Archive for the 'Being Slick' Category



09
Jul
12

I Feel Bad For Girls

huge-storm-covering-ship-backgroundYesterday was like living inside a cloud – misty, rainy, cold and windy, the perfect day to not get out of bed.

I was working on a pitch presentation when my ol’ buddy Graum called to see if I was keen for a few beers at Percy’s at 4 with our buddy Pukey.

I told him it wasn’t likely. I was elbows-deep in this thing and the going was slow, but I’d see how I was doing at 4 and let him know. Come 4 I wasn’t much further in and the world outside looked like a cold, wet and inhospitable place, so I did what any man in my situation would do.

I put my coat on, trudged through the dogshit weather to Percy’s and sat down for a pint with my friends.

Barbarian joined us after an hour or so and it felt like old times.

By way of explanation, Graum, Pukey and Barbarian form part of the posse I used to get fucked up with during our first year at varsity. Puke-ass bailed out after that, but drifted in and out of all of our lives continuously over the course of the next nine years.

Barbarian was in it for another year after that when he hit the skids pretty hard and, for the sake of his waning sanity, had to get the fuck out of dodge.

Graum and I weathered out the storm for another two years as digsmates in varsity and then lived in Joburg for another couple of years as flatmates.

We shot the breeze yesterday while the Wimbledon final played out in the background and one pint became four. It’s two years since I saw Pukey and nearly two and a half since I’ve seen Graum, but like any good friends will tell you, it hardly feels like we missed a beat.

In a city that I’ve struggled since I arrived in to make any real, meaningful friendships, having three of the guys who fought in the trenches with me all those years ago and who have proven time and time again that they have my back went a long way in restoring my faith in this world.

And yes, I know what you’re thinking “fought in the trenches” is a little dramatic. It’s a reaction I’ve had more than once when I try to tell people what it was like back in those days and I don’t blame them because they weren’t there.

They weren’t there when the going got tough, when we saw each other fuck up, fuck out and get fucked up.

They weren’t there in the good times, when we rolled through the streets of that fucked up little town like we owned them because we did. When he laughed till it hurt. When life filled us to bursting with wonder and promise and hope.

They didn’t know the kids we were, the things we went through.

I’m not that kid anymore. The one who chased his next high so far down the rabbit hole, that make-believe world meant more to him than the “real” one ever will.

The kid who walked a tightrope between this world and the next, somehow surviving the falls he took only to climb back up and do it all again.

I’m not that kid anymore. He’s dead, gone and forgotten by all but a handful of equally fucked up souls who were there, in the trenches, fighting for God knows what, but fighting, always fighting.

I feel bad for girls because generally they don’t make friends like guys do. They have different groups of friends that move through their lives and seem to suit them at different times in different situations, but it’s rare that they connect in the effortless way men do.

There are exceptions to every rule, but sitting at that table yesterday talking about everything and nothing with my old friends I got this feeling like it will always be this way.

Empires will rise and fall, but as long as we’re still rooted to the firmament and maybe even if we aren’t, our paths will continue to cross and when they do it will be like it was today, like we never missed a beat.

There is only one thing you can ever ask of a friend; that they hold on to the pieces of you that you lose or forget over the course of your life and keep those pieces safe to remind you of them when you need it most and even sometimes when you don’t.

Don’t waste time or emotion on “friends” that can’t do that for you or you’ll spend your life surrounded by mere acquaintances who only make an effort when it suits them and who, when the chips are down, are nowhere to be seen.

-ST

25
Jun
12

SlickTiger discovers What They Fed Smelly Cat – Nearly Dies

vlcsnap-45524I tweeted on Saturday that after 15 years I think I have finally figured out what they were feeding “Smelly Cat”.

Yeah, I know. Is that the best I can do? A post about cat shit? Well, I didn’t leave my flat all weekend so it’s pretty much the most exciting thing that happened to me.

See, J-Rab works as a vet nurse so she often brings cats home that she can’t bear to leave in cages all weekend because they are sick, wounded, or in the case of our newest border, pregnant.

It’s a pretty neat arrangement. We get to pretend we have a cat until he or she is better and we’ve become nice and emotionally attached and then the cats get adopted by other people and we spiral into a week-long catless depression.

 

 

Substitute the cat for a love-interest and it’s like half of a cheesy rom-com. At first I can’t stand the cat; it’s irritating, it does things that infuriate me and it generally turns my neatly ordered life upside-down.

Then one night, I come home from work feeling down and fed up with life and the cat gingerly climbs up into my lap, looks up at me with its deep, all-knowing green eyes and says, “It’s ok man. I’m here.”

