Posts Tagged ‘the glaze

07
Sep
10

Gig Review: Basement Jaxx

Remember back in high school when school socials would roll around and you’d get all excited about rocking out at them and having the time of your life, and then the big night rolled around and you realised all it was was a bunch of bored-looking people crammed into your school hall wishing they could get their hands on some booze?

Yeah. In one, long convoluted sentence, that was Basement Jaxx last Friday.

 

 

I’d never been to the Waterfront Lookout before, but the name conjured all kinds of majestic imagery of an open-air concert venue with a perfect view of the harbour and grassy banks where concert-goers could drink in the sights around them while taking a break from the manic crowds dancing like their lives depended on it by the front of the colossal stage.

I pictured giant luxury cruise liners floating by the Lookout with people in tuxedos and evening dresses sipping cocktails on the poop deck while the moon’s reflection shimmered silver on the ocean’s wavy surface.

Instead I arrived to find a fenced-in patch of gravel next to a hall that would be awesome for bingo. At the one end of said hall was a queue seven people deep for a drink and the other a cramped-looking stage with a couple of big screens and lighting rigs.

The patio on the other side of the hall ‘looked out’ at the back-end of the waterfront where the ocean gently lapped random pieces of trash while the wafting scent of rotten fish rolled in misty waves over the people gathered there to smoke and stare in disdainful silence at one another.

 

 

I don’t want to sound like a whiny bitch here, so I’m going to gloss over the performances of all the supporting acts and just say that they were all really, really nice (if you eatlivebreatheshit 5fm) and that I definitely would have boogied on down to their phat and original beats had I spent the afternoon drinking rubbing alcohol / had a large portion of my brain removed.

Then the main act took the stage! We knew this not because they came out guns blazin’ and instantly blew everyone’s minds, but rather because like magic, the queues at the bar disappeared and we could make an earnest effort at getting plastered on overpriced Millers.

Basement Jaxx played with very little heart and the crowd could tell. Halfway through their set most people had already left to beat the traffic home. It was embarrassing.

Sure, there were moments when they rocked out and got the crowd pumping, but sadly they were rare. Most of their set comprised of remixes of other artist’s material (including “Sex On Fire” which, for me, was a definite low point) with one or two Basement Jaxx classics thrown in and a long-ass middle section of beats that went nowhere.

 

 

However, this is not to say the night wasn’t still awesome for me. Here, in bullet-point form are the parts I liked best:

  • The part when my buddy-down-from-joburg The Glaze lost his mind in the drinks queue, shoved his money into my hands, said he had to go outside for some air and then dropped like a sack of potatoes on the stairs in a dead faint. I missed the whole spectacle (CURSE YOU DRINKS QUEUE!) but reliable eye witnesses said he threw his arms back dramatically in the air and keeled over in a graceful backwards swan dive. Haha! Priceless.
  • The part where my buddy Barbarian took an entire MDMA cap in one go because he thought security was watching him crack it open to take a hit and then spent the next hour fighting to keep his shit together. He ended up going home with two girls he’d just met. Legendary.

So the evening wasn’t completely wasted, but you can pretty much bet your ass any parties that crop up in future with the words ‘5fm’ or ‘Waterfront Lookout’ in them will not be graced by this Tiger.

But hey, that’s just like my opinion, man. I’m sure this will no doubt be greeted by the usual slew of personal abuse my writing seems to attract.

I mean fuck. No one wants to hear it like it is. But that’s a story for another time kids 😉

-ST

16
Feb
10

Why I Don’t Play Action Cricket

Look, I don’t want to start this post on the wrong foot here ok? This is about why I don’t play action cricket, I’m totally down with the fact that you might play action cricket, playing action cricket is a perfectly acceptable pastime that thousands of mentally disabled people engage in worldwide, keeps them from banging the cat, I’m cool with that.

 

 

In fact, one of my best and severely mentally disabled friends, The Glaze, used to play action cricket every Friday with his buddies from work, that’s how open minded I am about the whole thing.

They were part of some league or other, which meant they played against a whole bunch of other tards who’d formed these ‘work buddy’ teams to encourage healthy socialising outside of working hours.

But let’s be honest, these ‘work buddy’ teams only exist because three or four douchebags in the office are FUCKING AMAZING at EVERY CONCEIVABLE SPORT and so they rope in a whole bunch of other guys who really suck at sport so that the douchebags can laugh at and humiliate the others in public.

If some guy at work came up to me and said, “Hey dude, we’re starting an action cricket team, it’s gonna be rad bro! We play every Friday after work, have a couple of beers, it’s chilled, wanna sign up?”

My reply would be, “I’m sorry. Friday nights are when I masturbate furiously to re-runs of ‘Murder She Wrote’. Sounds retarded doesn’t it? Yeah, well so does action cricket.”

 

 

See, The Glaze didn’t have the malevolence in his spirit to perceive the trap he had wandered into by agreeing to play action cricket in a ‘work buddy’ team until it was too late.

And so there he’d be on Friday evenings, NOT enjoying a few sneaky libations with the rest of his real life friends, but rather stuck in some day-glo green astro-turfed nightmare, trying with all the skill he could muster to hit a ball with a plank of wood.

Just wait, it gets better.

