the weather today is doing a rendition of 'angel's tears from heaven' in other words PISSING. tears begin to fall, says frank zappa. didn't feel like waking up. the water was cold again. damn that stupid geyser anyway.
an alarming number of (insecure) teenaged girls are suffering from a breach of self-assurity and have developed very apt camera hands. this means that their shooting aim when taking a self-exposed photo of themselves posing with a bunch of equally as dafted-out friends is becoming more and more accurate. observe: teenaged girl at a party/social gathering who carries her camera wherever she goes (see camera whore) whips out the device and holds it at a 60degree angle above her (and comrade's) faces and snaps a picture. not just any regular smiling picture, but one that involves some indecent displays of posing, sometimes mock kissing of both sexes, biting, displaying drinks or shooters, pouting of lips or a combination of these. if the aim is bad the photo may consist of some other stranger macking with another stranger about 2inches out of the frame, or somebody's feet or torso, which, by the way, is done purposely by hipster photographers at night clubs. a camera whore is typically a teenaged girl who takes numerous pictures of herself, sometimes in a mirror with the flash reflecting in the photo, or at parties. she receives the sole thrill of internet commentary on these displays by seemingly 'less' popular girls. its ironic because she spends more time documenting her 'awesome time out' than actually socialising with so-called friends.
*camera flashes persistantly in the corner of the room* ME: I guess that's Dee doing her paparazzi shoot. she has to be in every picture at a high angle pose. Bet you those will be up on facebook first thing tomorrow! PERSON2: Yeah, camera whore.
Rick Blaine, played by Humphrey Bogart in the classic 1942 romantic drama Casablanca, is the owner of a swanky yet equally as sleazy cafe, attracting all manner of clientele from Nazi officials and Vichy French to refugees and pickpocketers.
A den of gambling, owned by the ostensibly neutral Rick, who is impartially determined to sell his liqueur and not participate in the heated chinwags of Spanish Republicans vs. Francisco Franco’s nationalists, Rick’s Café American is reminiscent of the Usual Suspects’ Moroccan gem in Casablanca itself. A piano bar slash café where you can request numbers of the restaurant’s very own in-house pianist. This grand mansion, brass lighted, carved marble fireplaces and door that opens right onto the street is brought to life in both oriental Morocco and our very own Mother City. ‘Of all the gin joints in the world’ Rick’s Café is worth a reservation.
last night was pretty sick. got it on tape, too. dunno where i woke up? trainspotting. thrill seekers street walkers. whornados "fuck me i'm drunk" cold hands, hot bodies slick and superficial. that guy dry humping the speaker was quite a hoot. do what i say, step out the way. i'm dancing with you. pushed my way to the middle of the floor and began grinding with a stranger. plucked a lucky strike from this one guy's hand and blew it in his face. kissed somebody with tongue. didn't think of lethal germ exchange or anything of that sort. wondered what the meaning of a 'shoegazing muscian' might be. chain smoking. tease you. less than 2% body fat. if you're born between 1985 and 1993. buddy holly glasses. say no to date rape. being in denial. distinct lack of societal participation. manorexic? wearing sunglasses indoors, scarves in summer and other inappropriate wearing of accessories. conspicuously snobbish about political affliations and musical leanings. you're one too, you know. local R20 acoustic shows hey, you poser, that beer is perhaps the most watered down on the market! grow a pair. oh... putting bubbly in my hookah. choked on it, it was fizzy. hitchhiking at night, some italian picked me up in his SUV and said we go party. i said no thanks, i just need a ride. mouth to mouthing (passing of smoke). surpassing the awkward stage. drunk dialling EPIIIC FAAAAIIIL. sniffing coca cola through a straw.(rendition of coke snorting, yes indeed) party on 2nd turn off oxford and lyle street - bring booze and a bird skeletal blonds the after hours getting a harsh taste of the floor your pants my couch apocalypse meow street rats kelvin declined birth control. coming home smelling like second hand smoke. 'bet you he'll buy me a drink' 'where's your drink' or 'what you drinking?' as topics of initial conversation. people getting in your personal space. two guys and a gal. cursory meetings (brief, perhaps unprotected) euphemistic party in my pants. post-operative words. dingy bars (such their appeal, as they are dog caverns after dark, unpainted walls and a floor plastered in grime, with smoking stumps pushed down the sofa grooves and loud radio music.) driving fast.
was reading vice (the hipster's bible), particularly an article accompanied by some japanese porn magazine called we yum yum cum in which the writer was complaining bitterly about the idiocracy of parents who speak to their children in baby language. he suggested selling the infant to some junkies in the bushes (for $20, a hundred with change) and having these needle pushers teach him the importance of the 'correct vein', to snort your pills and never pay for sex twice, because on the second occasion it means you're dating and we wouldn't want that now would we? in lighter terms, he feels it would be more constructive to have some crack dogs raise a child than some daft parents who 'goody goo' them into future mental retardation in later years. also, a feature on penis shaped mushrooms with hallucenigenic properties and a motherboard of some marvellously obscure albums by artists such as iggy pop, thee oh sees, god help the girl, sir richard bishop and cass mccombs.
