Goin’ to the diamond-encrusted chapel

26 04 11

Because I have not had a good moan in, ohhh,… hours, I shall devote today’s post to, err,… moaning.

Jacob Zuma’s 28-year-old daughter Duduzile got married this weekend.

Here are some of the highlights, according to SAPA, of her big day:

  1. She and her bridesmaids wore borrowed jewellery worth R4.5 million, while members of the SA Police Service were on hand to guard the jewels.
  2. Instead of gifts, the bridal couple requested gift vouchers from a variety of high-end stores.
  3. The couple sold the rights to the wedding to a local magazine, which helped to foot the massive bill.
  4. The couple met three years ago when Duduzile was on the board of Gupta-owned Sahara Computers.
  5. The president’s daughter first hit the social spotlight after throwing a lavish R400 000 birthday bash for 600 of her closest friends two years ago, the Sunday Times reported.

Re the above-mentioned statements:

  1. It’s not tragic enough that we appear not to have sufficient police resources to attend to SA’s intolerable crime, vital personnel are assigned to spend an afternoon and evening looking after a spoilt woman’s wedding accessories rather than, say, attending to crime-related issues, for which – and only which -they receive a salary.
  2. Could the bride and groom possibly be more greedy? Screw them and their request for gift vouchers. Get a registry if you must, or  – shock, horror – permit guests to buy you an item that fits their budget. How dare they place people in such a position? Selfish twerps!
  3. Yeeaaah, nothing says ‘classy’ like selling your wedding photos and goings-on to a magazine. Hope the magazine knew to order the attending reporter to bring alone a suitably sized gift voucher, as well as, I’m sure, a fucking large cheque.
  4. Let’s see …that would make Duduzile all of 25 years old when she was appointed to the board of Sahara computers, a company owned by a good pal of her dad. Wowee, she must have been a brilliant business person, and I am sure her resigning that position has devastated that company, what with all her years of experience in practical business application and strategic thinking.
  5. Whew, it must have been reaaaaally hard to chop down the list to just 600 of her closet pals. There must be thousands of reasonably good friends who are spitting mad after having been excluded from the party. Perhaps they didn’t want to bring gift vouchers?

All things considered, perhaps my favourite statement from the SAPA copy is the following:

Fortune [a spokesman, I’d assume] said the couple chose a Parisian-theme wedding because Duduzile “really loves Paris”.

Illuminating!

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Go see DreamGirls

24 04 11

I’ve greatly enjoyed the past three days of this four-day long weekend aimed at worshipping chocolate. I’ve partaken. Oh yes, I have partaken, and I have a box of white Lindt balls open in front of me that need tackling tomorrow.

Saw the live production of ‘DreamGirls’ on Saturday, in which the primary female role, Effie White, was played by the alternate, Caroline Borole.

This show was outstanding, and Borole was seriously one of the best singing and acting talents I’ve seen. She was powerful and captivating, and just very, very good. What a find! Dazzling costumes and sets, and really a slick, well-produced show.

The bad news is that I’ve heard the show is closing at Monte Casino around 8 May, about 10 days earlier than its billed run, owing to poor ticket sales.

It is appalling that a show of this calibre should be so badly attended. It is a spectacle and Jo’burgers, you are missing out. Give the cast some support and go see it – if you like a good musical show, you will not be disappointed.

Ok, bed time, catch y’all on Tuesday.


Mongoose family

20 04 11

One mongoose, and another and another and another


Nothing to read here, I promise

20 04 11

Don’t you just hate it when people who don’t have much to say insist on writing anyway? They start out announcing that they do not have anything of news or entertainment value to share, and yet they continue to waffle on for a paragraph.

In fact, often they extend their useless monologue such that it spans two paragraphs – two paragraphs that inform the reader of nothing more than he/she knew before having clicked the internet address of writer.

Paragraph three drags on while the reader hopes for something vaguely attention-grabbing, with no satisfaction coming. The piece usually ends with the reader feeling duped; knowing that he/she would have been better served speaking to an irritating colleague or making tea.

Sorry.


I am the kiss of death…

14 04 11

Some moons ago at my previous place of employment, my ex-boss displayed  a rare moment of humour after a colleague had had her umpteenth car accident. In the +/- four years I worked with her, she’d written off two cars in at least four serious car accidents, the worst of which led to her losing half her tongue (which did grow back). Our then-boss played her a song entitled, “I am the kiss of death to cars,” which was bloody amusing in a dark, “I don’t really give a fuck about you” kinda way. She had the good grace – and a good sense of job preservation – to chuckle (as best one chuckles with a missing tongue).

Why I mention this utterly unrelated anecdote is because I firmly believe that while she may be the kiss of death to cars, I am the kiss of death to dentists. As mentioned a few times before, I have troubles with my choppers. In the past four years, I’ve used four dentists, two of whom have left the country after treating me, one of whom failed to notice a cavity the size of Kimberley’s Big Hole, and the last of whom is now out of practice having been locked out of her premises as a result of a ‘labour dispute’ between her and the landlord. I discovered this devastating fact this week, when I again had a rather unbearable pain in my tooth, prompting me to phone my new beloved dentist.

