More Fun Sized Opinions

Music Promoters
Music promoters sometimes suck my will to live. Really they do.

We get promised a “supergroup”. I’m hoping AC/DC. We’re getting Coldplay. Enough said on that one.

Coldplay isn’t a supergroup by any stretch of the imagination.


The Rugby World Cup
While all of South Africa is “getting behind the Boks”, I’m quietly wishing the whole thing just goes away.

I don’t support sports of any kind. Especially not the oblong ball thug game. Couldn’t be bothered.

Earlier today our president gave the team a little speech. Good thing he’s got his priorities straight. I mean, it’s not like he’s got a country to run or anything.

Ard Matthews and the National Anthem
Everyone was exceptionally hard on Ard Matthews this past week, and for fucking up the anthem.

In all honesty, how many of us know the anthem all the way through? I remember bits and pieces of the Afrikaans version from learning it in primary school.

I far prefer his work with Just Jinger. The anthem can go hang itself.

Jeans with zips and flaps and things
I tried to go buy some jean pant on a few occasions. Only to be disgusted by what I saw.

Every single pair of jeans has some additional zip. Or flaps. Or bits that button down.

Whatever happened to good old straight up and down, or bootleg jeans? I can get Levis that do that, at R250 a shot. Not bloody likely.

I want normal jeans, for R100. Max R150. Without the buttony, zippy, flappy things.

Shitty Musicians and What Makes Them Popular
I sometimes have the misfortune of listening to some real crap on the radio. I hear on that there wireless machine some really atrocious musicians.

What boggles my mind is why people support all this crap. Has people’s musical tastes degenerated that much in the past 30-odd years. It’s not really been 30-odd, even in the last 10-odd years things have taken a turn for the worse.

Do people just generally like what they’re given? Are there bigger things afoot than we know of?

If people stop supporting sub-par “musicians”, stop buying their CDs then maybe they’d go away.

Imagine a world with no Parlotones, no Nikki Minaj and no Gaga. Fucking bliss.

The Second of Some Few...

I was in good spirits this evening.

OK, I wasn’t exactly in good spirits until I got into the spirits. But such is the way of the easily stressed and the addicted. That is my story and I’m sticking to it for now.

All was fine in my little world, until one person challenged me on my drinking habits.

Yes, I am an addict. Yes, I like to get drunk. Yes, I like to drink a lot. That is the way of things.

The person that called it mentioned parents that drank and smoked and managed to kick both habits.

This person is 16 years of age. This person hasn’t lived. Living with someone that has an addiction is not the same as living with an addiction.

Living with an addiction is much, much harder.

I enjoyed my ephedrine addiction. I will admit that much.

I enjoy my cigarettes and alcohol just as much. However much nicotine is an addiction, citing someone giving up tar bars as “Someone kicking an addiction” ain’t going to fly.

I smoke 15+ cigarettes a day. And that is an average day.

On an average day I smoke 15 cigarettes. I drink at least seven cups of coffee. I might even consume a few alcoholic bevvies.

Kicking cigs is nothing in comparison to kicking any other habit. Even kicking alcohol is nothing in comparison to a once a day ephedrine habit.

The point I’m making is thus… Don’t get preachy at me because both your parents beat a cig habit. Don’t get preachy at me, about my liver no less, because one of your parents beat a booze habit.

My own grandfather was a smoker and liked a bit of the old tipple.

When you have beat your own addictions, then come and speak to me. Don’t talk to me as a bystander. Don’t talk to me as an innocent victim. In that case my lovely wife would be an innocent victim of my various addictions.

Would those addictions be that I like to consume alcoholic beverages, or that addiction be that I like to photograph things…

Be careful what you call an addiction.

Next thing I know I’d be in rehab for taking pictures of things.

I Am An Addict...

Hello. My name is Tiaan and I’m an addict.

Those have got to be the hardest words ever spoken by a person ever.

I have admitted to myself ages ago that I am an addict.

Less than five years ago I was addicted to ephedrine. To those that don’t know, ephedrine is the active ingredient in most slimming tablets. Thinz, Slenz, etc. Ephedrine is Speed. Ephedrine is Ecstacy. Luckily for some of us, those tablets aren’t available over the counter anymore.

I popped 6 of those slimming tabs every single day.

Not my proudest moment. However, those moments shaped who I am today…

Were it not for a busted cam belt and my bedroom floor, I may not have beaten the addiction.

However, beating one addiction always makes room for one more.

Since I can remember, which isn’t too long ago, I’m a bit of a drunk.

Some days I drink to just fall asleep. Some days I drink to get totally slaughtered.

99% of what I do goes up to 11. I am an addict.

