Archive for December, 2009



11
Dec
09

Top Billing is desensitising my gag reflex

Every Thursday night for some reason Jenni-Fuh, J-Rab and I end up watching this lifestyle TV show on SABC 3 called Top Billing.

 

 

My South African readers all know this show, it’s been on TV for at least the last ten years, but for my international readers from so far afield as Helsinki, Katmandu and Brakpan (where they haven’t invented TV yet), lemme give you the low down.

Top Billing is a platform from which the rich upper classes of South Africa can stand and tell all the poor people in this country (who can’t afford satellite TV and are therefore forced to watch the show) how amazing their rich and famous lives are.

They feature everyone from South African musicians, to actors, to sports stars and visit places like wine estates and five star luxury game lodges. Then they attend weddings (I shit you not) that always look like they’re being hosted in the some kind of fairytale castle out of a Disney cartoon and interview ‘interesting’ art deco people who are making avante garde ‘creations’ out of weird shit like bees wax and processed angora goat hair.

 

 

It’s nauseating, and it’s not because everyone and everything that is featured on the show is literally saturated with money, it’s because everyone on that goddamn show is so fake.

I have a very highly developed bullshit detector (mostly to my own detriment) and I swear, the minute I hear the smarmy theme music for that fucking show the ol’ BS-detector starts going off like an air raid siren in my head.

Celebrities of South Africa and other successful people that end up on Top Billing, I hope you hear me loud and clear when I say this: Nobody thinks you’re cool except for nobodies. Stop being a buncha total douchebags and show us something real.

And then there’s Jeannie D, who I’m sure is a wonderful person in real life, but who makes me actually swear loudly and throw stuff at the TV nearly every time I see her.

 

 

She gushes happiness the way clogged up sewers gush floaters. It offends me. Why does she have to smile ALL THE TIME and talk like she’s on the verge of bursting into a peal of girlish laughter at any and EVERY given moment? Is that in her contract or something?

‘Ok, the Top Billing gig is yours.’

‘Yippee!’

‘But you have to constantly speak and act like you’ve taken 600mg of Lexapro every time we turn the cameras on you.’

‘That shouldn’t be a problem, I just have! Hahahahahahahah!’

And don’t even get me started on the godawful wankfest that is Top Travel. That’s basically an hour of Jeannie D and her co-presenter Janez Vermeiren swanning around the world and palling around playfully with one another while everyone out there in Sofa Land thinks exactly the same thing.

Yep, they’re totally fucking.

I used to dig Janez – he made his name as the DIY dude on Top Billing and he was badass. He could build anything and basically looks like he’s carved out of a slab of marble. That was the peak of his career, ladies loved him, men wanted to be his buddy so he could come around and build that outside braai area they’d always wanted, life for Janez was sweet.

 

 

Then Top Travel hit and every week we were forced to watch him try and match Jeannie D’s bubbly, faux optimism and the result was that I, for one, lost my broner for him completely.

Get out while you still can Janez. Come to the light. Start up ‘Top Cage Fighting’ where you go to dirty bars in the South and kick the living shit out of people.

THAT’S good television right there.

Lastly, before I go, I want it to be known that unlike my usual vitriolic posts where I just bitch and moan about stuff and don’t actually do anything to make it better, this time around I got me a game-plan.

At this stage I can’t say much except watch this space. Over the next few months I plan to start up on OWN lifestyle show with a little help from a buddy of mine I like to call THE MAEN.

It will be super low-budget and will basically make you piss yourself laughing with EVERY EPISODE, because the people of this world take themselves too damn seriously and it’s time we exploited that for the good of mankind and the betterment of humans as a species.

And yes, ladies and gentlemen, them’s fightin’ words 😉

Have a killer weekend, take 5 tabs of acid, find God.

-ST

10
Dec
09

Short Story: Tasting Salt (A Fragment)

I’m waking up to the sound of my cell phone ringing and as I open my crusty, sleep glued eyes and look around to try and figure what the fuck is going on, I realize that I stink of sour booze and am still very, very drunk.

I’m in my bed, well, technically, I’m on my bed and I’m still wearing most of the clothes from my 21st and the bed sheets feel sticky underneath me. My curtains are still open and the lamp by my bedside is still on – Jesus! How did I get here? Also, my skull feels cracked and my mouth tastes musty and stale, like I ate a couple of mouthfuls of dung last night.

