Wake-up, Ex Pats! Let's get out of those pee jays [permalink]
It seems our boys, The Dirty Skirts, are swinging their incredible dicks over the ocean and are going on a little tour. Following a launch of their new album, "On a Stellar Bender" (and before they hit New York City and the South by South festival in Austin, Texas), they will arrive in London aboard an air bubble and will be playing a show at a place called 'Industry' on the 6th March.
Finally, you will be able to touch them
The venue is small and the promoters are putting two other bands on the bill, so buying tickets is essential to guarantee entrance.
I would advise you to do this right now. The Skirts have a massive following amongst the ex-pats (and many others) in London and, if you're cool, you'll be there - trust me.
It'll be two weeks to go and you'll hear that everyone else bought and you haven't and you'll look like a tit.
From the treasure trove that is Paris Hilton's garage sale comes these new pics of Hilts on a boat. I must say, she has two wonderful little guys. This Tuesday Tabs comes to you today because yesterday was a day of memory for Mickey Munden. So it's Tuesday Tabs on Wednesday. This is in no way connected to the days of the week mentioned on the note I received from Mavis.
This will be the only post for the day. There is loads to tell about the J&B Met etc. but, in memory of the great Mickey Munden, we will remain silent until tomorrow.
I had the honour of meeting Mickey in my very own office and found him to be cooler than cool and an absolute gentleman. Bless you Mickey.
You've heard about it from your friends. Now see it in technicolour!
Here we witness another Cape Town car being removed, having parked in the wrong place.
Great viewing. I am astonished that no criminals have managed to get their hands on trucks like these to steal cars. Not a bad idea guys!!!! I would do it, if I were in crime. I'd get Nick Goldblatt involved and simply rape the Waterfront car park!
I am astounded to note that there is a large amount of people in Cape Town who are unaware that the Camps Bay vet (a landmark on a three-way stop on Camps Bay Drive) has a monstrous hedge outside the building which has been expertly cut into the shape of a horse! It is an absolute mind fuck - if you haven't seen it you better get out of work today and go and see it.
Just horsing around
Yes, you know the area
Personally, I would have had the horse standing up - maybe over the entrance of the vet. Either way, I'm glad it's there. It makes sense, because vets deal with animals and, although I'm sure the Camps Bay vet doesn't deal with horses, a horse is still an animal.
As Catholic adoption agencies go up against the law [permalink]
My pal, Dan Nicholl (iafrica sport and Cape Talk), sent me an sms this morning, urging me to look at the Times Online website. He didn't even have to tell me exactly what he was referring to. I went to the website and it became quite evident what he was on about.
AWESOME!
I'm not ENTIRELY sure if it gets any better than that!
To cut a long story short, the new UK law allowing same-sex couples to adopt, is not being wholly accepted by Catholic adoption agencies on that side of the world. READ MORE HERE.
Weird.......considering.
(With reference to the Catholic church gay/molestation headlines that PLAGUE the headlines).
Anyway, I thought that would be a good start to the day.
thanks dan
Seth Rotherham
Editor
2oceansvibe.com [permalink]
Doesn't pay storage bill - other people get her stuff and sell it to you [permalink]
It can't get much bigger than this. A while back there was a story running about Hilts forgetting to pay her storage facility bill. Apparently she had everything stored in the facility, from diaries to video tapes. Someone else paid the bill and took ownership of all her stuff. They offered it back to her for $20million and she refused.
So they put it all into digital format and created a website with all of her letters, diaries and video tapes. It's called www.parisexposed.com.
Hating that.
Once you've paid the $39 membership, you will be given access to various visuals which reveal everything from her obsession with Britney Spears since she was a kid, to videos of billionaire kids snorting a kilo of cocaine off someone's chest. And then, of course, there are a pant load more sex videos, drug use videos, photos, emails, bank statements, medical records, fan mail, cards, recorded phone messages, private phone numbers, receipts, passports, diaries and sex toys.
I think they might be a bit out of line with this one. But we'll watch anyway.
They've got a free video on the site showing a "what's inside" tour which is quite revealing. You might want to check it out.
