Cape Town and surrounds

In and around the Cape. Things go on. Things happen.
  

Live at The Baxter
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I don't often laugh out loud. Most things simply aren't that funny these days. Everything just seems to be a variation of something else. MOST comic acts are so bad of late that I actually feel violated after watching them. I generally go home, weakened; I dive into the shower and scrub my body, in particular my ears and eyes, with wire wool - often drawing blood. I collapse in the corner on the floor, naked, holding my knees close to my chest in a little ball, crying, wondering WHY and HOW my time was able to be manipulated and sucked into that particular vortex of crap. (This process can be likened to the meetings people continuously attempt to setup, to discuss issues that could QUITE EASILY be handled via email. God, it's painful).

That will NOT be the case on Wednesday night.

Corne and Twakkie - 19 November to 1 December
LIVE at The Baxter

My DARLING Sascha from Rabbit in a Hat sent me tickets to The Most Amazing Show for Wednesday this week. She is QUITE aware that I can be somewhat picky when it comes to shows and launches and functions, and began her email with a knowing, "Here's something that might grab your fancy..."

Spot on!

I replied with a yes before the pixels had dried on the email. (Fuck I'm on FIRE today!!!!).

If there is one comic act I thoroughly enjoy and always refer to when asked as to what local comedy gets me going, it's The Most Amazing Show, featuring Corne and Twakkie.

I remember a couple years back when The Roofer carried on telling me about The Most Amazing Show. Saying how "amaaaaazing" it was - but not telling me EXACTLY what it was about. I thought he was pissed because he kept on saying it in weird way, using a strange accent. It was very annoying. They (the show) had already finished their run that year and I had to wait a FULL YEAR until I found out what the fuck it was about. Jesus, it was funny.

These guys basically slip into their own little world where they have their own sayings and accent. Referring to you as "golden people" it's all original, good shit. They involve the crowd in a big way and have a slightly sexual undertone - always keen to impress the laydeezzzz. Twakkie (the smaller of the dangerous duo) is not shy to jump on the laps of chicks in the crowd with the mic in his hand, followed by a spotlight - hitting them with things like "Hey sexy lady!" - SITTING ON THEIR LAPS - like a Yorkshire Terrier on its back, looking for a tummy tickle.

It's funny shit.

Try and deal with these pics of our boys:

The Most Amazing Show with Corne and Twakkie

Are you ok with those pics?

Are you starting to understand what we're dealing with here?

Check out their "interwebsite" here - www.tmas.co.za (Check out some of their MTV stuff in the movies section).

They're LIVE from today, 19 November to 1 December so do yourself a favour and make your next click a click through to COMPUTICKET to book your tickets before they're all gone.

I'm going on Wednesday and I'm already starting to pee myself. The chick I'm taking (right up your street, Twakkie) also said yes without even thinking.

She knows.

Those who know, know.

Those who don't, beat people with umbrella poles.



Seth Rotherham
Editor
2oceansvibe.com
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One of the bigger non-events of my life
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I won't spend too much time on this 'cos I'll get really worked up and I want to save that energy for my story on the Camps Bay Friendly Store and the fact that the manager is without a doubt ACTIVELY trying to murder me (I have proof).

Winex 2007 - Cape Town's worst event

Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on with the parking at the Cape Town International Conference Centre (CTICC)? I went to attend this year's Wine Expo ("Winex" - good one) and tried to find a parking spot. Digital signs explained that Parking Area 1 (to the left) was full and a scared little woman was holding a "GO THAT WAY FOR PARKING" sign in her hand with an arrow pointing to the other side of the roundabout which resembled a straight road leading into darkness - like a black hole of sorts.

I had a joint some time before I left The Castle (more about that later) so I drove toward (leaving the 's' out is my new vibe) the woman and made sure which way it was pointing. Yup, I must turn right and follow the road that leads to nowhere. There also happened to be no other options, other than turning around. And so on I went, slowly, into the darkness. I looked back and noticed a trail of SIX OTHER CARS following me like lemmings! Christ, it was like the blind leading the blind!