The goddamn phone’s still ringing – where the fuck is it? Maybe I should just go back to sleep? My hand flops around on the bedside table, near where the ringing is coming from, but no phone, I just knock the lamp over. I feel so thick and sludgy; I don’t know what the fuck is going on. I roll closer to the sound of the cell phone ringing and flop off the bed and realize that my phone is under the bed and answer it.

‘H’lo?’ I say, my swollen tongue lolling uselessly in my mouth.

‘Baby? Jesus, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you since eight this morning, why don’t you answer?’ It’s Chrissy.

‘I think a truck hit me.’

‘Are you ok? Where are you?’

‘In my bedroom, I’m fine.’ This conversation is already starting to irritate me, I get up shakily and rub my face. Something crusty flakes off. I see glass of water on my desk. I drink some.

‘You weren’t fine last night.’

What? When did I see her last night? I drink more water and try to remember what the hell I’ve been doing, but all that comes to me is that beach I swear I woke up on. That was real, all this other stuff is bullshit.

‘Baby? Are you still there?’

‘Yes, and I was fine last night, just grumpy, I’m sorry you had to see me like that,’ I figure this is a safe bet, I usually get a little out of hand when I drink. Maybe I ran into her last night and got a little rowdy, sometimes I do this.

‘I don’t blame you for being upset, I’ve had some time to think this morning and what I did was wrong, I’m just so confused, Rick and I just happened, it meant nothing…’

Now I’m really racking my brains. What have I been doing? Where have I been? I remember celebrating my 21st and going out afterwards and I think I played a couple of songs live somewhere and there was some kind of fight and a couple of bongs probably, and then a lot of walking, and then… some kind of… argument? Was that before or after? Then waking up naked on a beach, that must have happened yesterday, that’s probably why I feel so crusty, all the sea sand and salt still stuck to me. But that doesn’t make sense, none of this shit makes any sense – who the fuck is Rick?

‘… it’s just that you flew into such a rage when I told you, I’ve never seen you like that, God, you had this look I’ve never seen before and I was so worried that you might do something stupid last night –‘

‘Wait, are you sure you saw me last night? When did you see me?’

‘Last night! Don’t you remember?’

‘Sure, sure, yes…yes…’

‘Baby? I want to see you, I’m worried about you, you really scared me last night…’ But I’m not listening really any more, I’m looking at my hands…

‘…I know it’s been hard, it’s been hard for me too, but we agreed this was for the best…’ Now I’m hearing her voice tiny and far off because I’ve dropped the phone and I’m walking into the bathroom and I’m not feeling very well…

‘…I don’t want to lose you, baby, and I’m so scared that you’re going to do something stupid…’

I can’t hear her anymore, she’s too far away now, I’m in the bathroom, I’m standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom and I’m looking at the person who is supposed to be me and I think I’m going to be sick because I’m covered from head to foot in dried blood and I’m pretty sure it isn’t mine…

09
Dec
09

Fuckbook – The ins and Outs

So there I was, sitting at my desk wondering what the hell I was going to post today when a co-worker in the cubicle adjacent to me receives an email, but not just any email, an invitation to join Fuckbook.

And suddenly, like a blot of lightning thrown from Zeus himself, I became fucking inspired!

 

The way I see it, Fuckbook is the pinnacle of the social media revolution that has been exploding on the internet over the past few years.

I say this because it is my firm belief that once you strip away all the niceties and all the bullshit that society forces us to engage in, you’d probably find that 80 – 90% of what motivates people to do the things they do (especially people in their 20s and 30s) is sex.

And that’s what Fuckbook offers right? A no bullshit platform for people who just want to have sex without the hassle of having to tip toe around the issue over the course of countless romantic dinner-and-a-movie dates only to find out, after all that effort, that the other person is rubbish in bed or actually just wanted to be your friend (ouch).

So I asked a good buddy of mine, Jasey-got-the-aceys, who is a Fuckbook user to give me the lowdown and he was more than happy to answer some questions.

So here it is folks, cut and pasted right outta MSN – my interview with Jacey-got-the-aceys.

Today’s topic: Fuckbook.