In an early morning sock drawer attack [permalink]
In the terrifying event of being approached by members of the public (never from behind, please), I am often asked a variety of questions pertaining to 2oceansvibe and my vibe in general. That, and crying mothers, begging me to touch their sick children, in the belief that I can heal.
One of the most popular topics of conversation is Mavis, my domestic executive. I have only written about Mavis a couple of times and she seems to have become a much loved character. Personally, I think she is on drugs.
You might remember last time when she wrote that note on my car (you might also remember one of our more challenged readers voicing his opinion on the incident). Other moments include her sick note and the time she thought she was Martha Stewart.
Nothing has been written about Mavis since then.
Until this morning.
I opened up my sock drawer and noticed a message.
The sock drawer had been sabotaged
The Safe House had been locked after she came to work yesterday, so it definitely wasn't a suicide note. I focused and took a closer look at the note.
QUITE bizarre!
For those of you who can't read notes, it reads, "Will you please ask Monday where is Friday 'cause I have a message from Sunday?"
I didn't know what the fuck she was talking about. Was she attacking me? Was she putting a curse on me? I knew one thing, and that was that she is without a doubt on drugs. But then I realised that she gave a little clue at the end of the note. It had to do with my socks.
I bought seven pairs of socks in London during last year's Strengthening Ties Tour. Each pair has a day of the week written on the side of the socks. Here is a great example:
Here we see "Wednesday"
Mavis has clearly lost some of the socks and has realised that, unlike most pairs of black socks which one can mix and match, these have a SPECIFIC partner in each pair. Mavis knows full well that I don't have a secret box where I hide items of my own clothing from her, so there is no way that she honestly believes that I would miraculously know the whereabouts of whatever day of the week sock she is referring to. I can therefore only surmise that Mavis is making a joke.
A surprise morning joke in my sock drawer, in the form of a note.
Is that what this is, Mavis? A joke of sorts?
Is this what we do in our day whilst Master Seth is out there, working, healing children and saving lives? You know very well that I have NO CLUE where the fuck Monday, Sunday or Friday are. I don't even know where my favourite Tsubi jeans are with the tear above the knee. They've been gone for a week.
I've got a good idea though, as to the possible whereabouts of those particular days of the week. Maybe the days of the week you're looking for are with the sugar, toilet paper and wine gums that I seem to constantly run out of at a rate of knots?
On Saturday I went with The Photographer to Cavendish Square. Besides nearly peeing in my pants with all the little angels and rat bags running around, we also took in a viewing of "Blood Diamond" with Leonardo DiCaprio.
Only once before have I walked out at the end of a movie and proclaimed that it would win an Oscar. That was at the end of "As good as it gets" with Jack Nicholson. I did it again on Saturday. You can read as many reviews as you want and I'm sure Barry Ronge will give it a good punt, but none of them will be able to say what they want to say about the movie. I am referring to two words that would have them fired:
FUCKING
BRILLIANT
I mean it. Leo gives the South African accent a bloody good go and certainly gets it better than anyone else I have ever heard attempt (what is very often deemed) one of the more difficult accents to mimic.
You'll thoroughly enjoy it. I even had a little cry. I haven't had a good cry for a while. I feel cleansed now. I cried on Saturday and went to gym yesterday. I am beautifully cleansed.
Seriously though, you must watch it. There are smatterings of Afrikaans in the movie and it's simply awesome hearing Leo call someone a "fucking doos".
Designer suit and shades, luxury vehicles and..... a cow slaughtering? [permalink]
I don't know anymore. I just don't quite know what to make of it. For those of you who missed it, former ANC Chief Whip, Tony Yengeni, was released from prison and went straight home to indulge in a traditional cow slaughtering. The latest headlines have to do with the SPCA freaking out about how the cow was killed.
Personally, I think we're missing the point.
A cow - similar to the one Tony stabbed
Surely some things should be done in private? Whilst I feel it is quite wonderful that people are sticking to their roots and following the rituals of their ancestors, I just don't know how it looks on the front page of the newspaper for the world to see. The First World. The World that we are pretending to be a part of. No-one is saying that he shouldn't follow ancient custom, but is it still so "sacred" when journalists are involved taking pictures of the event? Shouldn't it be a more private affair?