Then it’s all fun and games. Me and the cat pal-ing around the flat, watching TV together, sharing a glass of milk, stalking each other around corners, playing with the string-on-a-stick toy cats just can’t seem to get enough of, passing out together on the couch after too much whisky, good times I tell ya.

 

 

Then the cat gets better and we make the tough choice of giving him or her to a better home, one where he isn’t confined to spending his entire life cooped up in a two-bedroom flat, watching the world go by from a second-story window.

We hand him over to the new owners, smiling and making jokes about how much quieter it’s going to be without that little fleabag terrorising our flat at 3 in the morning because he’s spent all day sleeping curled up on his favourite couch in the sun.

We wave goodbye, knowing we’ve done the right thing. Back at home we find the string-on-a-stick toy half under the bed. Two nights later I come home from work and call out to the cat as I walk in the door, force of habit, but obviously nothing calls back.

 

 

Pretty sure that’s not going to happen with our newest feline buddy though because to put it bluntly, her shits smell so godawful, hell itself holds it’s breath every time she daintily lifts her tail and squeezes out a brown tube of concentrated evil.

On Saturday J-Rab and I were dividing and conquering – she was at the grocery store and I was handling the washing when it happened.

The litter box is in the spare room, which is coincidentally also where we keep the clothes horse. I’m not wild about the idea of being in the same room as anything taking a shit so I was naturally a little weary when I saw her climb into the litter box and start scratching around.

Next thing I know she assumes the position and proceeds to drop not one, but four largish turds in rapid succession.

 

 

I watched in abject horror as the last one squirmed out, my feet glued to the spot by the macabre spectacle of it all which, in retrospect, was definitely the wrong course of action.

What I should have done was gotten the fuck outta there as fast as humanly possible. I should have bolted out the flat, through the front gate and down the street, my slippers slapping furiously against the pavement and my dressing gown flapping in the wind because MY GOD, THE SMELL!

For the next FORTY MINUTES it was like I was living INSIDE a gigantic cat shit. Nowhere in the flat was safe. Eventually I was forced to hold my breath, grab the cat litter, throw the sliding door open, stash the litter box on the far corner of our balcony, throw the sliding door closed, exhale, and turn the ceiling fan on full.

Thanks to that near-death experience I can now say without a moment’s hesitation that the answer to Phoebe from Friends’ song “Smelly Cat, Smelly Cat, what are they feeding you?” is PILCHARDS!

 

 

DO NOT feed your cat pilchards if it shits inside. Seriously, I think a lung might have collapsed as a direct result of inhaling the toxic fumes from that cat’s putrid shit.

In conclusion I can safely say that this could very well be the first foster-cat we’ve taken in that I won’t be sorry to see go.

Not so sure about its kittens though…

Christ, what a softie Winking smile

-ST

31
May
12

Perspective Is Everything

perfectly-timed-photos-24Life comes outta nowhere. Just when things are going well, just when your ducks are getting into neat rows and you’re taking those suckers down and you’re thinking “I’ve got this…”

That’s when it happens. Something changes the game, something you could never anticipate comes along and in an instant everything is suddenly different.

I am that curveball today. A walking, talking, “Hi how are you?” smiling curveball. It’s one thing to be at the receiving end, you’re oblivious until it happens and then it’s over. But when the glove is on the other fist? Fahk… that shit is too intense.

Perspective is everything in moments like these. You dig deep to find something you’ve done before that scared the fuck out of you and you realise what a walk in the park this is going to be in comparison. You can do this, everything is going to be fine…

 

 

God help you if you dig deep and come up with nothing. Then all that’s left to do is man up, slap yourself a few times hard in the face and get it over and done with.

In this particular instance I’m lucky, I’ve got a wealth of terrifying shit I’ve done before to draw from so I’ll be ok.

And if that fails, I’ve always got Macbeth to fall back on and that great and terrible exchange between Macbeth and his Lady when they’re debating the murder of King Duncan that I read once and never forgot:

Macbeth: And if we should fail?

Lady Macbeth: We fail? But screw your courage to the sticking place, and we’ll not fail.

And that’s all there is to it.

Screw your courage to the sticking place.

And drive that dagger through the King’s heart…

-ST

28
May
12

Kevin Spacey Is A Douche

74177850EA006_Gotham_MagaziWhich is a pity. Because I really used to like Kevin Spacey – he seemed like a really nice, genuine guy. A stand-up dude who would recognise amazing talent the second he saw it.

That’s what motivated me to enter the Jameson First Shot competition at the end of last year. Ol’ Kev was running the competition and it sounded like the break I’ve been waiting for.

It was pretty straightforward; write a seven page script for a short film, send it through and if Kev liked it, he’d let you direct it while he acted in and produced it.