 

SlickTiger says:
Dude, i gotta idea for a killer post based on a conversation we had once
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
whats that man?
SlickTiger says:
fuckbook
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
oh sick
SlickTiger says:
but i gotta pick your brains for a bit before i write it, gotta do some research y’know?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
cool man
SlickTiger says:
i can use a secret name for you if you like?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
Jasey-got-the-aceys is cool
SlickTiger says:
radass!
so lay it on me – step one is you sign up right? and it’s free?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
  okay ya you sign up its free, find a hot chick pester her
SlickTiger says:
Um, ok
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
till she says hello charm her (generally more open over itnernet)
SlickTiger says:
did you sign up under your real name?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
ya man
SlickTiger says:
and made a profile like on facebook?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
ya man
SlickTiger says:
with a real pic of you or a fake one?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
cant remember
SlickTiger says:
ok, so then do you start friending people?
how do you find them?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
search the age range you interested in
females and find one with a full body shot
SlickTiger says:
aha! and are a lot of them naked in their profile pics?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
lingerie or covering boobs
with hands
SlickTiger says:
the classic shot! ok, so you search for them, find one you dig and send a friend request?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
ya, then if you get a reply you know she is keen
SlickTiger says:
then once you’re friends you can see each other’s entire profile?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
ya man
SlickTiger says:
ok, so then what?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
start chatting about common things
over email
SlickTiger says:
wait, actually, first tell me how many chicks you have fucked so far through fuckbook
just the one?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
none but 1 through facebook
SlickTiger says:
howcome?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
got over it
forgot about it
SlickTiger says:
were the chicks not so hot?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
they were hot just got over it
you can also request different fetishes
ahh been doing some searching around and found out why i gave up
you have to pay
SlickTiger says:
what? the site or the chicks?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
the site
SlickTiger says:
aha! so it’s free only up to a point?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
ya
SlickTiger says:
ok, so you just dicked around a little, and got bored of it?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
exactly
it can still be a rad post,
SlickTiger says:
ok, gimme some dirt man!
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
is much like the game
except easier
that is counteracted by the amount of psychos out there
so what you have to do is start chatting on a social networking site
then get a mobile number and sms
dont phone this is imperative until you sure they are cool once you have them on the phone you know they will be comfortable around you in person. by this stage you should have got a feel for them, to decide if they a psycho or not
ask them personal questions… the great thing is you have nothing to loose and everything to gain. If you want them to send you an MMS you NEVER send it first
create a meeting place in a crowded place so if they lied to you, you can get out of there
and you will be safe
have the meeting then its like any normal date
but once the deed is done and you not keen on them, delete all known communication with them, block mobile number spam email and send them back into cyber obscurity
If you want to lash this particular internet ho, go ahead and then render her useless into cyber obscurity
how is that?
SlickTiger says:
hm, i think i can use it…
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
sick
SlickTiger says:
how did you nail facebook chick?
Jasey-got-the-aceys says:
by doing that
i can give you pics if i still have them?
SlickTiger says:
um, not a good idea
the internet’s much smaller than you think, was she a hottie?
Jason says:
ya man she was too tall though
the reason i kicked her to the curb is
she is fucking cooked in her head talks like a child constantly cannot have a grown up conversation and just generally needs to put her head back on the right way around

 

Huh. So there you have it. Questions, anyone? (You can check out my man Jacey-got-the-acey’s blogsite here: http://shavinginthegutter.blogspot.com/)

-ST

08
Dec
09

Loving the haters

When I started down this road, about 3 months back, I can honestly say I was a different tiger entirely from the slavering beast that now sits facing my laptop screen.

 

 

Back then I was full of wonder, hope and was known on occasion to fart rainbows. Being a blogger has changed all that and I’m all the better for it.

One of the biggest problems writers face is that they are far too over-critical of their own work, often to their own detriment. In a way this is a good thing because otherwise just about anyone who could wield a sentence would be out there, guns blazin’, firing off a whole load of codswallop (love that word, say it with me, codswallop) and defending it with the time-honoured cop out, ‘Well like this is just my opinion you suck.’

Oh wait… I think I just described the internet…

But anyway, my point here is writers are precious. They’re a quiet and secluded bunch who hang out in dark corners at parties scribbling mostly unintelligible purple prose on cocktail napkins only to leave two hours later, blind drunk and alone.

 

 

And it is for this reason that I would encourage any wannabe writer to start blogging. Blogging is the single best way to a) Find your voice as a writer and b) Interact directly with your audience.