I could VERY easily have an old family tradition which involves piercing my ball sack - but I swear to God I won't be doing it in front of journalists. Why is that? Because I am QUITE aware that it might freak some people out. PARTICULARLY if I was involved in the government and represented my country. There is just no need to go down that road. Why attract the attention?
I think it is even more alarming to learn that it was a "traditional" POST-PRISON ceremony! Exactly how long has this tradition been going on?
I don't know why, but I have a tendency to NOT get excited about incredible things that are apparently going to happen, until they do. Invariably they fade into oblivion.
A good friend of mine, Tom K, an architect (we'll call him The Architect), has been telling me about a restaurant that he and his respective company, 'dhk thinkspace' have been working on. He has been telling me about it for a while (seriously ...months) and it sounded so exciting that I purposefully pretended that it wasn't going to happen. He said something about one of those old, classic, high-ceiling banks on Adderley Streetbeing turned into a restaurant.
Too good to be true. I mean, what are the chances? You may have visited one of them before - perhaps the First National Bank, which still operates in their original (I assume) premises along Adderley Street. They are SO old-school and huge and great and marble and ceilings and columns. Some of them still operate, unabashed, without three-inch bullet proof glass - still throwing around a bit of the old school - simple brass bars at the tellers. I was/am always tempted to get into crime and fucking nail the FNB on Adderley Street. Seriously, someone should give it a shot. Put together a good team and nail it. Get Nick Goldblatt on board and you won't go wrong.
So The Architect told me that they have finally opened "it". So much time had lapsed that I didn't know what he was talking about.
"Riboville", he tells me.
"What the fuck is Riboville?", I asked.
"That restaurant....."
I did a couple of brain exercises and found the file. I blew off the dust.
Good Lord! It materialised!!
Riboville - it exists
I didn't waste time.
No-one had mentioned it yet. It was unknown. The 250-seater restaurant had been keeping under the radar whilst they fine tuned everything. Now was my time to claim a new, hot restaurant (Mr. Lawrence, I will mix present and past tense in the same sentence - and there is fuck all you can do about it).
Piglet put together 25 fine individuals and we gave Riboville a visit.
Oh, you like that?
Aesthetically, it was just as I imagined. A six meter high ceiling greeted us with all the old-school detail you could hope for. Random glass plates in the floor gave a glance into what used to be the bank vault - which is now an extensive wine cellar. Once we had gathered ourselves in the wood-paneled cigar lounge, we graced our three tables. Our ensemble was immediately interrupted with a welcomed tour of the wine seller. A ride in the original elevator (which also goes up to the loos - which is another story altogether) took us into what was the old bank vault where, during a brief educational, we chose our wine for the evening. Mind blowing.
I won't say too much about the loos
Have a little wee - and enjoy
The evening ran away with itself as we enjoyed swift, slick service with a menu that could make a grown man cry. I can honestly say that I have never seen such an extensive menu. And that was just the main restaurant - there is a separate sushi kitchen and dining area at the arse end of the restaurant which I am DYING to try. (As we slip into full camp mode)
I am often invited to new restaurants and, whilst they may dish a good meal and impress you with semi-average service, there often (particularly with the more extravagant lot) seems to be an underlying, desperate panic in the air as the owners/partners sweat to make their money back.
You've heard it a thousand time - "So-and-so spent XYZ on that new restaurant - he is cucking himself to make it back". Owners and managers are regularly seen, post-snort, freaking out about the table turnover, as the editor of God-knows-what magazine hovers at the entrance.
I am happy to report that the owners of Riboville have spent so much money on Riboville, that it is quite evident that their aim is clearly no more than pride - to own and present the finest and greatest restaurant that Cape Town has to offer. The kind of shit you see in London. I'm not kidding. Honestly, there were no favours when I was there, we simply called and booked...AND paid (although a blow job upon entry would have been nice).
I think we'll start with the oysters
And then you'll be in big trouble, young lady
Ladies and gentlemen - enough of the rubbish.
Let's be serious for a second.
