Wednesday, April 20, 2011


We LOVES us some Liam Neeson, precious. “Taken” was such an unexpectedly wicked movie. And he’s back with “Unknown” - to be released this weekend. I obviously know his talent stretches beyond the Thriller-scope, but I’m genre-grouping here, mkay?

When everything has been taken from you . . .
There's nothing left to lose.
Martin Harris has been in a coma for three days.
When he wakes up, otherwise unharmed, he is shocked to discover that no one knows who he is - he no longer exists.
Worse still, another man is living Martin's life. His identity, his home, even his wife have been stolen. He has lost everything
Except his memory . . .
Will anyone believe that he is the real Martin Harris?
If not, is he mad?
Or is there a far darker explanation?

The movie’s based on the Didier Van Cauwelaert’s (I can’t pronounce it either, don’t worry) book: “Out of My Head”.

There’s a synopsis below, but if you’re like me and would prefer the mystery, give it a skip.

From Publishers Weekly:

Van Cauwelaert's trademark absurdist-existential angst is evident again in this follow-up to his Prix Goncourt–winning debut, One-Way. American botanist Martin Harris is relieved to return home after a week-long absence, three days of which he spent in a coma in a Paris hospital following a car accident. What a surprise, then, to discover that his wife of 10 years doesn't recognize him and is now living with another man, a botanist named Martin Harris whose knowledge and memories are identical to the narrator's in every detail. When no one from his former life will vouch for him, Martin starts entertaining unlikely conspiracy theories (adultery, corporate espionage) that are just credible enough to add some real spice to the mystery of his predicament. Feistily questioning his most basic assumptions—Where is memory stored? How authentic are the stories we tell about ourselves? How much of what we cherish about life is based on nostalgia and repetition?—he quickly finds that he "had to stop existing in order to start living." What has been a spirited exploration of identity and memory abruptly turns into a somewhat flimsy thriller in its final pages, but Martin's mighty struggle with self-doubt, paranoia and the disorienting freedom of losing his place in the world makes the ride well worth it.

Good news is: I HAVE A COPY OF THE BOOK TO GIVEAWAY! Tell me why you want it, and I’ll give it to you. BOOM! Just leave a comment in the comments box, and I'll pick a winner!

I LOVED it, and would highly recommend. Otherwise, just pop off to the Bioscope this weekend to watch the Liam Neeson film-version. (Out on 22nd April.)

Why So Serious? A swearing cul de sac...

The standard replies to my my more vulgar tweets range from shock and horror to humour and disgust. Mostly at my use of foul language. And I’ll give it to ya - I swear a lot. Any cuss-word that’s been invented: I use it. And I revel in smutty new inventions. There’s nothing better than a novel, foul utterance to indulge in. Aurally speaking.

Of all the things to be avoided on radio, there’s one that tops it: you can’t swear on air. And boy do we radio-folk over-compensate. “Fuck” is used like “the”. And I do agree that we shouldn’t swear on air. Mostly, it’s unnecessary, and at the end of the day you should decide what your own kids are exposed to, and a DJ shouting “POES!” through your speakers is a bit beyond your control.

But my beef goes beyond whether and where it’s appropriate to swear.

What is it about a four letter word that angers people with such passion? It’s actually simple. Just as we decided “dog” would refer to domestic canines and that “patronising” would be a tone that pissed people off, we decided that “fuck”, “shit”, “poes”, “cunt”, “doos”, etc would be ugly, offensive and rude.

Over the centuries, however, more and more people have made more frequent use of said “foul-language”. Thus desensitising ourselves more and more as the decades roll on.

So why is swearing still taboo? And more importantly, why are people OFFENDED by it? Everyone elects their manner of speech. And everyone has the utmost right to dislike swearing and not use it. But I find being offended by it to be a daft waste of energy. Saying “you white bitch” to someone IS offensive, because it is intended to be offensive. In other words, you can be offended and angry when someone is swearing AT you. But my saying, “Fuck, it’s cold today” hardly warrants an attack of the language bots.