Think about what a difference this simple function of blogging would have made in the lives of millions of struggling writers throughout history. It’s an incredible moment when you fly right out there, post the most crazy-assed shit you can possibly muster, and instead of being greeted by general disapproval and criticism, receive positive comments from complete strangers who understand 100% where you’re coming from.

 

 

Of course, there is the other side of the coin where you post what you firmly believe is an excellent post, worth of some kind of literary award, and some fucking mouth-breather who doesn’t even understand the basic rules of sentence construction and punctuation jumps in there and in his best rhetoric responds with, ‘YOUR A TURD!!!! LMFAO, PWNED!’

This too is a good thing, because if nothing else, it should serve as a reminder that you are far better than these people in every conceivable way. Don’t climb in there and throw shit back at them, you’ll only get your hands dirty.

Three months ago a negative or overly critical comment felt like a death-blow to me. The voice that speaks to me inside my head (that sounds like Humphrey Bogart) would read the comment over and over again to the point of obsession. Then I would go out, get good and drunk and punch the first person who looked at me funny.

 

 

It was a crash course in growing the fuck up and I’m glad I went through it. Now when I write something that sparks off a few dozen comments about what a jerk I am, I really enjoy it.

It means that I’ve shaken people up and that’s never a bad thing. You gotta love the haters because they shout louder than anyone else out there on the interwebs and get you famous twice as fast.

It’s a sad fact of life but notoriety sells because, like they used to teach us back in Journ 101, if it bleeds, it leads.

And to quote one of my favourite movies of all time:

“This is blood for blood and by the gallon. These are the old days, the bad days, the all-or-nothing days. They’re back! There’s no choice left. And I’m ready for war.” – Marv, Sin City.

Words to live by 😉

-ST

07
Dec
09

Gig review: The Killers

South African audiences suck. We have absolutely no idea how to rock out and you can’t really blame us. Overseas there are hundreds of excellent bands playing every weekend and in places like London they are totally spoilt for choice when it comes to concerts and artists.

Not so all the way down in darkest Africa. Down here we get international acts maybe three times a year if we’re lucky, which is bad because what ends up happening is everyone buys tickets to go see whichever band has decided to grace us with their presence not because they are die hard fans of that band, but just because a big international artist has actually come down here to play.

What ends up happening is you get masses of people paying ridiculous amounts of money to go and watch bands that they don’t know very well.

In the case of The Killers concert that happened in Joburg on Friday night, I’m willing to bet that the majority of the people who went to watch them knew four or five of their songs, mainly the ones that play on 5FM and that was about it.

 

 

They also have no clue how to chill out and enjoy the vibe of a big concert. We arrived about 40 mins before The Killers went on stage, which was just enough time to get some drinks and start missioning through the crowds to find a good spot.

Predictably as we got closer to the centre, the crowds became more and more dense until eventually we came to a dead stop in a group of people who started shitting us out in a really bitchy, horrible way for having the audacity to stand amongst them.

People, this is a fucking rock concert, you cannot reserve a place to stand, what the fuck?!

Eventually we managed to squeeze past the douchebags and find a place to stand and moments later the lights dimmed down, a low, long, grumbling note sounded over the massive speaker system and in an explosion of lights, The Killers launched into their first song, ‘Joyride’.

A bit of a weak song to start with some might argue, but it was a nice and gentle way to ease us all into things and I think it worked.

The exact tracklist they played after that is a little blurry in my mind, but I know ‘Bones’ was in there somewhere in the beginning and that they rocked out for the first three tracks and then played two totally obscure tracks after that and the energy in the crowd dropped instantly.

 

 

To the band’s credit, they played every classic Killers’ track they’ve ever written. ‘For Reasons Unknown’, ‘Spaceman’, ‘Somebody Told Me’, ‘Human’, and ‘Mr Brightside’ were all belted out passionately and executed with such precision, you’d swear you were listening to the CD…

But rest assured, this wasn’t Milli Vanilli we were watching, as perfectly as the band played, I picked up a couple of tiny slip-ups here and there – proof that it wasn’t just a backing track we were listening to.

What quickly became apparent watching them live though is that Brandon Flowers (the lead vocalist and frontman of the band) IS The Killers. Take that man out of the band and all you’ve got is a group of dudes who look like ageing session musicians, the kind of people you’d expect to see on stage playing U2 covers at The Rustic Theatre on a Sunday afternoon.