The restaurant you've been looking for has arrived. Get in their early so you can scream at them on the phone, "Fully booked? Are you fucking kidding me? I've supported you guys from day one!".
It's not every day that this happens - that a Tuesday Tabs coincides with the release of a highly anticipation home sex tape. Just sit back and let it unfold before you.
It brings a tear to my eye. To see a gorgeous young lady break her way into the the Page 3 market, become a household name and finally create a home sex tape - it's just......its just..... too precious. Good girl!
For those of you who don't know who Keeley is, I will begin by offering you this week's Tuesday Tabs.
Hazell is regularly featured in Zoo and continues to appear in The Sun at least once every two weeks (boosting sales by 25,000 when she is on the front page). She has been on the cover of The Sun's 2006 and 2007 Page 3 calendars, in addition to her own 2006 and 2007 wall calendars, the latter of which sold 30,000 in its first days of release.
Hazell was offered a chance to be in Playboy, but declined because she was not comfortable doing a full nude shoot.
Hazell is the face of Sony Computer Entertainment Europe's Formula One 06 video game for the PlayStation 2, PlayStation Portable, and PlayStation 3.
But then:
Now this is what we want to chat about. Although we certainly do not condone the publishing of such material, we feel we need to highlight what is going on, for educational purposes. 2oceansvibe has done all the research you need to get the tape, should you feel the need. We have put together a wide array of links to various sources of the tape (they can be temperamental).
I have great pleasure in bringing you the first TBG sighting of 2007! After receiving reports via email that the TBG (Tall Blonde Guy) was spotted over the festive season as far afield as Canada, it seems the symbol of all that is good and true has returned to the temple. Welcome back, TBG, the void has been filled.
Never before has the TBG looked more like Jesus
Tom T sent this in after running into the great man at Asoka (Son of Dharma). Tom mentioned that the electricity in the air at Asoka suggested that there was an evident source of energy somewhere in the room. He investigated the bar at the end of Asoka and realised the energy was none other than the result of the all-encompassing aura that permeates from Cape Town's most rarest icon- The TBG.
I think it's great that Paula Abdul is very well known for being shit-faced MOST of the time. It is common knowledge in the showbiz world that she is rarely sober. I've seen videos and pics and quotes from her before, where she has been particularly hammered, but nothing beats this - she is COMPLETELY fucked! Enjoy it.
After a bender at Villa Simpson (naughty, Daisy) the night before, there was no way to think before consuming food of an egg nature. You only realise that you'll be spending the whole of Saturday on the beach when you're half way through breakfast at Caprice. G-man, my muse, agreed that the beach made perfect sense.
I forget about things I write about and never know what particular part of my drivel is making the hamster in your heads run faster. Members of the public have been approaching me on the street (never from behind) of late and are seemingly intrigued by the identity of the individual I described in the 28 December 'piece' entitled "Merry Schmerry" in which I spat the following:
"..the whistle-stop tour to Hermanus for the night of the 26th offered dinner conversation laced with some wonderful insight into the inner workings (or lack thereof) of one our more over-exposed local "celebs". I'll let you work it out. Which apostle recently took a young lady on a date to Wakame and, when it came time to order the main course, snatched the menu out of her hands before she could chose her meal and declared, "I pay, I order!"? You know who it is. Pick him. "
The free whats-hot guide to the Cape Town club scene, Playground, also featured the article. I had no idea that something like this would become a talking point, as the identity of the individual should be glaring at you with all the clues I gave. Christ, it's not a fucking Agatha Christie mystery.
Nonetheless, it is pleasing to learn that, among all the confusion, Dave at Caprice seems to have worked out who I was referring to. Good work, Dave. So please, stop asking me - ask Dave.
Once the beach chair guys had pulled their fingers out their arses we settled into some Camps Bay beach action which included the guy that drives that jeep, throwing a frisbee to his mate in a similar fashion and style to a discus olympian. God, he was just outrageous! I was listening to the iPod on shuffle with G.I. Jane and stumbled upon "Islands in the stream" by Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers. I decided that if I ever had to chose a song that would play on repeat in my head non-stop until I die, I would be fine with "Islands in the stream". You will be forgiven thinking that Dolly sings the duet with one of the Gibb brothers from The Bee Gees. It seems that The Bee Gees actually wrote the song, having originally intended it for Diana Ross, AND they do happen to feature in the chorus. So that might explain the confusion you've had about the song recently.