I contacted her by email, finally, as, obviously, no-one was answering her phones. She called me back and told me the sad tale of the fight with the landlord, spewing things at me like “sometimes one has to take the good with the bad” and “I may never practise again but I need a job”.

Eish. I just have teeth that need fixing and she is a great dentist, albeit somewhat of a fruit loop.

Fortunately the pain has disappeared. I have, however, been sternly advised by my dearest mate that I need to phone a new dentist NOW. SO! If any of you live in the Jo’burg area and your fervent desire is to have your dentist emigrate or stop practising, gimme his/her name and I will book an appointment.

No, don’t thank me.


‘The Zilles’ a favourite to replace ‘Bafana Bafana’

13 04 11

As the SA Football Association (Safa) kicks around the idea of a potential name change for Bafana Bafana, the national football team, various interested South African parties have approached Safa to have their suggestions heard.

Safa spokesman, Stadium Mashishi, says although the football body cannot confirm that a final choice has been made, he acknowledges that one of the frontrunners for the new moniker is ‘The Zilles’.

“Our team needs to embody the ideals of strength, the ability to pull off unexpected wins, and a bull-terrier-like determination to hang onto the ball at all costs,” explained Mashishi, pausing to order his frazzled secretary to take another message from the leadership of the Democratic Alliance (“Tell Helen I’ll call her back, damnit!”). He added: “There should also be the understanding that the team can play soccer better than they can dance.”

The author of this article is in possession of a top-secret document (a KFC serviette) on which other suggestions were noted by prominent South Africans.  In an unfortunate accident, however, the grease from a chicken drumstick obscured all suggestions save those of government spokesman Jimmy Manyi, (“Jou ma se sokka team”) and musician and activist, Steve Hofmeyr (“Bloody agents”).

A decision is expected soon, after which a directive is expected to be issued by Minister of Sports, Fikile Mbalula, that all ‘Bafana Bafana’ memorabilia be burnt in a massive bonfire to be held outside the Soccer City stadium in Soweto, commemorating the name change.


On ageing and award shows

08 04 11

A number of indisputable facts remind me on ever more frequent occasions, that I am not the same person I was when I was 19. I have some grey hair now – probably around 15 regular strands, if I were to count them instead of pulling them out. I cannot stay out very late if I have been working since 8.30, and I have certainly become a lot more selective about what I consider to be ‘fun’.  I haven’t naturally slept later than 9.30 a.m in about three years. I’ve even started to ask myself, on occasion, what makes me do the things I do.

I’ve also come to loathe almost every kind of award show. Whereas, as a music-video obsessed teenager, I would be unable to tear my eyes away from the MTV music awards, and would watch even the most lame tributes during the Oscars ceremony, today I can barely stomach a post-event five-minute package showing some winners and some fashion.

Therefore, when I read yesterday that a major overhaul of the Grammy awards has been approved, it made me wonder if those spy fellows had been rooting around in my brain again and had decided they liked what they saw (particularly in the temporal lobe, which I’ve devoted to studying the history of songs about candyfloss).

The Reuters article states that Grammy organisers have announced that they will cut the number of award categories from 109 to 78.

“Recording Academy president Neil Portnow said the changes followed discussions that involved ‘some pretty passionate discomfort’ and would be ‘a little unsettling’ to some musicians.”

But he said a restructuring was necessary to maintain the ”prestige of the highest and only peer-recognised award in music”.

Television viewers will not notice the changes, since only about 10 awards are announced during the three-and-a-half hour telecast. The rest are handed out earlier in the day during a fast-paced ceremony that is broadcast on the Internet.”

Oh my god, only 10 AWARDS ARE HANDED OUT DURING THE 3.5 HOUR TV SHOW??!! Surely that has to be someone’s definition of sanctioned torture?

“In a move likely to draw howls of protest, the relatively new awards for Hawaiian and Native American albums have been dropped. The nominees often turn up to the Grammys in full regalia, grateful for the opportunity to receive mainstream attention for their cult recordings. They will now vie for a new category, regional roots music album, alongside contenders from the similarly discontinued Zydeco and Cajun category.”

Answer me honestly, dear readers, does that previous paragraph not sound exactly like something that could have been written for Hayibo? C’mon, the Zydeco and Cajun category?!? (Zydeco apparently refers to “a form of American roots or folk music. It evolved in southwest Louisiana in the early 19th century from forms of Creole music. The rural black Creoles of southwest Louisiana and southeast Texas still sing in Louisiana Creole French.”)

Sadly, after having read the article, it became clear that no, there was no rooting around in my brain being done. If there were, changes would include the award ceremony now being been half an hour long with no performances allowed by people who patently cannot sing live, thereby disqualifying for life the Black Eyed Peas, Lady Gaga, Elton John, Kesha, Miley Cyrus and Katie Perry.

No acceptance speeches would be allowed, and each winner would have to eat a tripe sandwich.

Lucky I’m not in charge, eh?

Mmmmm, candyfloss.