A night in Loving memory of Captain Schti

You know you’ve had yourself a satisfying weekend, when come Monday morning your butt cheeks hurt & the Jams that painted your Saturday are full blasting away in your head, & brushstroking your body into a jig that has onlookers concerned about your well-being

Once upon these past few months I’ve attended some slamming gigs, this past Saturday however; was quite something.  Perhaps it was because for a change I hadn’t gone out on my own; but I think not, considering that I always know someone no matter where my solo act & I go gallivanting. I’m convincingly certain that the DJ line up had a lot of something to do with Saturday being the thrill it was, but above all else my heart knows in that blindly Christian way, that what made that night had everything & then some to do with why we were all there.

It heartbreakingly all began with a car accident a few weeks back, that lead to the passing on of a spectacular someone. Mac (Makhosini Ngwenya) was far from just an ordinary anyone; and the Music at Last crew did a stellar job of seeing to it that Saturday was a true tribute of tributes to their fallen Captain.

Eager beaver me & my accomplice got to Kitcheners around 4pm-ish. He knew no one & I the opposite, so the dynamics were initially a little off-centre, till the music became a true testament to itself. DJ Kongisto kicked off with a catchy set, which he cherry-on-topped when he played a second set just because he could. A pace & caliber had been set, that those who followed had to match or top. As the sun inconspicuously set, more familiar faces filtered in & Hip-Hop began dominating the dance floor. To My right were the alluring likes of Stunna Leoka chit chatting her way around, while Ms Soma & friends bopped along to beats on my left. In popped Pilzy Lee with loving Quaz an arms stretch away, & an unfazed Amu in another corner having himself a heartfelt time, while Hymphatic Thaps was his reliably colourful self. I squeezed in some sweet & short “hello’s” with the likes of Smiling Shynin Armour (SCF); Mr Sunglasses at night Neon (The Federation); My kindred spirit Benji; Dj X (MANIAC of a driver); Shutterbug Solo; Kool Kat Kay-b & Laid back Speech who’d settled himself into a corner by the bar.

In the midst of all the regulars, I had the pleasure of a refreshing encounter with a young character I came across while on the hunt for a matchstick.

“Why is that stick so important to you?” he asked puzzled once I had found one by his foot. It took gestures for me to explain that stuffing was the only way I could give birth to a blunt, hence my need for a matchstick; or something like it.

“Can’t I just roll it for you?” he offered much to my relief.

We parked ourselves in a poorly lit corner where I came to learn that his name was Tap.

“You here with a guy?” he asked getting to the point

“Yes” I answered under prepared for the question that was to follow.

“So what’s the story there, you guys fucking?”

**** FLABBERGASTED! FLABBERGASTED! FLABBERGASTED! ***

“I think he wants to, but I’m not sure I’m on the same page”, I honestly answered after having taken a moment to snap out of my startled state. The dialogue had been marginally deviated, when our poorly lit corner of time dimmed to an end by the deed at hand being done.

“Call me when you want a fuck buddy” were the last words he spoke to me, as valleys of people swallowed me back to the he who was my partner in Good-times for the night.

This “He” I speak of, played a priceless part in my having had so Epic a time, for never in the 10 years we’ve known each other, had I ever seen him so enthralled. Witnessing him dance his heart out & rhyme along as far as his memory allowed him, was made all the more worth it every 20 odd minutes he glanced me that look followed by the words “I hate you”. If being hated is the price I pay for revving up someone’s dormant social life; then bring on the haters!

It’s unfathomable to me that anyone could have hated the “Music at Last & Friends presents: Captain Schti Tribute” gig; like the Bill Withers track brought to us by Nice to Look at Nico (The Jump Off) said “It’s gonna be a lovely day!”. It sure as hell was in that peak of a moment when so many of us summoned our voices to sing along euphorically.  

“I’m having such a blast” I hollered to Dominique effusively.

All blasts must come to an end however. Being as fatigued as we were, calling it a night was the responsible thing to do; even if it meant that this Groupie Numero Uno didn’t get to see The Federation perform (let alone see the rest of them arrive).

After an evening of Music; Love & Happiness, I rested in Peace that night.