At some stage during their league games, the office douchebags decide to implement a new rule. The person with the lowest score has to drink a HUGE mouthful of warm beer, not out of a glass, no, that would be too easy. Not out of a shoe either, also not degrading enough.

Instead, the player with the lowest score was forced to drink a HUGE mouthful of warm beer out of the communal ball-box.

Two things immediately struck me when The Glaze broke this news one evening in shame – a) Why the fuck did they all use the same ball-box? and b) WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THEM?!

At this stage let me just make one thing clear. By ‘ball-box’, I’m not referring to a box that balls come in, I’m referring to the moulded piece of hard plastic that players wear to protect their sweaty junk from injury.

 

 

Surely at the exact point that someone suggests you play for stakes like that is when any sane person makes any excuse imaginable to get the fuck out of there?

What’s really funny though is how badly The Glaze’s team sucked. By the end of it all I think they’d lost every game except for two. They still got medals for effort though, every player in the team, which really cracks me up because The Glaze got the lowest score four or five times, once even managing to score –12, so in my estimation, he must have drank about a pint of ball-box beer.

Unfortunately he took his medal out with him on Friday night and by mistake lost it, which made me laugh so hard I cried because who in God’s name would want to walk around clubs and bars with a medal they got for drinking ball-box beer?

“Hi cutie, nice medal, what’s it for?”

“Drinking ball-box beer.”

“Oh my GOD!”

“What is it Tracy?”

“That guy’s an action cricketer!”

“Ok, stay the fuck away from us freak or I’m calling the Police!”

But what really cracked me up is the fact that the poor dude’s downed a pint of ball-box beer and now he’s got nothing to show for it! Hahahahaha! Double-edged sword muthufukkah!

 

 

The lesson here kids is never let your ‘work buddies’ rope you into any kind of sporting activity that you aren’t a semi-pro at or they’ll finally have that opportunity they’ve been waiting for to make you drink their ball-sweat.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you 😉

-ST

16
Dec
09

Car Wreck

Today’s a public holiday so J-Rab and I slept in late, but at about 10.30 a white BMW crashed right through the perimeter wall of our complex.

J-Rab and I jerked awake, but it wasn’t until J-Rab left the house later to get groceries that she saw the car wreck, parked halfway through the wall.

I only saw it this afternoon, chunks of cement and glass and the spikes that used to be on top of the wall all twisted and useless on the ground.

 

 

I stared at the mess in front of me for a long while. I tried to figure out what might have caused the accident, but I couldn’t. The security guard now posted at our new entrance wasn’t much help either.

‘Hey man, were you here when this happened?’

‘Eh?’

‘Were you here when this happened?’

‘i-Yes’

‘Was the person OK? The person driving the car?’

‘Eh, what?’

‘Was the person driving the car OK? Did you see him?’

‘Eh, no. I wasn’t here when it happened.’

I walked back to the flat. I thanked whatever Gods may be that it wasn’t me in that wreck. I’ve been in enough wrecks in my life and yes, I have the scars to prove it.

Last night was a whole other circus. What started off as a civilised soiree in our flat with Graumpot and M-Class and a COLOSSAL plate of 60 pieces of sushi degenerated over the course of the next few hours to a scene that could have been stolen right outta Jerry Springer.

 

 

We decided to go to Jolly Cool’s to shoot some pool, have a few drinks, nothing too crazy.

We arrived, put some coins down on a table of four dudes playing and asked if they could give us a shout when their game was done so we could play.

Of course 20 mins later I go back to the tables and they’ve started the next game and completely ignored us. So we stand by the table and wait for them to finish their game and when they do, the fuckers put another coin in and play another game while we just stand by and watch.

‘Fuck these guys,’ I said to J-Rab, ‘let’s go to Defcon4.’

The easiest way to fuck up a guy’s shot when he’s playing is to get a girl to either stare at his ass as he bends to take a shot, stand in front of him as he’s taking the shot and show maximum cleavage or have a girl make snide remarks behind his back that are just loud enough for him to hear every time he fucks up a shot.

 

 

I call this Defcon4. J-Rab played her part perfectly and soon enough the guys were playing the most shocking game of pool I’ve seen in ages.

Awesome. Now they were on our level.

We sauntered up to the table after they were finally done and started shooting a game to decide who keeps the table. All I can say is thank fuck Graum was on my side cause I sank nothing. I was too interested in man handling J-Rab between shots to really give a shit about the game.

Coolest thing though was that Graum cleaned up for us and got us onto the black ball while they still had a ball on the table. I walk up to play my shot. It’s a total mess, I can’t see any pockets and can’t double the black ball either because their ball is in the way.

Fuck it. I hardly even aim as I slam the white right into the black and their ball and KAPOW! sink the black and win the game.

For the next five minutes I was a hero. Five minutes after that the douchebags left.

Too-de-loo muthufukkus.

We shot another couple of games, Guitar Jon and The Glaze joined us, good times were had by all until this crazy bitch in a green top started throwing glasses and other assorted bar paraphernalia at this black girl who the green top girl had decided, for whatever reason, it was her mission in life to kill.

That’s when we knew it was hometime.

Now we’re gonna make some noms for supper, chill with a movie and enjoy the good life on this breezy, warm and beautiful summer evening.

Until tomorrow.

-ST




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