True as God the road just fizzled out and we were in no-man's land. With cars parked EVERYWHERE, off-road, on pavements, upside-down - it was a mess! The other cars following me turned around and probably went home because there was no-where else to park. I couldn't understand why there was no parking. I thought this new conference centre was meant to be current and modern and, you know...SENSIBLE at the very least. I don't know when last I parked that far away for anything. You would have sworn they were having the biggest world event imaginable - I don't know, like Paris and Britney's ACTUAL vagina's on display in a glass box. But no! It was the Winex 2007! It's not even a national event! Whilst I was very excited to press the "raise suspension" button in my car for the off-road extravaganza, the half a kilometer walk from the car to the entrance left a lot to be desired.

The RMB Winex Wine "festival" turned out to be more of a fuckfest than a festival. Honestly, it was so cuck. We paid R90 each, got a glass to taste wine with and walked into the most lifeless void I have ever encountered.

I know! Let's take a four-storey hall the size of two rugby fields, put up stands, AND LABEL THEM WITH THE NAMES OF THE DIFFERENT WINE FARMS!!! Then let's add NOTHING ELSE! AWESOME!

But shouldn't we add a "vibe" to it? Like make it look cool? Like...hmmm...like WHY DON'T WE HANG SOMETHING FROM THE CEILING??

No!!!! Definitely not. Let's make this as BLAND as possible!

Honestly, I could have put that thing together with my left ball. It was LITERALLY a circle of stands going the whole way around the room with the names of each wine farm above each stand - with this bizarre four-storey empty space above everything.

Whilst it is not officially billed as a wine and cheese festival, one would expect a cheese section of sorts. There was literally ONE cheese table - OUTSIDE the hall - called "Fairview" cheeses.

"Good heavens!" I exclaimed to the man at the cheese stand. "How the fuck did you manage to pull this off? The fact that you're the only cheese stand at the ENTIRE expo?"

"Ja but we actually have a wine stand at the expo and our farm makes both cheese and wine." he explained.

"Bru, Zevenwacht wine makes cheese as well and they're certainly more well-known than you guys," I quipped.

"Ja...well...." was all he came up with.

I nodded with a smirk, "Ja, whatever. You know as well as I do that someone MUST have given someone else a blow job SOMEWHERE along the way."

His jaw dropped and I cackled like the guy that laughs in Michael Jackson's Thriller as I departed the godforsaken event.

The sushi stand was closed.

It was 19h50 on a friday night.

What a fuck up.


How dare you.

 

Seth Rotherham
Editor
2oceansvibe.com
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With a little twist at the end, featuring a yacht
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If I don't write this now then it just won't be done. As a wordsmith, I lose the excitement to write a "piece" about 72 hours after conception. I came up with an "angle" for Saturday's J&B Met story on Sunday evening. So it's been just under 72 hours since then. The angle was to use the J&B Met story to talk about the Caprice tent, and then, confusingly, show pics from the day Caprice took me on a yacht to Clifton. The yacht pics were never shown on 2oceans because the 72 hour period had lapsed before I had a chance to put them up. So this, is basically a loophole.

Horses, transport or sport?

It was the J&B Met on Saturday. Some of you might know that. I was delivered to the Met in a Chrysler Voyager, by lunatics. The wine-polluted ride there was adventurous, to say the least. For example, the bass from Manny's car's "system" was setting off car alarms on the side of the road. I arrived at the met shaken, not stirred.

(Is that even vaguely funny? Are you finding this story funny? Is it funny at all?).

(Who am I? Why are we here?)

(Was I adopted?)

(Why does my Mother have 1,000 porcelain dolls?)

Oh......kay. So anyway, I pinky-promised myself to never arrive at the J&B Met again in anything that doesn't resemble a helicopter.

