In same sense that there are two sides to everything, there are two sides to people and when choosing a suitable life mate it is important to note that we will find a good mix of the things we can bear to tolerate and those that we can’t within that person.
The sooner we realise that people never change and that as time goes on we will only become more tolerant of them and their quirks and habits, the sooner we can get on with living our lives.
Credit: Photo by Ali Khathoub
Here’s a repost of an article I wrote for Africans.co.za in 2004, seeing as we’re close to that time of year when we get to choose the ones who will lead us… enjoy:
It’s that time of year again, when we get to vote for the people who’ll be in the news for the next four years. Whether it’s dodgy deals, or sex scandals, be assured of something or someone crawling out into the open and making life in this country very interesting.
So what is it exactly, that makes us vote for the scumbags? Is it the promise of a “better life for all” or the fact that one poster looks better than another? Do the pompous poses on pole posters entice us with that fuzzy warm feeling that talks to our inner beast, or is everyone simply trying to “out-schmuck” each other? I think it’s apparent that we have some fucking ugly politicians in this country! Where’d all the goodlooking people go? Surely these people have advisors telling them what’s a great idea and what’s not, surely someone must have suggested that portraits on campaign posters aren’t a good idea! Unless of course these are the same people who don’t take any advice apart from their own, they surely look like the type, don’t they?
But lets just say, in a normal South African world, this is the kind of thing that appeals to the older generation. The kind of thing that gets 70 year old ladies sweaty in their draws and gagging to cast a vote for the kind gent in the grey suit with the goofy smile and really smart slogan in the hope that someday, while attending a rally of sorts, they’ll be whisked away, “backstage”, and be personally thanked, in kind for that matter, by the man himself, for voting for his party! Well, that’s a long fucking queue if you ask me.
You hear that so often nowadays, “the younger generation are the future”. Well it’s quite apparent, Mr. Politician, that you don’t give a fuck about yours! Someone has forgotten to appeal to the people who’d rather sit at home and wank on voting day, than spend their free day voting! Marketing anyone?
Considering the fact that potentially a youth vote could mean the difference between winning and losing: Get out there, do some crazy shit, bungee jump naked! Make a statement goddamit!
Personally I’d sooner vote for the sod willing to take a chance in getting me interested in his or her campaign by putting their own life at risk than the sod trying to tell me “the other guys are the crooked ones”. I say, “Are you a politician? Yeah? Well then you’re in no fucking position to make that judgement!” Come on, spend a day in the dodgiest neighbourhood, smoke a doobie with the locals. That’s the kind of interaction I want to see. That’s the kind of dedication to “the cause” I want to see!
And what if he gets robbed, mugged or gang-raped by a group of sweaty 80 year old grannies? At least he can’t be blamed for not being a part of the cultural heritage of the area. Take a fucking chance, will you?
Instead we’re given these nance-boy white-collar motherfuckers who can bearly string a sentence together, who have an inclination towards grey suits and crap ties or khaki shoes and whose idea of taking a chance is driving 70km/h in a 60 zone in a German luxury vehicle with airbags! These people have no idea what I do, no idea who I am.
The the least they could do is go the extra mile for my entertainment. The least they could do is something outside of their comfort zones. Entice me. The youth vote is all about getting me out of the house on voting day, making me enjoy leaving my bed.
I’m sure there’s a sector of the public that’d be keen on a free beer or two.
Ten years ago Hong Kong returned to Chinese rule, Tony Blair was elected Prime Minister of Britain, Titanic made box-office history, Jacko had a son with Debbie Rowe, Princess Diana, Mother Theresa, and Gianni Versace all kicked it for the last time and Eric Clapton got the record of the year with “Change the world”.*
It was 1997..
- I was 19 going on 20
- I started studying Information Technology at Peninsula Technikon
- I experienced LAN gaming for first time
- …as well as online porn
- The legend known as “Acidman” was born in the chatrooms in Soho on GeoCities
- Met my oldest bud, Ralton again after being at the same Primary school with him. Something he still doesn’t recall
- Plucked up the courage to chat to René (the wife) after eyeballing her for weeks
- And discovered the tireless bother known as the cellphone. (I didn’t own one till 2000)
Where were you and what were you doing in 1997?