Mark my words, the next step for ol’ Flowers will be a solo career. He’ll drop the rest of the band, strike out on his own and make an album that, surprise, surprise, sounds exactly like The Killers.

You heard it here first 😉

There were a couple of little touches that I really liked. One of them was when they killed all the lights in The Dome and Flowers and the guitarist Dave Keuning stepped under a single spotlight and sang ‘Falling In Love With You’ (the Elvis track).

 

 

I also liked the bit when Flowers sat down at the end of ‘Spaceman’ and played the last chorous on the piano, just him on his lonesome. The man can sing, that’s for damn sure.

The only song I think they butchered completely was ‘Smile Like You Mean It’, which was really sad, because like I said in my previous post, that song means a lot to me. They opted for an acoustic guitar and piano instead of the electric and synthesized kind and played the song half a click slower than they do on the album.

The result is that it sounded more like a funeral dirge than The Killers’ track we’ve all come to know and love.

Other than that, it was a solid concert, and yes, I feel like I got my money’s worth. As for the rest of the crowd, who knows what they thought of it all. A lot of my friends who went to the concert were surprised by how unenergetic the crowd was, but as I mentioned above, this is fairly typical of South African audiences.

There were people standing next to us that didn’t so much as nod their heads for the entire concert. They just stood there and watched in a kind of silent, catatonic daze.

Nice one guys. No wonder international bands avoid us like the plague.

 

 

However, the real question here is has my faith in the band been restored? After watching them play live are they back in my top ten list? Well, the answer to that question would be ‘no’.

More than anything, I feel a sense of closure. I’ve bought all their albums, listened to nearly everything they’ve ever recorded and seen them play live.

I’m happy to say adios to The Killers. In five year’s time I’ll probably dig out some of my personal favourites again and play them on a lazy afternoon, but the danger of listening to any band too much is that their music loses it’s meaning for you and thanks to the masses of radio play this band has gotten, that’s exactly what’s happened to them.

They killed The Killers. Those music execs out there in dreamland, they killed The Killers.

Those bastards.

-ST

06
Dec
09

Sunday Comin Down

There isn’t much to report from today – had lunch with the ‘Rents, left feeling thoroughly drained, had a killer afternoon nap and am now watching King Kong, which I actually haven’t seen before.

I decided to do an experiment and jumped onto Google Images and searched for ‘life changing picture’ because even though this post is nearly over, I wanted to change your life in some way before it ends.

So here it is. The first picture I found after googling ‘life changing picture’.

 

 

Peace out party people. Tune in tomorrow for my post mortem of The Killers concert, good times!

-ST

05
Dec
09

Red December

What I’m aiming for, at the end of this month, is for my blog calendar to have every day painted red.

My what calendar you ask? My blog calendar. You can see it if you look a little to the right, you might have to scroll down a little… yeah… thaaaaat’s what I’m talking about.

Every day I blog, that day goes red. If I don’t blog that day is just white, blank, it’s every writer’s worst demon, the blank page.

So December I’m gonna make red, the whole big ugly bastard, and yes, it means that there will be posts that are irrelevant (much like this one) but I’ll do my level best to try and inject something of value into them.

The thing of value in this one is for any aspiring artists out there that might end up reading this and comes from the book I’m reading right now (yes, I’m still reading it 😉 ) called Stealing Fire From The Gods.

 

 

The author, James Bonnet gives some valuable advice to anyone trying to write (which I think any artist could take to heart); change yourself and you can change your destiny, little acts of courage performed today can have exponential effects on the rest of your life, and the third one, which he illustrates with the following story:

‘In a fairy tale called Aga Baba,’ he writes on page 30, ‘a young her on an important adventure stops to rest at a witches house. The witch, in cahoots with his enemies, tries to delay him by asking him some intriguing but difficult questions like, “What is truth?” “Does the universe ever end?” and so on. The wise young hero looks at her and says: “Shut up and get me something to eat.”’

The wisdom here is simple: Beware of imponderables when action is necessary.

For a long time I planned writing projects, maybe put down a few hundred words here or there, but it wasn’t until the day, nearly 3 months ago, when I first sat down to write this blog, that I actually started making headway.

Don’t fuck around. If you need to write, or draw, or jam, or design, or whatever it is you do that expresses your creativity, do it.

And the universe will reward your ballsy attitude 😉

Think about that, there’ll be a quiz later.