I can only hope that soon & very soon those to whom Mac was nearest & dearest find their own peace too; for after such a tribute of Music; Love & Happiness the Captain is resting peacefully indeed.

Romz; Sims; Themba & Pilzy. . . Big Up Yourselves!

To the Ngwenya Family; Thank you for Makhosini.

“What makes you vulnerable, is what makes you beautiful” – Makhosini Ngwenya (1981-2012)

Loving Out Loud!

Loving Out Loud!

Listening to what I hope is the FINAL edition of a mixtape I’m compiling as part of a birthday gift , I can’t help but recall my last week & how it came to pass that I embarked on an “I Love you quest.”.

Once upon someone’s birthday the other week, the words “I love you” were used in part of a sentence & directed at me . They were true. The truth of it all, made my own truth strikingly clear. My truth being that my mind walls my heart in. I’ve Rapanzelled myself! Fortunately because metaphors are exactly that, the power rests with me to set myself free. . .so off I embarked on a quest to be my own metaphorical Knight in shining “amore”.

The “I Love You” bus’ first stop, was to the someone who started it all to begin with. I figured that seeing as the words were words I’d had a nonchalant reaction to in the past, I had to make a gesture of reciprocating them. Me and my old fashioned sensibilities resorted to writing a Love letter. The letter was far too epic to simply email or inbox on facebook; so my old-school self settled for mailing. Post Offices are alive & kicking y’all. . . but he doesn’t have the letter yet… long story

“I Love You” number two went down like a scene from an indie flick. My ego got the best of me at first when in the middle of a sincere chat about just how sunny & beautiful Saturday was, I decided to coyly insinuate my sentiments by saying:

“I associate you with Sunny & Beautiful”.

You can bet my damaged liver that he overstood me, but that wasn’t quite mission accomplished. I let it rest for a minute & sidetracked myself with wanting to show off the lyrics to a song I’d satisfactorily completed. The songs lyrics happened to live in my head, so I typed them out real quick, then proudly shifted my laptop so he could read for himself. It took his saying something later in order for me to eventually connect the dots that my song about how helplessly I love some fictional man, was actually completely appropriate (although not the intention at all). It took 4 Castle drafts or more,  for the liquid courage to finally kick in. I started off blabbing an explanation about how I’d come to this point, then looked away from him and said

“Moral of the story is, if anything were to happen; I just want you to know that I Love you.”

“I know” he said so assured. “Like the song said”.

If it hadn’t been for his friend returning to the table, I would’ve crawled under it & and willed the ground to swallow me whole. I’d basically been shoving my heart down this mans throat the whole day.

Oh Bother!

Our Sunny & Beautiful Saturday out at the Bowling club in Zoo lake, sunset itself to an end.

Floating on the high of having done the “I Love You” deed (among other highs), he dropped me to join recipients 3 & 4; who were suitably getting down to some Zambian music at our trusted pub across the road. This serving of “I Love You” may have seemed to an onlooker like any other drunken girls gushing session, but it was sincerely pre-empted and heart felt. Our all being inebriated was sheer coincidence. Anybody would be a fool to doubt my LOVE for Tarryn & Lindy.

Which made my “I Love You” to them even that much more significant. My telling them was to some extent superfluous, but I did it anyway.

After having been Sunny & Beautiful; Saturday danced & drank herself away on a Jovial note. Cheers to her!

I discovered come Sunday, that my “I Love You” bus seemingly had no brakes. Although it was no surprise, I was startled by the fact that I’d let my guard down to quite this extent. How on earth did it come to pass that I wholeheartedly dished out an “I Love you”, to the founder of the “Break Christine’s Heart Association”; which was established in 2002?

Nevertheless, what’s done is done; and the word for word dialogue of how that played out goes like so (Thanks to FB, I have it on hand):

(After my sharing with him that I was on the verge of giving up on the catastrophe that is he & I)

He   : I don’t blame you. . . .But I haven’t

Me   : That’s good to know.

He   : I doubt I ever will. Cheesy moment right there. This will NEVER be repeated!

Me   : Silly man! I guess now would an appropriately cliché opportunity to tell you that I Love You

     Right?

He   : I guess “I know” will also be the appropriate response right about now.