The walk to the Caprice tent was a blur for me, as I avoided the various camera crews who, I had heard, had been alerted of my arrival. I was incognito, with shorts and black and silver Havaianas slops with tigers on them.

Setting up camp on the railing next to the Caprice tent bar, I received an sms from Guy at Tiger Tiger, following my request for a guest list that evening.

"With pleasure, Seth, you're down for you plus 17"

I replied: "Thanks, Guy. You rock. Just one extra request please. My buddy and I are in shorts - we are the only two in shorts - can we make a plan"

Guy: "List is fine, but absolutely NO SHORTS ALLOWED" (He actually used capitals).

Me: "I understand COMPLETELY. Could you please arrange for two 32 waist jeans to be at the door when we arrive"

Guy: "Seth, you know I can't do that"

Me: "Why not? Do you have another plan?"

And that was where it ended. We didn't go to Tiger Tiger that night

The Caprice tent was without doubt the place to be. With a full bar on the house, there was a tendency to order vodka-red-bulls from the get go. (I FUCKING HATE "FROM THE GET GO"). Dave had organised the biggest, hottest tent in the picnic area with two full bars, four plasma screens and enough angels to kill a civilian. Amazingly, Gareth Cliff's waistcoat was there, with him inside it. Positioned safely on the railing, we had leg room and direct service from the angels. Someone had arranged a light breeze which, with the stunning shade, felt exactly like air conditioning. Combined with a quiet joint, there was no need to move. I had an audience with Dave, who assured me we would have mist machines next year. I thanked him for constantly playing a DVD of our day on the yacht on the plasma screens, featuring, in slowmo, my 8/10 backward dive off the yacht. You just can't buy that kind of exposure.

Horses ran, some didn't. It would be boring to mention the horse in the main race that lost its rider. I'll leave that to the others. Was that really your highlight at the Met? I doubt I have a specific highlight - the whole day in the Cappers tent was the highlight. God, the angels!

Come to think of it, I suppose there was ONE highlight that stands out for me. I was chatting to The Model who was being harassed by an angel wanting his number. He gave her his phone and told her to put her number in, as he returned to our conversation. Then she said that she wanted his number. Continuing our conversation, with his eyes still on me, he reached out his hand and took the phone back. It was never going to be that simple - she wasn't finished with him. Pulling on his arm like a child begging for a toy gun in Pick n Pay, she said that SHE wanted HIS number.

"Jesus! What?", he asked - putting our conversation on pause.

"I want YOUR number in MY phone", she whinged. "What is your number?"

He looked at her like he was watching a car crash. After a few seconds went by, he tossed her his phone, and said, "Phone your phone with my phone" - and returned to our conversation.

Read that last paragraph again.

PHONE   YOUR     PHONE     WITH     MY     PHONE!

Let that sink in.

Devastating...

[If you don't understand what just happened back there. Read it again from the highlighted part above that starts "Come to think of it, I suppose there was ONE highlight."]

The after party in the Kreame tent was hilarious and I am happy to report that I left the J&B Met in a good mood - the first time in five years. Dave and co., thank you for spoiling us. Caprice does it well. Always.

(And if they don't give you a ticket, at least try your luck in the tent hosted by Johann Doms, the Don of the Picnic Area. There are no other options.)

And, while we're all busy wanking over each other, thanks ALSO for the afternoon on the Ferretti 761 super yacht (which, second hand, quietly retails at about 25 long. Fine.)

We end off this magnificent J&B Met 2007 "piece" with some pics from the day on the yacht. Thank you all for being here.

Give yourselves a clap.

The Ferretti 761 - fine


This is where we live.
Like, the whole time.
 