I went all out. I wrote a script that melted fucking FACES, man! EVERYONE who read it was like, “Holy shit dude. You just mind-fucked me so hard my brain is dribbling out my fflleelruirsrhushr!”

But did I hear back from my buddy Kev? No. I did not. So fair enough, I let it slide. I’m sure there are way better writers and way better scripts that were entered, no hard feelings.

Until I saw this. The winning short from SA.

 

 

A dentist. Who helps pirates. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiight…

Then I saw this interview on my favourite South African show of all time and instantly understood why the flippin “grenaad-mond” who wrote and directed that went for the dentist angle.

 

 

Eloquent chap, ain’t he?

What gets me is that part of the brief was to submit something that hints at a bigger story so that if the short does well at the film festivals it plays at, it could get funding to be made into a feature film.

Would you watch a film about a pirate dentist? What’s the bigger story here? Does the dentist end up getting caught up in a swashbuckling pirate adventure after Jack Sparrow swoops in for an emergency root canal treatment?

Level with me here guys, because I’m too close to this to be an impartial judge.

Would you have chosen that script to win?

-ST

21
May
12

The Tiger Gets Diablo III. Bangs. Head. Against. Wall.

Diablo_III_coverTwelve fucking years man, twelve fucking years! That is a long-ass time to wait for a game sequel to come out – you’d expect the final product to run like clockwork, right?

WRONG MUTHUFUKKAH! On the weekend I got my dirty paws on the “Starter Edition” of D3 just to see if my Macbook can handle it before I fork out R630 rand on this game.

Cause that’s a lotta flippin’ DOUGH y’know? Almost half a tank of petrol right there!

After some issues with the guest pass, I download the game (it’s nearly 8 gigs so prepare yourself for some hardcore bandwidth face-raping) and fired it up, all excited and ready to slay EVEEERRRRRYYYYYYTTTHHHIIIINNNNGGGGGG!

I got a solid 5 – 10mins of playing time, enough to choose a character, storm the gates of New Tristram, decimate about twelve undead rotters and level up to LEVEL 2!

 

 

Satisfied that it was up and running I then made the rookie mistake of logging out and carrying on with life, thinking I could just log on again in the evening and get a good couple of hours in before I hit the hay.

Boy was I wrong. Ever heard of Error 3003? How about Error 37? Google either one of those and you’ll find about a bazillion complaints about how difficult it is to actually play Diablo III.

From what I can tell, the game plays a lot better if your machine is a PC, meets the minimum requirements comfortably and is connected to a decent WiFi / fixed line.

If, like me, you are running the game on a Macbook with the bare minimum specs and a 3G line, you might as well just give up now.

 

 

I didn’t even get far enough to see how the game actually plays out when you’re getting swarmed by the minions of hell, but from what the forums say it’s buggy and generally doesn’t play well on a Mac so I don’t really have high hopes.

Of course, it didn’t help that the European server was down yesterday evening, that could have been what was causing all the errors but still, what the fuck Blizzard?!

Making us log onto the Battle.net server just to play the game is total bullshit. I fully understand that it’s the best way to guard against piracy and hacking, but it’s also the best way to alienate, frustrate and generally fuck with everyone who ever loved and played a Diablo game.

 

 

You should never have to log onto anything to play a game solo. Blizzard, you need to sort that shit out for two very simple reasons:

1. So that we can all actually PLAY THE GAME.
b. OVERNIGHT the volume of traffic on the battle.net servers will drop substantially, thus freeing them up for the guys who DO want to play multiplayer.

Needless to say, I’ll attempt to log on again tonight, and the night after that and the night after that because the 5 – 10 mins I got to play were pretty rad, even if I had to scale the graphics down so far it ended up looking like Diablo 1.

In other news, if anyone wants to hook the Tiger up with a gaming laptop, you will be HANDSOMELY rewarded… (with meatballs).

-ST

18
May
12

The Tiger Listens To 5FM, Gets Scarred For Life

blow-torch_01For about three years, maybe more, I flat out refused to listen to commercial radio in South Africa and my rationale was pretty simple.

I don’t listen to the songs I like five times a day, so hearing music that infuriates me on infinite repeat was about as fun as shaving my balls with a blowtorch.

Recently though, maybe because I’m getting old or because my fighting spirit has been broken, I’ve been listening to 5FM in the mornings because sometimes I get a chuckle out of it, with the exception of this morning when a woman phoned in and scarred me FOR LIFE.