Dolly and Kenny - completely, recklessly, out of control
Kenny Rogers will smile when he feels like smiling
Nice, Wason
If you're still with me at this stage I will go on and blind you with more startling facts. Enjoy this, the song was number one for two weeks on the Billboard Top 100 in 1983. The number one just before that was "Total Eclipse of the Heart" by Bonnie Tyler. (which was absolutely beautifully and hilariously covered in the movie Old School - download that video, should you wish, here). Imagine being in your 20's in 1983 and being mind blown by two such powerhouse songs - in a row! Oh, but wait, there's more. The number one tune that came immediately AFTER "Islands in the stream", that SAME year, was "All Night Long" by Lionel Richie! Are you fucking kidding me? How fucking crazy was 1983?! God, if only I had a time machine. I would go back to that glorious year and experience it first hand. I'd lose my mind.
In fact, I'd set the clock back one year earlier to 1982 so that I can spend the first year watching Uncle Rico take State.
I have just had a PVR satellite decoder installed at the safe house and I thought I should let the earth see the following video. Particularly if you're looking at getting a satellite decoder in Cape Town, or want ANY work done on your TV.
Before we get into that, I must just tell you a story I heard this morning. The Surfer called me and told me that The Chief bought a new PVR decoder and got in some guys to install it for him. They arrive at the house and he leaves them there to finish up. Apparently it was a fuck fest. The satellite dish had to be changed and all sorts of shit. They stay there SIX HOURS!! From 14h30 to 20h30. He assumes they have left and gets a call at about 20h30 from ADT. ADT tell him the alarm has gone off at the house and they have caught some burglars. He arrives home with two ADT guys holding guns, standing over the two satellite installation guys SITTING ON THEIR HANDS ON THE FLOOR.
While the rest of the world are wasting their time worrying about things that aren't that important like 'global warming' and 'the war in Iraq', we here at 2oceansvibe prefer to report on things that MATTER! Like Gisele walking her dog.
I chose these pics to best illustrate how well she walks her dog. Cute dog, reminds me of the Los Cajones Del Perro clothing dog - which is obviously slightly cuter. Click these pics and see what it takes to walk a dog well.
JIZZ-ELLE
(sorry, I couldn't resist)
CLICK FOR BIGGER PICS
As they no doubt proceed to piss on Nokia and the boys [permalink]
It was only a matter of time that Apple glued the iPod in your pocket to the cell phone in your other pocket. There is only one step from here, get a iPod, cell phone and girlfriend in one compact unit.
So here it is, the iPhone:
Sexy, almost evil
CLICK PIC TO GET BIGGER PIC TO GET A GOOD LOOK
The full specs:
Screen size: 3.5 inches
Screen resolution: 320 by 480 at 160 ppi
Input method: Multi-touch
Operating system: OS X
Storage: 4GB or 8GB
GSM: Quad-band (MHz: 850, 900, 1800, 1900)
Wireless data: Wi-Fi (802.11b/g) + EDGE + Bluetooth 2.0
Camera: 2.0 megapixels
Battery: Up to 5 hours Talk / Video / Browsing, Up to 16 hours Audio playback
Dimensions: 4.5 x 2.4 x 0.46 inches
Weight: 4.8 ounces / 135 grams
It doesn't have any buttons and holds up to 8Gb of music. Yes, you want one inside you. You can't do that yet I'm afraid. For now you can just CLICK HERE to go to Gizmodo and check out the full spec and write up on this slick black mother fucker.
Kate Moss, again. The first person to have a double entry on Tuesday Tabs. The reason being these were taken literally last week as Kate got married to walking heroin needle, Pete Doherty.
Her breasts seem to have had a fall from grace. You might remember her first Tuesday Tabs - they were electric. But now, they're just a display of madness - nothing else.