I think my Mother’s known for some time that I have an addictive personality. I get addicted easily to things.

I think for her it was that I don’t like being second best at anything.

I only learned how a stove works two and a half years ago. Yet, now I have to try the most complicated recipe.

I picked up a proper camera two and a half years ago. Now that camera is what partly defines who I am.

Some of my family members only found out a few weeks ago that I am an addict. On the same night they found out I’m a religious sceptic.

However… Us addicts had one of our stalwarts pass away this week… Possible OD, although the autopsy is inconclusive.

Regardless of autopsy we know. Amy Winehouse died as she lived. Everything up to 11.

In my lifetime I have beaten one addiction. Will I ever beat my alcohol addiction? Who knows?

That is the way it is.

Should we ever breed, it is either good or bad for the child.

I will either be the best parent ever, or the most drunk.

I’m glad I never had drunken parents, which means if we ever spawn I’ll have to sober up.

Try as I might, I cannot paint all of my addictions in a positive light.

The only positive that can come out of my addictions is that I try my absolute best to be number one.

The absolute worst is that I might die young. Or rather youngish.

Hopefully, one day, I’ll sober up. Do I have a problem? Possibly. Do I care? Maybe.

That last maybe is what keeps me going.

Will I carry on getting drunk? Quite likely.

Will I eventually stop? Let’s see…

You Sir, Are a Knob…

I feel I need to paint y’all a picture. If only for the purpose of this blog post.

We live in what might be termed a “gated community”. We have security guards with booms. Not that they’re any good, but it’s a bit of a sense of security.

A few weeks ago, upon arriving home, I noticed a tent on the sidewalk. Now, you need to know there’s a wooden Wendy house type of “guardhouse”, so this puzzled me.

Then a day later I noticed the guardhouse is gone, but didn’t pay the missing guardhouse or tent too much mind.

A few days after that I was working late. That was when I noticed that the guards guarding the boom were expected to overnight in the tent.

A day later we see they’re rebuilding the guardhouse. So we reckon they’re finally getting a brick and mortar guardhouse. Brick and mortar is good for winter, so much better than a wooden Wendy house in my opinion.

A few day after that I get home and notice the boom is gone. Pay it no mind. The Boss tells me that the guards are on strike. This one time, I was not blaming them for striking.

However, the cherry on the cake was when the owner of the security company left a message for all of us residents on the board. This you can see in the picture. Apparently some “arsehole” (his words) reported him to the municipality for not having plans.

No my boy. You were reported for being a heartless bastard. You pay these guys minimum wage, yet expect them to spend an ice cold winter’s night in a TENT?!

No fucking wonder they went on strike. No fucking wonder you got reported. It wasn’t me that reported you, but I wish I did.

You sir, the owner of Firmitas Security, should be ashamed. You should spend on winter’s night in a tent. Let’s see how you feel.

You Sir, Are a Knob…

I feel I need to paint y’all a picture. If only for the purpose of this blog post.

We live in what might be termed a “gated community”. We have security guards with booms. Not that they’re any good, but it’s a bit of a sense of security.

A few weeks ago, upon arriving home, I noticed a tent on the sidewalk. Now, you need to know there’s a wooden Wendy house type of “guardhouse”, so this puzzled me.

Then a day later I noticed the guardhouse is gone, but didn’t pay the missing guardhouse or tent too much mind.

A few days after that I was working late. That was when I noticed that the guards guarding the boom were expected to overnight in the tent.

A day later we see they’re rebuilding the guardhouse. So we reckon they’re finally getting a brick and mortar guardhouse. Brick and mortar is good for winter, so much better than a wooden Wendy house in my opinion.

A few day after that I get home and notice the boom is gone. Pay it no mind. The Boss tells me that the guards are on strike. This one time, I was not blaming them for striking.

However, the cherry on the cake was when the owner of the security company left a message for all of us residents on the board. This you can see in the picture. Apparently some “arsehole” (his words) reported him to the municipality for not having plans.

No my boy. You were reported for being a heartless bastard. You pay these guys minimum wage, yet expect them to spend an ice cold winter’s night in a TENT?!

No fucking wonder they went on strike. No fucking wonder you got reported. It wasn’t me that reported you, but I wish I did.

You sir, the owner of Firmitas Security, should be ashamed. You should spend on winter’s night in a tent. Let’s see how you feel.

Fun Sized Opinions

I got the idea for Fun Sized Opinions from someone else. Trust me, I am not that original.

However, being active on both Twitter and Facebook, I sometimes have what can be called a fun sized opinion. It’s quite a bit shorter than 500 words, and a bit more than 140 characters. So, Fun Sized Opinions was born. Enjoy if you wish.