It started out innocently enough – a woman who sounds like she’s in her 40s calls the station to tell Gareth this ambling story about how she wished she’d gotten through for some competition or other about things you’ve fixed (or something like that, I’ll be honest, at this point I wasn’t paying much attention, the conversation was pretty boring).

 

 

Gareth asked her if she enters a lot of competitions because she sounded like one of those creepy serial competition-entering types and she said no, her job doesn’t really allow for that.

“Why?” asked Gareth, “Do you work in a sweatshop or something?”

“No,” she replied, “I work in the morgue.”

Just wait, it gets better / worse.

“Oh wow, that’s pretty hectic,” Gareth said, “what do you do there?”

And I shit you not, her reply (which is still echoing in my head) made me feel intensely uncomfortable.

“I put humpty dumpty back together again,” she said, as the whole of South Africa whispered “what the… fuck…?” in morning traffic.

 

 

No one in the studio seemed particularly distressed by this news at that point and started firing all these questions at the woman during the course of which another two nuggets of disturbing shit dropped out (wonderful mental picture right there):

1. She works exclusively on CHILDREN
2. She will sometimes work on as many as 9 A WEEK!

They asked her if she gets to see a psychologist as part of the job, to which she replied “No, I don’t.”

Now, I don’t want you guys to get the wrong idea here, what she does is a necessary service, and one that probably makes it easier for grieving parents and families to say goodbye, but still, it gave me the willies man!

“I put Humpty Dumpty back together again…”

 

 

And just like that, the nursery-rhyme analogy makes perfect sense.

Because it’s children…

If anyone needs me, I’ll be staring unresponsively off into space, probably until Monday…

Have a… killer weekend? Disappointed smile

-ST

10
May
12

Why The Release Of Diablo III Terrifies Me

diablo3On the 15th May, the gaming world is going to lose it’s damn mind when Diablo III officially hits shelves and can you blame them?

When the original Diablo was released in 1996, it was an instant classic. The game was as dark as they come and insanely addictive.

But it was really Diablo II (released in 2000) that got its hooks into me personally. Blizzard took the concept from the previous game, expanded it tenfold and created a gaming masterpiece.

To say I got obsessed with that game is a gross understatement – I atebreathedlivedsleepedshat Diablo II for a long, long time. How long you ask? Try A YEAR AND A HALF PLAYING THE SAME CHARACTER!

Yeah. I played one character (the Necromancer) for a full year and a half and finished the game on normal, nightmare and hell difficulty levels and then got the expansion pack and did the same.

 

 

I was totally obsessed. With Diablo II they added this genius feature where if you finished the game on normal, you got knighted as “Sir”, finishing on nightmare earned you the title “Lord”, finishing on hell (which, let me assure you, was exactly what the name implies) earned you the title “Baron” and finishing the expansion pack on hell earned you the title “Patriarch”.

So yeah. If that doesn’t make my point about how obsessed with this game I was, I don’t think anything will.

Except maybe mentioning that I got my character all the way up to Level 76. See how I used a capital “L” there? Level 76, bitches! (He said, knowing full well he was setting himself up perfectly for some douche to gun him down with their Level 89 Barbarian in the comments section…)

 

 

It’s been 12 long years since those days. A LOT has changed. I’ve graduated varstiy, found gainful and meaningful employment, moved into a flat with the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever known and things are going well for me y’know?

I don’t NEED Diablo III in my life, I realise that. I can totally turn a blind eye to all the hype surrounding it and get by doing my day to day. I’m not an impressionable 17 year old anymore, I’ve matured a lot since then.

I think I’m in a much stronger place now than I was back then and if I had to say install it and just play a few hours on the weekends, I could definitely handle that.

Just a few hours on a Saturday morning when my girlfriend is at work and maybe a few more later that same day if we didn’t have any other plans y’know? And obviously a few on Sunday morning, cause who does anything on a Sunday?

 

 

And, depending on my workflow, an hour here and there during the week, in the evenings before I hit the hay, wouldn’t be such a bad thing would it? I could handle that, couldn’t I?

Sure I could! Hell, on slow days I could probably even handle an hour at work during my lunch break, I mean no one takes lunch breaks anymore right? Exactly! Time to take the power back, stick it to the man!

If I blogged less I could also get an hour or two extra, BOOM! I mean this site is cool and all, but I definitely think people would still dig it if I posted, say, once or twice a month, am I right?

If we got a maid to handle house stuffs, that would also free up a LOT of my time. J-Rab will be stoked if I do that because it means less house work for her as well and more time to read quietly in a corner somewhere while I SLAYTHEFUCKOUTOFEVERYTHINGISEE AAAARAGARARAGRAGAAGRAGAR!