It's probably to do with the "radar"


The personal jukebox, Sox


No parents anywhere to be seen


Still no parents


I think I know a little boy who needs little lie down


Fine

Seth Rotherham
Editor
2oceansvibe.com
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As I lie in my nest. Having a rest, you pest. (ok, we're pushing it now)
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The sanctity of the safe house following a weekend at the Rocking The Daisies Music Festival is something quite moving. I snuck down to Camps Bay for a swim (which was heavenly) and am now safe from all harm. Ok, so, I have finally experienced my first music festival and I can report that I am absolutely FINE with them!

Mr Tweedie was able to balance mini sax players on his head

We were a little bit gay and stayed at a guest house in Darling which was 15 minutes away down a dirt road. Granted, it's not a very 'festival' vibe, but I am quite partial to down duvets and very much doubt that anyone who slept at the fest was presented with a wrapped chocolate and a sprig of lavender on their pillow as they got into their tents at night. When we returned to the festival on the second morning I also noticed that the venue was lacking baths on legs - something I was afforded at the Darling Lodge (which was great but they seem to suffer from the classic cock-up of only making toast AFTER the eggs are served. For God's sake people! Is this really a difficult concept?!).

In terms of the success of the festival I can report that it was unbelievably professional and slick, which went hand in hand with a band lineup second to none. This is something that is going to grow and grow every year. Well done to the organisers - you outdid yourselves. Absolutely brilliant - there were even restaurant tents (including Royale Burger, Rafiki's, Noodlebosch (outSTANDING noodles AND sushi!)) as well as retailers including Hemporium, where they have a very clever way of making you buy things. They basically vaporize your money (merci, Tony). Seriously though, everything was there - bars, snack shops....the works!

In terms of the music, everyone did great. Besides our favourites, The Dirty Skirts and Goldfish, I must say I was also particularly impressed with the Parlotones. Keep that shit up, guys - highly entertaining. Oh, yes, The Rudimentals were fucking brilliant as well. That was pretty much when everything kicked in. That was also when I ran into Gabbi for the first time since I met her serving at the main bar earlier on. But we'll chat more about Gabs later.

I think in terms of the weekend, everyone will have their own particular memories and stories. Some of the stories you hear will be the same - like the story of the two very clean blonde women who had a full on cat fight in front of the main bar tent on the first night. It seems the sweet nectar that flows from the Montevino wine dispensers had taken it's toll! It's so hard to stop once it touches your lips. Anyway....stunning stuff, girls! Love to take you home to meet Mum.

But then, at the same time, something equally as astounding was carrying on right in front of us. There was the guy that spent the whole night pulling this girl who, bless her, was not in his league. Not that he was in the A league, but he could definitely do a LOT better than this young big-boned lass. He was totally and utterly legless and apparently had no idea what he was dealing with. The classic 'beer goggles' were in full effect. Shame, bless her, she was in her element as she could feel herself stepping up a league. So he was pretending that she was hot and she was pretending that he wasn't absolutely fucked beyond belief. They were performing for the entire main bar tent, standing up, under a spotlight. Quality stuff. I went over and had a chat with our boy. The girl was next to him, chatting to someone else. She couldn't hear me.

I said to him, "Hey buddy, I don't meant to be rude, but you just HAVE to be made aware that you're not exactly playing out of your boots right now. Have you had a good look at the chick you've been scoring under the spotlight in front of everyone?"

He looked at me blankly and, although his hamster was moving terribly slowly inside his head, his expression showed signs of understanding and agreement.

"Do you realise that other chicks have now seen what you've been doing and now assume that you are in the same league as this chick?"

He was starting to communicate now and with a slow nod, he mustered, "I know".

"I'm glad you understand me cos this is a very important lesson for you. Not only will other girls think they are out of your league, but other chicks in THIS chick's league will start to stalk you. All big girls will know that they can get action from you. You will become a banker for big girls."

"I know", he repeated.

"The next think you look around and you won't have realised that you have moved down two or three leagues"

He was now saying "I know, I know, I know" constantly whilst I spoke to him.

I continued: "I mean, Jesus, bru, have you had a good look at that?" (I motioned for him to have a look at her shitter).