Me   : Ha! Ha! Have been embarking on an “I Love You” journey. It’s empowering being unafraid to

     Say it.

He   : I Love You too!

And that’s how that sweet & short cookie crumbled.

In fair hindsight though, it seems my heart is quite in tact and that Rapenzelle was quite comfortable in the safety of her tower. Every single one of the 5 of them knew it indisputably.

Guess I’m quite the lover after all :) 

A slice of Sunday – “Be still and know that I am God”

Swaying comfortingly on a hammock, hiding under the cloak of night sky, the hum of Sunday traffic anchors my thoughts from wondering further than I have the will to pull myself back from. Zoning in on my here & now; the memory of my today. The days lesson.

Once Upon just moping about the studio earlier, I struck up a conversation. A conversation that began with text book niceties; then strolled into a full fledged interaction until somewhere in the midst of it all, I misheard him.

“What was that about your baby being here?” I asked

“I said no such. . . besides we ended it” , he shares with me.

I express my empathetic sentiments of sympathy, then tactlessly allow the cynic in me to retort; “If there’s one thing I don’t miss, It’s having someone to miss.”

Perhaps I was hoping for an “Amen”, but instead I was crucified with the argument of being a coward (in far more polite words). His train of thoughts lead to our covering the notion of the things one misses out on, solely because of the fear of taking a risk. Emails you post pone sending, for no rational reason other than avoiding the rejection that could come from not receiving a reply. Chances we don’t take in fear of failure. Adding up the opportunities missed out on; applying the same principles to Love . . . suddenly it all amounted to loss. 

“It’s awesome when it pays off. When it’s right & it works, that’s worth it” he preaches with much enthusiasm.

I know he’s right.

Just moments before our dialogue, I was behind the desk running the show solo. Me in studio alone, driving a show being broad cast to streams of listeners!? It takes knowing me intricately in order to overstand just how big a deal this is.

Fearful me would not have ever agreed to such; and even if she had, she would have flown below the radar & simply let track play after track without ever uttering a word. Sunday me on the other hand, spoke.

Spoke to the  no one that is “everyone”, when effectively just talking to myself. I did it! Diving into this very easily avoidable deep-end, paid off! It didn’t hurt.

I know he’s right.

There I sat, being still & listening. I knew who it was.

Lesson noted & Tone set for the week ahead. . . Off I go on my journey home.

In my still state of mind I over hear two friends moseying ahead of me.

“I wonder where that plane’s flying to?” one asks the other.

“London”, she answers so convinced that it’s truth. “Do you think we’ll get to go altogether?” she proceeds to ask, as my brisk strides propel me past them.

“Hopefully.” Answers the friend with her gaze fixed on the plane soaring through a cloudless jo-hustleburg sky.

“Dreams Can come true”, I think encouragingly to myself. I stopped dreaming some time ago, when I gave up trying . But right then and there, I dared to dream for them. With them. . .  that flicker of a dream tasted like my 1^st breathe.

Tastes out of this world!!

Just then my smile jolts me from wonderland and my eye glances out the window of the moving taxi. My heart grins knowingly.

“Stop being so hard on yourself, Self” , chirps my heart to my ego. “Just yesterday you challenged yourself to walking from Craighall Park to here within an hour, and you made it in less. You chanced & you passed. We aren’t past our sell-by-date just yet.” I re-assure myself as Zoo Lake drifts out of site.

Fittingly, a poem by Tupac waltzes it’s way into this very conversation between me myself and this page. It ends , as I shall end this entry. . .

“But Tomorrow I see change

A chance to build anew.

Build on spirit intent of heart

And ideals based on truth.

And tomorrow I wake with second mind

And strong because of pride.

To know I fought with all my heart, to keep my dream alive”

18 March 2012

Thinking Things Through

It wont be the end of the world & neither is this predicament a catch 22; yet there are still no satisfactory solutions to this quagmire.  As always you can trust that, that which I’m blabbing on about, reliably leans towards being a complete non-issue; so let’s get to filling you in.