* Info via Infoplease.com
I’m not sure what the deal with these mounties are, but it can only come down to one of a few things:
- Given the ridiculous cost of petrol the City Council is trying to save a bunch by using hay fuelled vehicles instead.
- Due to the narrow streets in and around Green Point, law enforcement has taken to the pavements in vehicles perfectly suited for pavements (bicycles, anyone?)
- As 4×4 owners have gotten increasingly stroppy with officers of the law (largely blamed on the ride height of these vehicles), the City Council is employing new methods of bring these people off their high horses… so to speak…
- The guys in the picture are actually on probation / suspension and have to perform their tasks in a vehicle not equipped with the modern comfort known as air-conditioning (or seats, mind you). Power steering is an optional extra, depending of course on how often the officer in question goes to gym.
- In a bid to get Capetonians to stop looking at the mountain, the City Council has employed a pavement obstacle course for the unfortunate pedestrian or unwitting visitor.
- Jackie Selebi doesn’t appreciate a good horse joke. This is the penalty.
Have a safe Easter weekend folks!
A great number of years back, when I was fit, a keen cyclist and trained every weekend, there a existed a small shop in Hout Bay that sold pies of unimaginable diversity. It was called “The Pastryman” and was run by a friendly German guy and sometimes his wife.
What made this particular pie shop different from others was that here one could get puff adder, giraffe, porcupine, elephant and the ever popular crocodile pies. I must point out that we’re not talking about pies that merely resembled the animals they were named after, like a box of zoo biscuits but instead were made from the meat of the unfortunate animals which somehow managed to cross the Pastryman’s path.
Training for the Argus Tour entailed cycling from Montana, near Charlesville on the Cape Flats, all the way along the N2, getting onto the M3 near Mowbray and then all the way into Fish Hoek past St. James, Simon’s Town, Noordhoek, Sun Valley and then finally Hout Bay. Occasionally continuing through to Camps Bay via the old Chapman’s Peak (before you needed a permit to avoid being crushed by a falling boulder). This was fairly tough 100km which covered the majority of the distance the official Argus Tour covered and was by no means a picnic, that is unless it was lunch time.
I usually found myself in Hout Bay around 12:30, just in time for lunch which consisted a Pastryman pepper steak pie and a Coke. That was until I tried the crocodile. Yep, healthy eating indeed. Especially for someone putting in as much effort as I was in the saddle. Mind you, the crocodile wasn’t bad, I go as far as to say “it tasted like chicken”, which it really did but pepper steak remained a favourite.
Hout Bay locals would stop by all time during our little chats to pick up their orders or either porcupine, puff adder or an assortment of venison. Needless to say that he was quite popular and had clippings from his numerous appearances in different publications pinned up around the shop. People literally came from all over Cape Town to see what the legend of the Pastryman was all about. Tourists included his modest pie shop and bakery on their list must see places and would have paid for the opportunity to tell all their friends that they’d eaten elephant while in South Africa, let alone an elephant pie.
Then all of a sudden it all disappeared. Closed. Not to be heard from again.
No more tourists, no more crocodile pies, no more lunch. His wife had mysteriously disappeared and reports alleged that she may have ended up in a pie herself. An unsettling thought. As a result his business tanked and tour groups no longer stopped at his store. The legend had become infamous once more, but for different reasons this time, though they both included exotic pies.
The legend of The Pastryman is one that is mostly forgotten, even now, searching the Internet for information turns up nothing. It’s strange that such a prominent business and an even more well known personality could have disappeared like he never existed, let alone his wife.
Do you know what happened to the Pastryman? Or his wife? Ever stop in Hout Bay in the 90′s to grab a croc pie at The Pastryman? Hit us up in the comments.
How’s your head doing? Good? Then you probably weren’t at our Summer Reunion party on Saturday. Either that, or you left early completely avoiding Damien’s shooter attack and our session of “Fives alive”.
If you couldn’t be there, or weren’t on the list, enjoy the video mashup above.
Can’t see the video? Right-click, save as here to download. (Appox. 6mb)
It’s official! The Summer Reunion 2007 goes down this Saturday, 10 March at Wa‘s place.
As usual, Wa’s cut it tight with the sending of the invites, but if you’re in the area and you’re on the list, come round, bring a bottle and some “vleis”. It’ll be great to catchup with you again.