"I know, I know, I know, I know." (nodding at the same time now)

"Hey?" I asked, angrily.

Still nodding and repeating his "I know" chant, he spun on his heel, didn't say a word to her and walked off into the darkness- NEVER TO SEE HER AGAIN! I swear to you! He vanished!

Unbelievable! I saw our boy the next day and told him how fucking lucky he was that he didn't go any further with her. He thanked me profusely and said that he couldn't believe how badly he had done. We couldn't bring ourselves to discuss what might have happened if he had woken up next to her.

Someone else disappeared..... Aaaah, yes! The angel from the main bar, Gabbi. Where did you go angel? I didn't mean to freak you out. Honestly, I was just teasing when I asked you where you "see us in five years time". That's a pity, angel! I didn't even have a chance to see what you look like in the morning, sober.

So there you have it. Pretty hilarious! All except that one guy. Why do you behave like that, bru? It's not cool at all. You come up to me and say hello. I smile, shake your hand and introduce myself. I talk to you. We chat. I make you laugh. Then you come back again and I make you laugh again. And again. And again. And you don't leave me. I politely indicate that I need some time with my friends. You don't get it. Until I had to make it obvious to you. And then you got all weird and psycho and spend the night swearing at me everywhere I go. Do you realise that that is exactly what stalkers do? Don't you find that kind of behaviour a bit odd? You should watch other people and see how they behave in social situations. It's very different, you'll find. Were you bullied at school? Or.........maybe....... just maybe...... YOU were the bully at school?

Aaah!

Enough about that. I got back to the safe house today and it looks like some little boys and girls were playing very nicely over the weekend. I thought there had been a murder but then I noticed that someone had spilt red wine on every step, the whole way up the stairs, past the safe house, up to a door on the third floor.

I thought it would piss me off but found myself laughing. I mean you have to be PROPERLY pissed to do that!

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

Seth Rotherham
Editor
2oceansvibe.com
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(Fear and Loathing - Beer and Running. Get it? It rhymes.)
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I've done my time in Plettenberg Bay (my fondest memory would be hitch-hiking and later jumping out of a moving car because the driver was about to rape me) and Knysna but, until this last weekend, I haven't had the pleasure of partaking in the annual Knysna Marathon and the off-shoot of the event which can only be described as a beer fest of biblical proportions.

Before I get into it I just want to say that I thank God that we took the helicopter to Plettenberg Bay. Flying over Sir Lowry's Pass allowed us a first hand glimpse of what long distance road travellers had to deal with on Sunday. Thousands of cars, not moving an inch. It really makes so much sense to take the chopper - we don't use it enough.

I doubt I'll ever get to the story as there are so many things I want to mention. They flash at me in my brain like cue cards. And I've just had a flash in my brain that said 'DOLPHIN'. That has reminded me to chat to you about the dolphin statue in Plettenberg Bay. I haven't been up there for a while so I don't know how long it has been there for, but it is something to behold. I can't quite put my finger on what amuses me so much about it. It's just in the middle of nowhere, on a concrete pillar, on a traffic circle. Or do you say traffic island? I tried saying 'traffic island' once but I kept getting visions of a traffic circle complete with palm trees, hammocks and Richard Branson. The traffic circle I am referring to is probably the width of my perenium. When looking at the statue, you are presented with two bronze dolphins smiling, LEAPING into the air. I think another thing that amuses me is imagining the meetings and decisions and objections and fuss that must have gone on within Plett's municipal council during the inception, design and installation of the statue. I have an idea, Plett Council - Maybe you should melt down the excited bronze dolphins and use it to make coins (Glenwood). You could use the coins to pay for re-paving the Plett Main Road which is not too dissimilair to the state of some of the rural roads found in the greater Iraq regions.