Top TV

I have no idea what Top TV was thinking when they launched their ad campaign, but whoever came up with it should be shot.

There’s one ad with a woman that’s a bad cook. Suddenly after one year of watching Top TV she’s great cook. She can make Potato Dauphinoise, but she can’t bloody pronounce it properly. Fuck it!

She completely murders the pronunciation as “doff-in-wah”, when in fact it is “doe-fin-wah”.

MTV

MTV has got to be the biggest load of bollocks on air at the moment. Right after The Breakfast Xpress and Top TV.

They play one good music video and then ten really shitty ones.

Bonus: MTV should change their name to Really Shitty Reality TV. That is all.

 Shoppers

It irks me, it does. When I am in a queue for a till at a shop, there are usually people in front of me. This is the norm.

What I find most irksome, is that the person in front of me has someone running the shop flat to get all the stuff on the list. A rule I have, I get the stuff I want and then stand in the queue. I don’t get The Boss to run around like a blue arsed fly collecting things while I reserve a spot near the front.

Get your stuff. Join the queue. Find a cashier. Pay. Job done.

Magnum Mini

We’ve all seen the ads. The Magnum Mini. What’s the point? Either give me a Magnum or don’t.

Don’t tease me. The only way a Magnum Mini is going to satisfy me is if I eat the whole pack. In one go.

The Breakfast Xpress

After Jeremy Mansfield left The Rude Awakening last year, Highveld’s breakfast show hasn’t been the same.

They kept the format the same, put a knob in charge and screwed an entire province.

I just want to know the following: With all the celeb dick they suck, are Darren and Samantha not afraid of STDs?

Really now. Every “schleb” that has the misfortune of being interviewed by them is the greatest ever.

Fuck Off! Some schlebs are not all that great. Especially that massive knob that is Dr 90210.

ATMs

My dear people, operating an ATM is not fucking rocket science. You ask for money and it gives it.

Do not attempt to pay a bunch of accounts via the ATM during the month end rush. There are people behind you that simply want to get some money from the machine.

If you do not know how to operate the bloody machine, go inside the  bank and fill in a little form. If you are so afraid of technology, or so stupid with the tech, then rather stick with pen and paper.

Why I Am Not a South African

I have for many years felt as if I’m not really a part of this country, merely a citizen. Should you look at the entire culture of this country and then look at me, you will see for yourself that I don’t really belong.

The culture of this country of ours revolves largely around braais, outdoor living, sokkie, rugby, 4x4, lather, rinse and repeat.

Now you take me, as a bad example. I am not a particular fan of the braai. Outdoor living is for the birds. Sokkie is something for me to make fun of. Rugby is something that someone else finds interesting. A 4x4 is something that is driven by a massive douche bag.

At some stage of my life I realized that I don’t fit in here, in this country. I am not terribly patriotic and given half a chance I would be living somewhere other than South Africa, or even Africa.

One day, some months ago, I heard some guy talking on the radio. He mentioned something which I found interesting at the time, and I can kick myself for not downloading the podcast at the time it happened.

This chap on the wireless was talking about something called “ancestral memories”. The gist of it is that you can feel something for a culture other than the one you were raised in. You might feel more for your ancestors’ culture than you do for your own.

When I heard that, a red flag went up in the old grey matter. This red flag said to me that maybe I was genetically linked more to another culture than the South African culture I had the misfortune of being raised in.

Had you asked me in the early 80s what I am, I would said that I am an Afrikaner. However, had we progressed through time, myself growing as a person through all of that and you ask me the same question what I am, the answer invariably would be that I am an Englishman.

I can speculate that during my formative years, I was formed by the society I grew up in. I was raised Afrikaans, due to the fact that my half Scot, half German mother married my Afrikaans father. I also grew up in what is now known as the “struggle years”.

Up until standard four I was in an Afrikaans class in a dual medium school. From standard five onwards I was in an English school. I do believe that it was in that school that I came to embrace me inherent English-ness.

I have happened to believe this chap on the wireless about the ancestral memories. However, research funding lacking, I have to make do with whatever the Google Machine gives me.

I know I might be a Scot because of the bagpipes, which I like and the Scotch whisky, which I love. Then there’s the German, which might explain why I like Rammstein so much. I have no idea where the Dutch part comes in because I didn’t enjoy smoking pot.

The point I was trying to make this time, is that despite my upbringing I feel more of a longing for my ancestral roots. In my heart I will always be an Englishman, a Scotsman even. I have never, in my life, felt like a South African.

I may be born of this country, but I’m THE most unpatriotic person you will ever know. Given half a chance, I would live somewhere else. No offence though to the South Africans. This is purely how feel. And this country? I don’t feel it.