Once upon a gathering last month, photo’s were taken. People posed; smiles showed their faces; fingers pressed click & flashes flashed. Harmless for the most part, even despite the very blatant traces of drunken merriment written all over the faces of many. The conflict lies with what one wishes to do with these pictures. For storytelling purposes, we shall Christen this “one” with an asexual name; we shall call “sh-im” Karabo. 

One of Karabo’s greatest thrills in life is that of being able to share their every captured moment on the virtual streets of spaces like Facebook. As far as Karabo’s concerned, the fun is tripled by the ability to tag people in the photo’s which they permitted themselves to be taken in. I (as the narrator that is), have almost -1 sympathy for those in the pictures; should the pictures go on to be uploaded and tagged. Karabo is seemingly way more considerate than that, and thus somewhat torn about whether or not to include the pictures with a certain someone in them. You might ask why any one someone should be exempt from this very standard grade task. The answer has everything to do with whether or not the consequences of not considering what the consequences of so doing would be; could come back to bite Someone.

Let’s play them out.

A)  All the pics are uploaded & every single someone is aptly tagged. In the lifeline of Someone’s FB photo’s, these particular ones would make zero sense & in turn raise a few eyebrows. Beyond just that; you’d then get those who know too much, & would in turn post incriminating commentary about Someone’s presence at this affair. At the end of the day; Someone could wind up in hot water having to answer too many questions about that 1 evening in their life. . . & maybe even another someone.   

B)  All the pics are uploaded, but everyone EXCLUDING Someone is tagged. In a world where God is real, then no nosey individual would help themselves to tagging the omitted Someone, nor make any fishy comments. This is still not that shatterproof a way for things to play out because the world is unfortunately smaller than it needs to be. Karabo & Someone have mutual friends, with whom they are individually friends; exclusive of each other. i.e. Karabo is friends with Alex because they went to school together; yet Alex and Someone are acquaintances because their sisters are best friends. So whether Someone is tagged in these pics or not, the threat still exists that anyone else could spot Someone in the pics & casually mention it in an unfitting situation that could yet again land Someone in hot water.

C)   No pics of Someone are uploaded. This in essence takes away the joy of it all for Karabo, who would like nothing more than share the complete experience; Someone included. Other people present at the soirée in question, may even go ahead & post comments enquiring about the whereabouts of Someone in the pictures. Someone themselves could also have their ego bruised at such an exclusion; they would however be completely free from any consequential baggage that could have come from being included. This still wouldn’t be a happy ending though.

D)  An even unhappier ending. . .  No pictures uploaded whatsoever :(

So what’s conflicted Karabo to do?

A; B; C or D?

Either which way, I’ve learnt my lesson. There’s just no fun in thinking things through.

Happy Birthday To Me!

I’m being bullied by a blank page into stringing sensible sentiments together, purely on account of having had a birthday.  What bollocks truly, that  like clockwork every year comes an unspoken compulsion to get introspective and such.  I’m all thunk out . . .  though my birthday memory crate may just be worth digging through.

Once upon the earliest  memory of my worst birthday, I was turning  10 … I think. As misfortune would have it, my textbook Wicked (i.e. Evil. NOT slang for cool) step mother ,decided that throwing a party would be a delightful idea. It would have been a down right stellar occasion, had she not been quite so dreadful.  Bare in mind that although she disapproved; she knew all too well that  I was textbook Tomboy, yet insisted on my wearing  an itchy white meringue of a poofy dress, that I was prohibited from getting out of. This meant that I floated dismally on land, while watching all the other children  splash about gleefully in the pool.  So much for happy on that birthday.

Fast forward to what I suspect may have been  my 19^th birthday. What a surprise of a day.  Assuming that I have the correct year in question; I would’ve been a 2^nd time first year at WITS; and had by this point accumulated a vast array of friends , who for the most part knew very little of each other.  One can imagine the happy lump in my throat when  2 friends from res, collaborated with my “Masters” (a trio of boys I spent countless occasions drinking with, at on off campus dodge spot called Veers); who in turn touched Base with the likes of  Gareth (a notorious master mind).  I was positively flabbergasted to find them all gathered at someone’s spot , in the name of surprising me with a celebration of ME! We all got our guzzle on; I cursed my way through a verbal altercation,  & at some point I was suitably caught doing a smudge more than just making out in the bathroom with whomever’s spot we were at.  That was a swell time.