-ST

04
Dec
09

Who Cares About The Killers?

They were one of those bands that took awhile to grow on me, I mean, I’d heard ‘Mr Brightside’ playing on the radio for a couple of months, but didn’t really take to the song at all and as such, it just formed part of the background noise of my life during my chaotic student years while I was drinking my body weight daily and making insidious efforts to avoid doing any actual work.

 

 

My first clear memory of them is from 2004, I was in the gym (of all places) and ‘Somebody Told Me’ started pounding its way over the speakers right into my brain. Before the song was through, I was hooked and a few weeks later got my dirty paws on the album.

Even then I didn’t take it too seriously until one night, a full year later, I was suffering from the worst kind of heartache you can imagine and ‘Smile Like You Mean It’ drifted through the empty corridors of the mansion of a digs we used to live in.

It is, to this day, one of my favourite Killers songs. Something about that song resonates deeply in my bones and I think always will. It’s like the feeling you get when you go back to the house you grew up in, or the place you got your first kiss.

‘And someone will drive her around, down the same streets that I did, on the same streets that I did…’

Of course after that it was only a matter of time before I fell for the other gems Hot Fuss had to offer. I’ve belted out the lyrics of ‘All These Things I’ve Done’ at drunken parties, in drunken bars, in drunken clubs, and by myself, when I’m drunk, more times than I think I could ever count… or remember.

 

 

And yet When Sam’s Town was released in 2006, I was completely meh about the album. A buddy got it for his birthday a week after ‘When You Were Young’ started playing over the radio and we played the album on infinite repeat that weekend at his party and I can’t say it did much for me.

I remember there being some heartfelt tracks that grabbed my attention that night, in retrospect one of them was probably ‘Read My Mind’, but other than that I wasn’t really blown away by the album at all.

A year later though, ‘Exitlude’ became the story of my life. I fell in love hard and fast over two weekends with a woman who would become the love of my life but who, at the time, was only over for a short holiday because she was living in London.

When she went back to London after those ten days we spent together, I kept finding her things around my flat, a misplaced earring here, a fiery, red-golden hair there, her pyjama top mixed up in a pile of my clothes and a CD, Sam’s Town, underneath the passenger seat in my car.

‘We hope you enjoyed your stay, it’s good to have you with us, even if it’s just for a day. We hope you enjoyed your stay, outside the sun is shining, seems like heaven ain’t far away…’

 

 

Needless to say, that album fast became a favourite of mine, but it wasn’t until I heard Sawdust, the B-Sides album that came out later that year that I finally conceded that yes, The Killers were a fucking cool band.

I’ve always said judge a band not by their studio albums or radio singles, judge them rather by their live shows and their B-Sides, and Sawdust was packed full of great B-Sides.

The album was by far the edgiest release they had put out to date and as a result, not many people liked it, but personally, I was really impressed with what I was hearing, especially one of the bonus tracks, the alternate version of ‘Sam’s Town’ which is played almost exclusively on the piano.

‘I’ve got this energy beneath my feet,’ Flowers sang, ‘Like something underground’s gonna come up and carry me. I’ve got this sentimental heart that beats, but I don’t really mind that it’s starting to get to me…’

I don’t really mind that it’s starting to get to me. I sang that line a million times that year. I don’t really mind that it’s starting to get to me, because the irony implicit in that line spoke to me, it meant something to me and made me feel a certain way every time I heard it and like all art, the really good stuff, I guess on some level it made me feel less alone.

And then came Day and Age, the band’s fourth album and almost overnight, all the years of respect I’d slowly amassed for The Killers curled up into a little ball in the corner and died.

 

 

What the fuck was that? Seriously, what the fuck was that?! Because to me it sounded like it was rushed, it sounded like the band had gotten lazy and / or had sold out completely.

If you think ‘Human’ is a good track, I have some really bad news for you. You are retarded. ‘Are we human or are we dancer?’ Isn’t there an ‘S’ missing from the end of that last word? And besides that fact, isn’t that song just about the most irritating dance / pop / rock track ever to be recorded?

There is no substance to Day and Age whatsoever and to my knowledge, only two singles were released off the album, and like a fat man at a house party who farts loudly during those precious few moments between the previous song and the next one, the band seemed to slink quietly out of the room to go and reflect on what they’d done.