David Jones and his team just don't get it. [permalink]
I know our journalists are generally quite poorly paid and we have learnt to expect only a certain level of journalism from our local papers. But I was always under the impression that The Sunday Independent was created to give the South African people a BETTER read, with BETTER stories and a BETTER level of journalism. Unlike this website for example, the paper certainly does come across as a more sophisticated read. Its typeface and layout does lend itself to sophistication and perhaps, even, a read offering intellectual stimulation and argument.
Now, as I said, we have learnt to expect mistakes in our local papers and sometimes we don't even notice errors in grammar, let alone facts and details. But I am amazed when facts and details are incorrect when dealing with an accompanying image on a page. It's one thing telling me that the car at the scene of a crime was blue, when it was actually red - but when there is a photograph of a red car in the article......it is surely unforgivable? Someone has fucked up - either the writer, the proof readers or the editor. Whoever it is, it's emboerrissing.
You may have read this headline in The Sunday Independent, this Sunday, 7 January 2007.
The sub-heading of David Jones's article, should you be struggling to read, states, "Observers see pivotal role in Iraq for Hussein's eldest daughter, The Gucci wearing 'Little Saddam', whose husband her father killed"
The article went on to repeat, more than once, the fact that she wears Gucci sunglasses. The article THEN went on to feature a photograph of our girl, wearing a pair of sunglasses - the logo of which is so prominent that is verges on being the focal point of the entire page, let alone the article. If I may:
The "Gucci" sunglasses
In this day and age of fashion and brand obsession, would you not think it a tad emboerrissing for a 'top-class' publication, such as The Sunday Independent, to come across as either unaware of the difference between the brands 'Gucci' and 'Chanel', or perhaps so completely unaware and detached that they consider the name 'Gucci' a generic?
Annoying people will argue that they are unaffected by fashion and not everyone is as obsessed as, perhaps, I am. Then why mention a brand at all? Would a clueless person be so bold as to choose a brand at random, hoping they got the right one? In a NATIONAL NEWSPAPER? Surely it would be easier to use the safer South African favourite term "designer" shades? Why risk fucking up the name, ESPECIALLY with an accompanying photograph? A simple search on Google for "chanel logo", found me this little gem.
A turtle would recognise the logo as the same interlinking 'C's' as those found on the sunglasses belonging to the dictator's daughter. A search on Google for "gucci logo" finds no such interlinking 'C's'.
Do our newspapers have internet access?
I am happy to report that I found the exact pair of Chanels that I had lost a few weeks back, at a store in Constantia Village. (Thank you to the concerned members of the public for their support during this time). Again, we see those little interlinking 'C's'.
Something is very worrying, strange and naive about our local media. And it's not just the newspapers. News and sports readers on the radio and television sound not too dissimilar to the english orals my peers and I used to deliver in standard 6 (Grade 8 to the new generation). Our magazine articles feature articles about idiots, written by idiots - apparently FOR idiots. The only good read out there is 17 Magazine - at least it is aimed at teenagers, and that is exactly what they get.
Microsoft CEO does not need any motivation [permalink]
Some of you may have seem this and, if you have, you'll want to see it again. Those of you who haven't seen it are in for an absolute TREAT. Steve Ballmer has been the CEO of Microsoft since 2000 and is worth about $13 billion - so you can probably understand why he is not scared to completely emboerris himself with excitement over the company that he works for. This (now famous) video is of our boy arriving on stage at a Microsoft convention.
He completely loses his MIND and shouts various alarming things like, "GIVE IT UP FOR ME" and "COME OOOON", pointing to the crowd like a rock star, jumping hysterically with no apparent connection between his leg and arm movements. He nearly collapses after losing his breath and continues to tell the crowd of his love for Microsoft.
We have never gone too overboard about Jessica Alba in the past. We've never had to. I know how hot she is - but she always seemed a bit too sweet. She didn't have the filth element (would be a good porno rip-off name of the Fifth Element with Bruce Willis) that we thrive on with the likes of Hilts and Britters. But, nonetheless, these latest pics of the young lass in the ocean are just too fantastic to ignore. This is the bum that dreams are made of. If your bum looks like this, you have nothing to worry about. I thoroughly enjoy the way her boyfriend solicits hatred as he caresses her in front of several helpless men.