As have been the past three years.

25 was a blast out at the park with  unforgiving punch ; interruptive rain  & an affair that was brewing right underneath my plastered nose.

26 entailed a road trip to Polokwane. A couple’s retreat of sorts.  A scrumptious braai on the Saturday; where my sweet corn stuffed gem squash was quite the hit among all 3 couples (including the one I was one half of).  Sunday began with champagne; then followed a late breakfast out somewhere with horses, & a squabble filled drive back to GP; with me as the boozy birthday girl of a passenger.

27 was a whimsical  affair with masks & all & all. The Olive garden with it’s fitting fairy lights & palette pleasing Mediterranean menu, could not have been a better venue. It would just so happen that on that day I had to compete with a Chiefs vs Pirates match, so by default the celebrations in question verged on being  a ladies luncheon.  Gifts galore I tell you. I was blessed to the power of infinity on that day & everyday thereafter to be honest.

Along came 28 . LOVE! LOVE! LOVE!  Apparently I’m bordering on depressed, so when this year came around, I wasn’t moved to be festive. Thank goodness that Lindy wouldn’t have it any other way & proceeded to invite someone’s to have birthday drinks with us at the pub across the road. The turn out touched me; the blunt fucked me & the shots kicked us ALL in the ass.

That being said. . . .Thank You!  To anyone and everyone whose mind I ever crossed on any of my hatch days. Those who love me enough to stand me & especially those  who made it a point to be part of my Tuesday: Lindy ; Taz; Nelis; Anele; Mimi; Tshego; Miss Mokoena;  Foreman a.k.a Swiss Beats;  Du Preez; Ntshepi ; Teddy; Spanky & brother; Lyric & George (in order of arrival. . . I think)

Thank You!

The night before The Morning After

"Hi! Forgive my father's efforts" , was the beginning of a text I received once upon a morning after the night before.

It began with a much dreaded photo shoot. The facing of the fellow DJ who had the honour of a steamy swimming pool make out session, on the eve of our year end function. The eve I lost my BlackBerry. A very VERY drunken eve. . . Hence my not appreciating that he went ahead and sat bang smack across the table from me; during the whose who in the Trans Africa Zoo meeting. Meeting ajourned. Now onto striking poses!


Snap! Flash! Snap!
The madness of people gathering
Clique-ing
Slam. . .
Right into the man.

A boy man at that. All of 25 years old.
#DeathByMe
Courteous Hug. Unexpected kiss on the cheek. Sweet and short.
It's over!
Now to get the fuck out of there.

Whew!

We that is the Stereo Dtox crew, moseyed on to greener pastures. Puff, puff pass pastures. Black Label all around as we settled ourselves at the Lamunu Hotel; nestled amidst the backdrop of a bustling Braamfontein. Never in the history of my Braamfontein escapades have I seen that many white folk fluttering in and out of the cafe's and alleys of good old Braam. Suddenly all the friggin Cafe's begin to make sense. This is who they were developed for in the first place. Light Bulb Moment!

That aside, we mingled. . .with white folk nogal. Canadian Patricia and Texas born Susan; whom Ade kept well entertained with talk of Africa and introducing them to The Fridge!! Then along came Samthing Soweto. It was all too YAY for words, till Sam called me a bad fan. Pity Thusi didn't surface before Gideon ushered them away. The Fridge posy cruised off to prepare for their performance at Dub Saved my life; while Mr Jones and I hopped on over to greener-er pastures.

Colonial Kitcheners!

The dark grungy textures of Kitcheners fed our photographic thirst. We would've soaked up every crevice if we could have, however my one armed companion failed as dismally as jittery me to take a successful pic of the fantastic shot opportunities with which our setting blessed us. Naturally, he casually asked equally casual surfer boy to shoot at whatever we wished him to aim.
Aim. Shoot. Aim. Shoot.

Surfer boy's equally pretty accomplice joined in on our newly formed collaborative acquaintanceship. Twas a serene dilly dallying of minds. Banter in abundance. . .Blunt too mind you.

Puff, Puff, Pass.