Day and Age made me realise that Brandon Flowers has a whiney voice. It made me realise that there are tracks off their previous albums that are really bad. I’d never listened to any of their stuff from the perspective of a hater, but Day and Age changed that, and once I started down that road I found there are a buttload of tracks off their albums that are puke-worthy.

The best song on Day and Age was the bonus track ‘A Crippling Blow’ which, ironically, I don’t think was included on the original CD and was only available if you downloaded the album off iTunes.

And so now here we sit, a year since that abortion of an album was released and I’m not sure anyone cares about this band anymore.

You can tell when a band has passed the apex of their fame when they come to South Africa on tour. It’s almost sad when I find out about bands coming to play here because the first thing I think is, ‘Ahhh jeez, do they suck that much now? Damn, I thought they were doing really well…’

And yeah, I bought tickets to go and see The Killers tonight, but am I excited about the concert? Not really. And so I find myself asking the question, Who cares about The Killers? Are they still the band they were a few years ago in everyone’s eyes?

Call me a cynical fucker, but I don’t think so. I guess tonight will be the test of that, but I really hope for the band’s sake and mine, they only play three tracks off Day and Age at the very most and for the rest of the concert we can pretend that it’s still 2006 and that this is a band we actually all still give a shit about.

-ST

03
Dec
09

Short Story: Summer Love

Summer Love

Once in a while, her face would slide off, and for the briefest, most terrifying of moments, I would be able to see her real head.

She did it right at the end of it all, on the last morning that we were together. Returning home from where ever it was that she had spent the night, I met her just outside the front door and told her that she had broken my heart.

I forget how exactly the conversation progressed, but eventually I found it necessary to threaten her, so I informed her of the fact that unlike the other spineless men she surrounded herself with, I wouldn’t be strung around like her personal yo-yo.

‘The difference between them and me,’ I said with wavering conviction, ‘is that I have balls.’

At that exact moment, her face slid off, and she castrated me with her smile.

 

02
Dec
09

Getting Punched in the Face

I’ve never been knocked out in one blow, but I’ve been punched in the face more times than most.

It’s just like they say in Fight Club – you’d be surprised the lengths people go to to avoid a fight. I’m no different, well, until I’m shit-faced.

 

 

Lately I’ve been fine. Ever since J-Rab flew back from the States and moved in with me, I’ve been well behaved because she has this way of making me calm and those things that used to swirl and turn inside me, they’re locked up and I know as long as we’re together the chains will hold.

Last fight I got into was because I head-butted some guy, I can’t remember why. The fight before that I was heart broken and ended up in hospital,  the fight before that was over before it had even really started and the one before that I was just a kid and didn’t get in any blows to the face, though I received a couple.

 

 

Getting punched in the face is a whole other trip. People who’ve never experienced it, mostly girls (which is exactly how it should be – under no circumstances should a man ever raise a fist to a woman) often ask me what it feels like.

Well, when you get socked nice and hard, your brain actually knocks against the sides of your skull, and I swear you can feel it. It’s like for a second or two you lose signal completely, you blink hard, a bolt of pain explodes in your head and if you’ve been socked in the nose, your eyes tear up almost immediately and blood flows out of your nose like a leaky faucet.

It can be really disconcerting if you aren’t expecting it.

I don’t miss fighting, I was never very good at it and it solves absolutely nothing, although I’ll be honest, when you wake up the next day, your face all beat up and your fists grazed and aching, it feels fucking cool.

The time I woke up in hospital was the worst. I got fucked up so bad I was knocked unconscious and peeled off the pavement by some people who found me just as my assailants were kicking my inert body.

 

 

Kicking my inert body. How bad is that? They cracked one of my ribs, split my upper lip and left my face so swollen and bruised that the people who found me, who turned out to be good friends of mine, didn’t recognise me until they fished my student card out of my wallet.

Never the less, when I staggered home the next day, in so much pain it hurt to breathe, I felt like some kind of warrior returning from battle. Bruised, fucked up, but still alive and I swear to God, the cold beer I got out the fridge back in my digs was the best damn beer I’ve ever tasted, even though it stung my freshly stitched lip to drink it.

You’ve got to go to those places sometimes, those dark and hopeless depths, because you always come back with something, usually it’s a piece of yourself you never knew existed, a crucial part of the puzzle that is you.

And so I urge all the guys reading this post today to go out there this weekend and get punched in the face, nice and hard.

You can thank me later 😉

-ST