Moving swiftly on, we have been blessed with a new RIDICULOUS nightclub name. The venue for our first night in Plett is a nightclub called 'VIP'. Please do not be confused and think this stands for Very Important People. No, no, that is incorrect. I saw the sign, and I read it. It stands for......

[brace yourself]

Vegas In Plett

I know.

When these guys and girls get together to invent club names, it is almost certainly [insert your own particular God/Creator here]'s way of humouring the normal people (or 'non-normal' if you look at the ratio of simples vs semi-intelligents). For me, Vegas in Plett (VIP) is a treat. The little angels dancing so nicely brought a smile to my face that totally erased the natural horror one experiences when walking into no-frills nightclubs of this sort. The bouncer at the door obviously had no idea of how important our entourage was. I tried to explain to him that in Cape Town he wouldn't be allowed to talk to me and he should maybe remember this very moment so that he can tell his grandkids one day. My sentence was way too long for him and his attention had drifted to a potential fight that was about to ensue near the entrance. We paid and went in.

I opted to watch the rugby from my jacuzzi instead of running 21 kilometers. I lied to several people that I had, in fact, run. When asked what my time was, I went for the cool angle of stating one's time in minutes, rather than hours. So instead of saying "One hour, thirty three minutes", I would say "Ninety three minutes". It gives the impression that you run many marathons during the course of the year.

Before this article turns into a short story I'll jump straight to Crab's Creek, which was, and is, the venue for the binge drinking exercise which follows the marathon. I pulled in at around sunset (many arrived at 11am) and was presented with a plethora of drunkards stumbling around like a scene out of 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest ' (I think it is particularly unfair that cuckoos had no say WHATSOEVER in being called something which contains the word 'cuck' in it). Something happened in the first two minutes which rendered me alone. All on my own in a place that I had never been before. With drunkards flying around at high speed, panic set in. As an only child I should be able to handle being alone. But when you're not surrounded by lego and radio controlled cars, it can snowball into disaster. I was a scared little boy for the first five minutes. My mild panic attack subsided by the third beer.

To mention the bouncer at Crab's creek in the middle of another paragraph would be rude. No no, this individual needs his own paragraph. With a neck the size of an eight year old, healthy male gorilla, he sauntered calmly around the fest, seemingly deep in thought. His eyes scanned the area for any unrest. I stopped everything I was doing and had a good look at this fellow. I was (and still am) worried about him. He obviously had a height complex as a child, because this could only be the result of something buried deep inside his psycho profile ("psycho profile"? I don't know where I get this shit). Anyway, I just feel sorry for him and want to hold him - Hold him and rock him to sleep. I want to tickle him and shower him with gifts. I want him to know that we love him for who he is. I want to tell him that the original size of his penis is more important than his shoulders expanding up above his head.

Stamp-like sheets of coupons had to be bought in order to buy any form of drink at Crab's Creek.. The coupons had values on them which were to be given to the bar staff in exchange for alcohol. I still am very confused about all of it. Crab's Creek is either a theme park in the daytime and they have introduced something fun called the Crab Dollar, or (and this is what I believe) the coupons we used was ACTUAL CRAB MONEY that crabs use when they buy stuff. Like when the crabs go to the Crab Spar and buy plankton and tadpoles and shit like that. So I assume the crabs that run the creek insisted that the humans can use their creek ON CONDITION that the humans used Crab Dollars. For some reason we were calling them Zim Dollars towards the end.

So that was fun. Pretending to be crabs. Pissed crabs with crab money.

"Hello! I'm a crab! Can I have a beer please?!"

[hold you arms out straight and point your hands at each other, snapping them like crab pincers]

"Sure little crab! That'll be twelve Crab Dollars!"

"Thank you barcrab!"

Ok, I think that's enough now. By the way, where do Crab's Creek get their barman from? The one guy has almost definitely killed someone before. Now he lives amongst crabs.

He is a crab whisperer.

I have to go to bed now. This could go on forever.

Seth Rotherham
Editor
2oceansvibe.com
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