The Good Weekend...(2)

LIVE.

Ed’s a bit of a hippie these days but I still think he’s hot. And even though we cringed inside when he asked us to come together and spread a psychic love energy, [This is Africa Ed (you reminded usJ, Jo-han-nesburg ) you have to be careful how you spread that love] the guitar riff into Lakini’s Juice was a saving grace, the electric spasm reaching into the gut and ribbing it, unlike anything else.

Some of the worth-mentionings on the setlist (which, according to Ed of Hotness, was thrown out and Live played by gut, mood and heart. The band spanned their discography and served up some true classics): All Over You, Dolphin’s Cry, Lightning Crashes, They Stood Up For Love, Run To The Water, Beauty Of Grey, Shit Towne, I Alone, Iris, Selling The Drama.

The lyrics that stuck like sticky stuff into the next morning:
“The stillness in your eyes convinces me that I don’t know a thing”
“We spend all of our lives, going out of our minds, looking back to our births, forward to our demise”

(Electric Spaghetti goes cryptic)…They ended with Dance With You. I knew before we even got there, before the rain turned us to sponge and dampened our tickets, that I would think of him when that played. A favourite, he knew the lyrics, and in that febrile merger of voices, I wondered if his was there too. After Insignificant, it was difficult to listen to Live without slipping into fugues of karmic-questioning. But you make a certain peace by revisiting that which pulled you to pieces, and while I can not say that the dents have been completely panelbeated, the engine’s still good.

Queen Lestat thought the last song was a schmaltzy way to end. True to her vampiric mien, those paranormal eyes pulled me out of a crowd of thousands. Well, sure, there weren’t that many brownish people around, but all she had to go on was a blogger profile pic, impressive QL.

My favourite Live anecdote to tell is the one on how I got the lyrics to Dolphins Cry a little wrong. I would swear that Ed was saying “These crazy folks arouse me, you wrap your legs around me,” until I saw what was written on the album inset, “This crazy fog surrounds me, you wrap your legs around me”. Now, I’m not unusually gutter-minded, but I think my version fits the context better, even though Ed may not willingly admit to having a kinky edge.

Now, the quality of a concert is directly proportional to the hoarseness of throat the next day. I still sound like a tween whose voice just broke, and I believe that’s a damn good indication that Ed and the boys rocked.

Moments with Mum... (1)

My bedroom is in darkness and I sent my mum an email earlier to remind her to buy new globes, her response;

"Did you have a lightbulb moment? Hahahahaha!"

I have this proclivity for falling asleep in the car in the mornings when I'm not driving to work. As much as I may be ruining my chances at snagging a spouse here, I have to be honest and admit I'm not an attractive sleeper; mouth open, head lolling from side to side, no prince charming is going to want to exercise his chivalric muscle.

"When you fall asleep like that, you look spastic. The other commuters must think I'm on my way to drop my daughter off at Special School."

Ah, I love my mum.

Sold... and the return to 43

Two out of 43 so far:

18. get a car – any car (tearing up tar in a Chevrolet Aveo hatch)

20. watch Live live in concert (may have to upgrade to Golden Circle, just been told that Floor Standing will shrink Ed and the boys.)


Additional works in progress:

15. get rid of all my clutter

16. develop my relationship with my Creator

19. stay committed to working out

23. do more volunteer and relief work

29. develop my sense of focus

35. maintain my friendships

40. stop using profanity

capsule kimberley

Kimberley. Hot. Flat. Sparse.

You walk into the airport to walk out of the airport.

"Everything's five minutes away," I'm told.

This is a full-on work trip and time is not lenient, so I don't get to see the big hole or the diamonds this unassuming dorpie is claim-famed to. I spend the day in a building with inactive airconditioning, compensated only by the friendly willingness of the people I have to interview, the real diamonds in the dust.

It looked like rain in Johannesburg when I left in the a.m, but here it's 29 celcius, and the sky is a stubborn blue.

Duties discharged and it's back to the corridor through which I catch the return flight. It's 4.30pm and the curio shop is closed. The waiting area is too small to people-watch, and I don't want to come across as a loon. It's a small town, you know how people talk. I wittle away time on
Mxit and Opera mini (glory, glory).

It begins to drizzle as I step onto the little plane. My window seat is seated right next to the propellor, and I found myself slipping hypnotic as i watch it pick up momentum until the edge of the blades disappear. That's the super power I want, being able to move so fast, no one sees me. The buzz from the propellors is so loud, I stop hearing it, and I'm looking over the landscape, an abstract carpet. This is farming country; a Mondrian of reds, greens, yellows and browns, circles and geometrics.

Flying through the clouds, I indulge in pareidolia, seeing monsters and gods in the cumulus. I'm looking at the spires of a castle on a mountain with a mermaid in the moat, when I realise it's sunset, time to break fast. A mid-air iftaar; I've packed dates and open SAA's offering - salmon and cream cheese roulade and some fishy-lookin snoek (obvious pun intended). The salmon's edible and I smile at the packet of Tumbles. Mmmm.... chocolate. In-flight catering finally gets something right.

Touch down Jhb straight into a traffic freeze. Scattered accidents and breakdowns convert the 20 minute commute to an hour and a half belly-crawl.

If I were in Kimberely, I'd be five minutes away.

not the avon lady (2)

This is why people put notices outside their office to deter salespeople (ref:post)

We moved to new offices in March this year. Since then I've been propositioned to purchase the following items:

• a keyring-size camera (really low-grade spy vs spy gadget)
• a flying toy monkey that emitted demonic screeches when you fling it across the room
• a 36-piece dinner set (lifetime guarantee, and if one of the ugly brown saucers break, they'll replace it for free with another ugly brown saucer, so you'll never be embarassed about having an incomplete ugly brown dinner service)
• full piece cutlery set (we stopped the sales guy before he could demonstrate how balanced the heft in each knife was)
• pepper spray (If i didn't already have a cannister, I would've forked over dosh for this one)
• stainless steel waterless cookware (the monthly installments on these are about as much as my car repayments)
• insurance (times 55)
• photocopy machines (times 40)
• assorted fluffy toys that give off manic noises when you squeeze them (see above pic)

Despite my ire at being disturbed during a mad chase for deadline, I have respect for salespeople. They have one of the most shitest jobs. Perhaps not as bad as those guys who are charged with emptying out the buckets in rudimentary latrines, but having to put on your happy-happy-joy-joy face for 8 hours and set yourself up for utter rejection puts them right at the bottom of the ladder. And you've got to respect someone who has the bravado to walk from office to office, full of rehearsed enthusiasm for a product they wouldn't personally buy, run through an arduous promotional spiel, face indifference by their audience and still have the energy and civility to say "Thank you ma'am, have a nice day".

So to all my sales-peeps, while I may not feel the desire to own the muppet-reject anytime soon, thank you for sharing and you, you have a nice day.

not the avon lady