*This baby means no harm, does she?*

I believe people’s habit of finding swearing offensive is an attempt at moral superiority. “I don’t swear like a pirate, therefore I am a lady and a superior, upstanding citizen.” Or, “I don’t swear, therefore Jesus loves me more and I’m going to heaven.”

I can without ambivalence of fear of ever needing to back-pedal state that some of the smartest, most forward-thinking, bright people I know are the ones who swear most. (Now, don’t think I’m trying to sound cool and smart by association eh ;) Just an observation.)

Moral superiority is a hard thing to measure because people’s ideas of morality differ so vastly. And, very important to note, is that we TAKE offense, it’s not GIVEN to us. You choose to be offended by what I say. You can also choose to leave my company or unfollow me on Twitter. I, similarly, choose to be baffled by how serious people take something as silly as swearing. Because, when you really think about it, swearing is HILARIOUS. Yes, a bigger vocabulary can very efficiently tell someone off or be brilliantly insulting. But someone with a good vocab, good grammar ability and a firm grasp of filthy words is formidable. You’ll never be able to insult them back. And it’s just poetry. Even if the swearing’s just being used to describe mandatory daily goings-on: poetry, poetry.

People are offended by swearing because they’ve always believed they’re supposed to be. And intrinsically built-in beliefs like that are hard to break. The perfect example is someone scolding you. “You shouldn’t swear like that!”
“Because! It’s ugly! And you just shouldn’t!”

Ooookaaaay. Good argument there. Has the inklings of a grade two discussion on which My Little Pony is cooler. Though I’m sure, that would have more grounds for proof. I mean, a pink MLP is much cooler than a green one. Duh.

As a potty-mouthed cretin myself, this argument is very biased, so I was kinda hoping you’d offer some wisdom. Go!

Monday, April 18, 2011

About that relationship status...

So I gave a long-winded, opinionated speech on this very blog about why Facebook relationship statuses AREN’T a good idea. Scroll down for info.

I’m not necessarily being a hypocrite either. I still believe those things I wrote. It’s just that I’m quite willing to look like a tit if I do have to deal with all that consequential awkwardness. I’ve already survived the wave of “who, who” and “omg” and “ooo-oo-oo, FB official”. And been smart enough to hide the relationship status from certain people, albeit after the fact. (Fucking blonde, I am.)

You might be interested to know that I spent an entire two and a half year relationship not putting my status up. He said he didn’t mind, and I was still very iffy about it. (Refer to previous FB post for details.) Aaaaaand I wont pretend it didn’t have something to do with subconsciously knowing that it would end at some point...

And I’m going to avoid getting all soppy about this new bloke. ‘Sept that he’s awesome.

So summing it up: yes, I’m an arsehole for not having some conviction. But I like to think it means I’m an adaptable person who’s willing to change her opinions, yes? Ya. Gonna go with that one. ;)

Friday, April 15, 2011

Facebook Relationship FAIL

So, you may have noticed I've changed my relationship status on Facebook.

This makes me a hypocrite. If you've read the Facebook Ass post. Feel free to lambast me.

I'll write something more detailed regarding this in a couple of minutes. ;)

<3 <3 <3

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Topless Barmen, Topless Drummers & Bubbies

Went to Cosmopolitan’s Hottest Barman Search last night. It was awesomery. Above all else, it was a good excuse to go out with The Slores* and squeak some tekkie. Shirtless men who know how to mix a cocktail make the perfect backdrop. Some guy that had Justin Bieber hair won. Okay, okay, he’s not “some guy” - he’s a cutie: Ryan.

I had two “normal” drinks the whole night, and spent the rest of it being fed caramel vodka shots by @RabinHarduth and @idale. (HAPPY BIRTHDAY RABIN!) That stuff is delish, but I have a whore of a headache. Admittedly, have had worse. So I’ve HTFU and shan’t complain. Too much.