You might remember an article I created out of thin air about the Gucci handbag. Using a recently sent in photo of a young lady as proof, I was, at the time, contending the validity of the adage, "money can't buy you happiness". The photo was of an ecstatic Lisa J opening up her new Gucci handbag.
Antagonists will argue that the happiness was surely short lived.
Incorrect, my little friend - I will stop you right there and remind you that the aforementioned article was written in October of this year.
I have, right here, a photo taken just yesterday. The very same handbag and the very same picture of happiness, made it across the Atlantic Ocean and into The Safe House in Camps Bay.
Have a look at this picture of pure joy! Glorious!
Over two months down the line, courtesy of Gucci.
The happiness that money bought, continues!
We can now therefore prove that money not only BUYS happiness, but it KEEPS ON GIVING!
Now let's just back the fuck up here for a second. To the guys out there - let's do a couple of sums. Take the semi-expensive price you paid for her shoes the other day. Or the digital camera that you thought was excessive. Then, tell me how long it took for her to turn on you like an Alsatian again? A day? A week? I don't know the answer to that, but I'm as sure as fuck it wasn't over two months! The proof is right above, friends. This is the result if you stick your necks out a bit and pay that "exorbitant" price for a little piece of magic - because that is what you're buying - pure magic!
You'll find that the same antagonists have never owned a brand new piece of (genuine) high end fashion, let alone felt such a symbol of extravagance with their bare hands. Any pundit will tell you that these objects of desire do not come from just any sweatshops. The magic behind the glorious brands of the mighty houses of Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Prada, Chanel, Christian Dior, Dolce & Gabbana, Burberry, Versace and the like, is due to them employing only the youngest and hardworking Cambodian, Korean and Chinese children - with only the smallest hands and little fingers. Hands and fingers necessary for such intricate detail - detail that will be lost on the fakes you see floating around.
Whilst on the subject, team - do not be impressed by fakes which managed to incorporate the right print, or the right stamp, or the right link, or the right zip. We are not impressed by such attention to detail when copying. Even when they get it right, something will be missing - the correct weight for example - it will just never be the same item. Were you impressed with the kid at school who good draw the best? Or were you impressed with the kid who could trace over another picture the best? So you also tried to trace and you noticed that you were also very good at it. Next thing you knew, the whole class was very good at tracing. It was probably at that exact moment that you started to have a whole new appreciation and respect for the original kid who could draw well without tracing. That kids name was probably something like Gucci, or Prada.
You don't get points for good fakes. The better the fake, the dirtier you feel inside. You'll get points for finding a good bargain, or sale, or secret store overseas - but fakes don't get points.
I'll tell you something else I'm sure of that nobody has cared to mention:
On this penultimate day of the year, I can report that our favourite little nymphomaniac has arrived in Sydney. Hilts will spend her time selecting the face of a local beer, Bondi Blonde, before attending a New Year's bash - all for the princessly sum of One Meeeelion Dollars.
This will only annoy the Paris Hilton haters even more. Personally I don't think it's a big deal. I get free bottles of french champagne at Caprice when I go there so it would be wrong of me to judge Hilts for abusing the situation.
Bondi beach lost its mind as Hilts tanned, swam and then ended off with a pornographic shower in front of thousands of mental Ozzies and holiday makers. Fuck, she cracks me up! And I'm fine with the Louis cozzie.
Ozzie males hard-code the spectacle into their wank banks.
I would say that Prada's clever arms with varying frames played a role in their very obvious majority chunk of the Atlantic Seaboard's sunglasses market share this season. Versace came in late with the Kim Jong il range of shades with the stretched-triangle arms (includes the Versace 2034b's, which I'm fine with) and were therefore relegated to third place by the deafening influx of Dior's new range featuring the hollow "D" at the front of the arm, linking to the frame. Some of them are a complete fuckshow with the entire arm being made up of the letters "DIOR", joined together, forming the arm. Are you with me? "DIOR" is not WRITTEN ON the arm - the letters ARE the arm! Not good. Don't buy those. Pull out. Cancel. Cancel!