Yesterday afternoon we walked down to the bus stop and waited there, hoping to catch the next Golden Arrow (expecting it to be running at least twenty minutes late, of course). I have never taken public transport before, as it's rowdy, tempermental, unsanitary and always late. It so happened that, having asked a black man sitting in the bustop talking to himself in earnest and drawing strange figures, the buses were not operating that day because of some strike with the taxis. it's africa, get used to it.
we took the car to town, parked in long street - lucky, as parking spaces here are hard to come by. long street is a difference sight by day than by night. I saw a man standing outside a cafe wearing an anti-germ mask. I supposed he had swine flu or was afraid of contracting it. I wisely kept my distance. being in the centre of town is a jolty waking from what i'm used to here in small town ville. people are weirder. there is noise. you get offered 'quality weed/shrooms' in passing. you can sit on cushions in the nook window an extremely dingy joint by the name of baghdad cafe smoking a hookah. you can wave at the guy dancing behind the counter at lola's. that's the place where the unemployed actors and lipstick lesbians hang out, by the way. a real treat. anyway, so i picked up some cute dungarees at nylon, where the hipsters shop. ( i am not a hipster. wink.wink ) thats where i got this insane idea that i wanted to be a designer myself. ME. I want to design my OWN clothes, on paper, give it to a seamstress and have it made. it's functional art, just like you'd purchase at an art gallery for aesthetic purposes. only you can wear it. i like the idea of art you can integrate into your own personal image. wearable art.
charity shopping, fast forwarded a decade or two, has now become chic! yes, thrift is trendy, and cost-effective, if you know where to look. picked up a pure wool Austrian overcoat at the biscuit mill today, sourced overseas and resold under a vintage brand. the Mill an be a bit of a crowd on a saturday morning for the neighbourgoods organic market, where all the trendies of the city flock for a piece of the atmosphere. i was all about to fit in. seeing the design talent thats brimming over this city's very bowels i am a little daunted. I want to do exactly the same - start my own range of clothing, go in search of vintage darlings in foreign countries, start my own personal label! i don't knwo where to start, hence i'm come straight to my blog for advice, hoping i'll find the answers. i am distressd, as i do not feel i am talented, motivated or creative enough to take on such a project. i've already sent off my university application, yet when I think of the degree I'm planning to do I wonder if i'll be able to use it for the likes of fashion buying, designing or merchandising, even styling or editing. I have a couple of ideas I'd like to pitch. I am in a precarious place. Don't change your mind now, for God's sakes. how many more changes of mind can you out yourself through, i ask myself. do i dream too much for my own good? do my dreams far too heavily outweigh my actual potential?i don't want to get ahead of myself, but I really want to do this.
The trouble is, one day I want to be a writer and I am content. Then I twiddle my thumbs and hum and ah, and I decide it looks glamourous to be a fashion designer. I know it's not all that it's made out to be, so I'd like to perhaps take a sewing or pattern making course so I can take it up as a hobby instead. I think writing will always be my harness in life. whatever I decide to do, I think it will involve writing. how am i do all of this in one life?
if only I wasn't such a fool, jumping three steps before my last.
cleaning out my bedroom today I realised I have enough to last me a lifetime and beyond, and that, preferably, there would be absolutely no reason to ever buy anything ever again. ah, if only... but in this consumerist society there is just so much, such excess and want of what we in fact do not need, that purchases seem unavoidable! to a girl like me, bombarded with newsprint and television advertising daily, it is virtually a fool's paradise to promise yourself not to spend money on unnecessary delights. after all, there is bounty if one could just look in the right places. there is enough, though dispersed unevenly. there is bounty, excess, such that, as Penny Siopis depicted (more on this artist later), there is unrivalled gluttony in the heavily laden feasting spreads, groaning under the weight of luscious extremities. food is beginning to rot and decay, mere mouthfuls of past-primed feasting, as at first glance this food may seem inviting anfd delicious, only to look closer and see that it is heaving, swollen, excessive, disproportionate and past its sell-by date.
Being pretty new to the alternative music news stand, I decided to cover a Cape Town band that’s in the process of its own initiation into the gigging scene. That’s when I found the clean-cut alternative-rock slash pop-punk fusion quartet called White Collar Kiss. Actually, the band was recommended by a friend of mine who thinks Bethany’s absolutely fantastic (and he’d like to meet her, I’m sure!). This female fronted assemblage definitely gives us girls something to sing along to. Strong guitar progressions coupled with Bethany’s voice of an angel are sure to captivate any audience and stands out as a fresh edition to the local music scene. I am especially inclined to female-fronted bands as I enjoy the confident yet vulnerable female voice mixed with the ‘rocking out’ accompaniment provided by the guys on instruments. White Collar Kiss was formed in early 2008, with about a year of work going into developing the band’s sound with writing sessions and practices. The band made its performance debut between February and March of 2009. Guitarist Nathan Dickson and music promoters Dual Entertainment co-founded White Collar Kiss with international potential in mind. It wasn’t long before the positions for vocals, drums and bass were filled by Bethany Dickson, Michael Bakker and Trevor Edwards respectively. White Collar Kiss was complete.
Since the formation of the band Cape Town’s music scene has been very receptive, with an eager following of fans and support of industry professionals. The band describes their influences as varied between each member, but the main inspirations being Paramore, AC/DC, Nickleback, Queen and Def Leppard. As with all bands, their sound has developed in writing style and technique, making White Collar Kiss a versatile and appealing act. The band’s current project is the inside of a recording studio, where they are in the process of recording their album Fantasy Haze, due to be released in early 2010 under Dual Records. The recording is going well so far and is nearly complete; according to the band the process has been very rewarding and it’s sounding good. Once the album has made its public debut the band plans to play at more shows, particularly overseas, and performing tours. Now for a much anticipated release!
I am impressed by White Collar Kiss’s confident sound, from catchy choruses to ballads. Whether grooving or taking it slow, this charismatic band prides itself on making music that connects with its audience scope. It starts with the raw energy, honest lyrics and those addictive reverberations that get us all jamming. Keep a look out for live performances by White Collar Kiss at upcoming shows. They have played at shows across the city but have singled out Mercury Live as first choice! Their obvious mass appeal is sure to make them a firm favourite among Cape Town’s music regulars, and perhaps, in the future, an international following. Next step, see them live.