.). And slowly, the quiet voice of reason puts together the clues through the drunken hazy fog.

Imagine the fear, the pain and the realization that your chili-covered hands are the very engines of pain and destruction mutilating your manhood. Imagine crying yourself to sleep with unimaginable, searing chili pain.

Now, I’m not saying that it happened to me, you know. But just imagine…

The Celibacy Report
Sigh. Nothing much to report on the Celibacy Report, I’m afraid, although it still looks like Fi and I will be attending the next speed-dating evening, whenever that is. Anyone else joining us?