I must stop talking about Dior because my P.A. wears Dior (Dior "Glossy 1's" - fine) and I am reminded how she has gone AWAY for the week and has rendered me useless. I even had to answer my phone this morning. It's all work, and no P.A. around here. Come back, Piglet, all is forgiven.
James Brown is dead.
A "season's greetings" group-sms infested (Merry Merries and happy happies and a blessed 2007 and a wank this and a wank that) Christmas morning included breakfast at Caprice with the Fabrics Guy which ended at 12h00. It was only then that we realised how silly it was to have eaten breakfast at Caprice when we would have to return only moments later for our 1pm Christmas lunch booking. Lunch included 10 of us orphans who had no parents in town. It lasted from 1pm to 2am. That's 13 hours. Taking into account the breakfast earlier, you're looking at 15 hours of mayhem. That's not bad going. Dave.
Caprice sunset, Christmas Day, 2006.
Frankincense, mehr and tequila
I would have been there longer and am the first to admit that it was foolish of me to misinterpret an sms saying "Call it, or I'm going home", as anything more than an invite to enter into high level discussions about respect and the fact that I never called. Sorry for the confusion - my fault. Apologies to the crew at Cappers for sneaking off like that - I shouldn't have chosen a 1-stop strategy.
Best T-shirt of the day - "I am not a football player ".
Apart from a 12 hour sleep and an audience with The Comeback Kid's kid, the whistle stop tour to Hermanus for the night of the 26th offered dinner conversation laced with some wonderful insight into the inner workings (or lack thereof) of one our more over-exposed local "celebs". I'll let you work it out. Which apostle recently took a young lady on a date to Wakame and, when it came time to order the main course, snatched the menu out of her hands before she could chose her meal and declared, "I pay, I order!"? You know who it is. Pick him.
"I pay, I order". Are you fucking kidding me?
I'm playing entire albums at the moment and, having just finished Prince, am now moving over to Chris Isaak. Isaak's 'Wicked Game' just seems to work as I gaze over Cape Town's Mighty Atlantic Seaboard (CTMAS). CTMAS - that's how you spell 'XMAS' if you're spending it in Cape Town. Because it's not like someone else's XMAS, it's XMAS in Cape Town. Those who've done it, know it. And they all agree - as cheesy as it sounds, there is just something in the air. It's a photoshopped wonderland and it's fucking wild. I have lived here my whole life and done good time overseas. Believe me, you will never come across another city in the World whose inhabitants and visitors spend more time discussing how incredible it is to live and visit there, as you do in Cape Town. Look, make no error, I've had a couple of joints and a bottle of wine on my own in The Safe House and I'm getting emotional. But a quick glance at my options on this (again) perfect day in Cape Town, proves my point.
At this exact moment in time, I could be having a boozy lunch with The UK Entertainment Guy and family at a restaurant in the middle of the world famous Groot Constantia vineyards. I could even be with The Stockbroker on the pool deck of the Fresnaye pad. The C.A. beckoned for a session on Camps Bay beach with 28 degree heat and a metallic blue ocean that I want inside me. Big H put in an invite to the pool at Number 1 Chapman's Peak - over the rocks, with the ocean ten meters below. I got up too late to join The Kitesurfer for a trip on the boat to get some crayfish for dinner, so that's out of the question. And, to top things off, Nick Goldblatt threatened Caprice - but I don't know if I can handle the attention. "Seth is actually very shy", they'll tell you - those who know. Those who know the lonely, frightened little only-child, who hides behind the cool, tanned, sex robot image that was created as a defense mechanism to overcome the confusion created by the constant tirade aimed at me as they try, uninvited, to get inside my mind, to give me something that they know I secretly long for - love.
Now, let's get those panties off, darling.
As the sun sets on the fourth last day of the year (I wish it was the second last day so that I could have used the word "penultimate") I have decided to spend it here, in The Safe House - with the so called "internet" at my fingertips, the new 2.5m sofa under my ass, the Sony Bravia on the wall and CTMAS sprawled before me.
Today we detox.
Today we reflect.
Today, is just another day.
Amen.
(Mum, I was only kidding about the "joints" earlier in the story - I just say that because people think its cool)