The 10 saxxxy boys chosen by Cosmo to mix and do pec-flicks were all very yummy. But the half-time entertainment, “1st Project” had me sliding off my seat. Those boys can BANG drums, yo. Yossoss. Give me a minute.
‘Kay I’m back. They are HAWT! And too sweet. I ambushed Justin, who does the normal drum-set and is thus seated to the back of the other three lads. He really shouldn’t be. He’s quite scrumptious. And so nice. Even offered to teach me, er, piano. (But seriously, I’m taking up piano, so he’s putting me in touch with his penist friend at Wits. Or is it pianist?)

The event was sponsored by Collison’s. I hate brandy. I had a rough experience in my 2nd year of journalism. It was Dropzone’s birthday week, and anyone who lives in Pretoria knows what that means. Fucking. Debauchery. For a whole week. They also have two for one specials earlier in the evening. And my friend, Ze German, bought us several of many double brandy and ginger ales. Now, that’s actually a rather good drink - yummy and sweet. A lot like a ginger square. But six of them a night for four nights = votch.

So yes. I hate brandy.

But those cute bartenders made some damn yummy cocktails outta that stuff. I particularly lied the blokes who managed to hide one shot of the brandy in a river of triple sec and cranberry juice.

Highlights were: my weekly allowance of face-time in @KirstyStoRAWR’s boobies. My first go at @TheJoLurie’s tataahs. She’s promised me extra titty-time on cleavage day. Squeezing Storar’s friend’s massively amazing and perky yet pendulous breasts.

So WELL DONE COSMO. Super party. Awesome guest-list. The ladies there were gorgeous, fun and crazy, and the lads were willing to spend. Perfect formula.

Now, someone get me a creamsober.

*These skanks I hang out with. They are gorgeous, smutty and delicious. And they let me touch there boobs. Say no more.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

The Teen Portal

After reading @HurricaneVaness’ blog piece on Rania Matar’s photos of girls in their rooms, I realised something. As teenage girls, we had it right in a lot of ways.

Yes, we were totally delusional about our bodies, and hated parts that we love about ourselves now. We were totally obsessed with the boys who were mostly obsessed with the filling of our bras and panties. We couldn’t wait to grow up and drink cocktails like the S&C gals, have sex like the S&C gals and wear the clothes. And we spent most of our time out pretending that we were those women. It’s a horrible phase of having to make out an identity and figure out who the fuck we were. And that not-a-girl-not-yet-a-woman phase is an identity mine field.

But if anything, we were outwardly proud of our creativity and the things we drew on to establish that very ‘formed’ identity. The teenage girl’s room being the prime example. Pictures of friends collaged on entire walls, pictures of our favourite actors, actresses and models. Boy bands. Puppies. Colourful duvet covers and assorted teddies that we’d had since toddlerdom.

We didn’t know how to express ourselves through personality and speech, I suppose. not in the way we do as we get older. Being confined by the institution of high school and bondage of parents doesn’t help that cause much either. So the next best option was to wear our hearts on our bedroom walls. Most parents tend to give teens free range over their room deco. And in that world where things oppress you from all directions, having a private, sacred space like that is essential. School has you in a uniform, obeying time-constraints, obeying teachers, living by particular mantras that sound eerily similar to Nazi-style propaganda to promote school spirit and disciplined living. Your parents probably applied similar restrictions and laws. (Which I do believe we all need at that rebellious phase.) So that world you can create that’s all your own and all you is priceless.

The appealing thing about it is the disorganised, personalised feel of it. Now, we’re concerned with white linen, matching upholstery and curtains and minimalising. Back then, we stuck any memory-making knick-knack on the walls.

There are innumerable reasons why 25 is better than 15, but it’s nice to look back at a time when the value of things surrounding you was in their sentimentality. Not whether you got it from Wetherly’s or Coricraft.

I frikkin’ LOVE Coricraft...

(No photos for the post 'cause you should definitely go to Vanessa's blog and check it out!)