Like a well rolled joint, I passed myself on from the "aim shoot" escapade, over to the passionate debate in the colourful characters corner.
"Hi. Sorry to intrude, I couldn't help but overhear. Mind if I sit and listen silently?"
Talk about an enthusiastic reception. Before I knew it, I was the topic at hand. That's not what I signed up for though? Turns out that the Father to my right had an agenda of his own, and wasted no time asking "So where's your boyfriend?". I made the mistake of assuming what this mans intentions were, when meanwhile; Daddy Dearest was simply having a go at playing cupid. A look to my left and there was the suitor in question. I size him up favourably. Me likes what I see!

"You two should really get together again soon. You have lots to offer each other." Two guesses who had that to say? Daddy dearest of course. Cupid was all out in full force. "Obvious" is an understatement; and "Awkward" is oddly enough everything that that moment in time, wasn't. Son and I flirted subtly; while Father and I chatted fluidly.
"Thank you", I say softly expressing my appreciation for Black Label number who knows what. Suitor mentions knowing a shop where I can get my hands on some exciting African fabrics. Hmm, he heard my comment drinks ago about getting a dress made. Brownie points for this well versed man. His opinions excite me. Did I mention his being handsome in a non-offensive way?

"Take her number", insists Father.
"What's your number?" asks Son.

As they say, "Ask and it shall be given you; seek and ye shall find".

Goodbye's are said somewhere at this point. "You really made an impression on me", says cupid. I can't offer him anymore than a humble smile. I'm moved mind you. Even merely at the memory of his sentiments; I'm moved.
I'd saved Cupid's suitor son for last. Planted my arms gracefully around his torso and wished him well.
A comfortable parting. Gentle... Perhaps even too short?

The solemn moment was aptly shattered by shutter-bug Solomon and my main man Medicine. Merriment all around! A tequilla or 2; a drink or more. . .who knows. The buzz of evening was in full swing, and my tipsy was on the verge of drunk. A good time for home time; after a day which was indisputably a GRAND time!

"Hope the rest of your weekend was as delightful for you, as meeting the lot of you; was for me" , ended my reply to a text I received, Once Upon the morning after.

Q & A

Once Upon a new year, I’m haunted by a memory bank of some retarded questions I’ve either asked or answered… or more truthfully; harmless questions that I was retarded enough to either ask or answer.

Q) How many people have I slept with in 2011?

A) ***CLASSIFIED INFORMATION***

But like really? Why was I asking myself such? My reaction would have still been the same irrespective of the answer.  Let’s say I’d slept with all of 2 people in 2011, I would’ve perched on some moral high horse & patted myself on the back. Had the answer been “too many to count”; I still would have been gloating about how much game I have. Not to say it’s not important in this day and age to keep tabs of who you’re sleeping with, just that I was asking for all the wrong reasons.  Much like the time I once asked;

Q) And me?

To which he answered

A) She’s better than you.

In my defence, he asked the question 1^st. I’m just the sorry sucker who decided to play the comparison game; hoping that the praises I had just sung, would’ve been reciprocated.  

Questions that can be thrown back at you, should never be asked if your own answer to the same question, is not the kind of thing you want to be disclosing.  I learnt this the sticky way when my curiosity propelled me to ask :

Q) So when was the last time you got any?

An acceptable enough question; so long as you aren’t getting your flirt on with a Hottie who might be put off by the fact that your answer to the question is

A) This morning.

Why is it though (she makes the mistake of asking herself) that men are repelled by honest answers such as the one above; yet I’m indifferent to the answer:

A) Yeah, 14 years now

When the question I asked was:

Q) Are you in a relationship?

For what it’s worth, I’m all flirt and very little action & have no intention of physically disrespecting that High school sweetheart romance. . . Can’t say the same for him though; but that’s her baggage.

Truth be told; we all have some kind of baggage, so perhaps questions can be a great deal more remedial and a whole lot less catastrophic, if utilised correctly?

Granted I won’t vow to ask less, because then I’ll tragically learn less. Instead I’ll make a major effort to live this year in such a fashion whereby, irrespective of what the question might be when I have my next reflective episode in 2013, the answers won’t spazz me out.

Cheers to the friggin New Year! I’ll drink to that.