 

 

Now all I need is a machine that can actually run it, but I’ve been thinking about getting myself a decent rig for awhile, to improve my productivity and shit y’know? I could just make a small withdrawal from the unit trusts I invested in so I’ll one day be able to afford a deposit on a house, no biggie.

And THAT ladies and gentlemen, is why the release of Diablo III terrifies me.

Watch this trailer if you have any doubts about how awesome this game is going to be and how badly it’s going to instantly addict all who play it.

 

 

Kiss your life goodbye, you won’t need it after you start playing.

See ya’ll in New Tristram Winking smile

-ST

17
Apr
12

The Fine Art Of Radass Nicknames

Captain and SlickI mentioned in yesterday’s post that I’m staying at my sister’s place in Holland right now which, on any given day, is a total maelstrom of chaos, energy and good times.

My sister has four kids, a son who’ll be 15 this year, a daughter who’s 13 and a twin boy and girl who are 8. They’re good kids, all of them, but the older two and I have spent the most time together.

The oldest son was understandably a bit bummed yesterday to read that the best nickname I could come up with for him was “Nephew No.1”, so we put our heads together to come up with something better.

Problem is, you can’t force a nickname y’know? It’s something that evolves naturally over time, you can’t just hit some random “Pimp name generator” (although it is fun) and take whatever comes up.

We wracked our brains. We consulted the Marvel universe, Dragon Ball Z character lists (we shared a love of that show for a good few years), we looked up famous people with his name, we looked up lists of big cats (and found some pretty weird shit, see below) and did everything short of performing a séance to find a nickname.

 

 

But nothing stuck. I went to bed last night with my head buzzing with ridiculous names, it reminded me of the 3 weeks I spent back in varsity trying to come up with a name for my band – SlickTiger And The Shitkickers. The band consisted of one member (me) until I reformed as The Hangovers with my main man Mr D and played two of the most epic gigs of my life, one of which involved smashing a guitar onstage (for realz).

Something from that name must have stuck because when I woke up this morning, this nickname came to me immediately in a “Hulk SMASH!” moment of total clarity and unwavering conviction.

CAPTAIN ASSKICKER.

 

Sure, it’s stolen shamelessly from The Dangerous Lives Of Altar Boys, a movie that means nothing to either of us, but who gives a rat’s ass?

Captain Asskicker is a nickname that ticks the two most important boxes when it comes to nicknames – 1. It’s instantly memorable and 2. It’s badass.

Also, it does have some significance because I’ve watched The Captain wrack up more kills in a five minute game of Black Ops than I think I’ve managed in the last three days so there can be no doubt that the kid knows how to kick some ass.

So it’s settled. RISE CAPTAIN ASSKICKER!

And welcome to the site Knipogende emoticon

-ST

16
Apr
12

The Tiger Hits Up Holland, Relaxes To The MAX

tulipssThat’s right bitches! Your Tiger pal is in Holland, relaxing to the maximum at his sister’s place in Bergen, 40 mins outside Amsterdam where it’s a balmy 6 degrees at present.

I know what you’re all thinking right now and I’m just gonna stop you dead in your tracks and say no. I’m not planning on visiting any coffee shops during my stay.

This isn’t my first time in Holland, I’ve done this twice before and both times I did the touristy let’s-see-how-many-different-strains-of-marijuana-we-can-smoke thing and holy balls, it did not end well.

I’m older now, more mature and to be perfectly frank, not keen to spend the better part of a day hiding under the table in a random coffee shop because the parries has eroded my self-confidence to the point where even the simple act of standing up and leaving the room fills me with mortal terror.

 

 

So I’m taking it super easy breezy. As you read this I want you to picture me in my PJs with a hot cuppa java, sitting in my nephew’s room literally surrounded by screens (5 to be exact) and about to engage in a serious Black Ops marathon.

I need to brush up on that shit yo. My nephews (who are 8 and 14) and I have been playing on the Playstation Network, which has been pretty humiliating to say the least.

My average game goes as follows:

Slick’s Interior Monologue (SIM): BOOM! Game on, bitches! Ok… KILL THESE GUYS! Oh wait, they’re on my team… They look like they know shit, I’m going to follow th-

DEAD

SIM: Woah, what the fuck?! Who did that?! Oh wait, back in the game, bit-

DEAD

SIM: Come the fuck on! Ok, enough fucking around, next asshole I see gets a lead salad in his FACE! I’m just gonna run up these stairs and do a little camping… this shit’s foolproof… come to papa… any minute now… THERE! THAT GUY! DIE MOTHE-

DEAD

SIM: HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?! I WAS SHOOTING RIGHT AT HIM! I SWEAR TO GOD THESE GUYS ARE-

DEAD

SIM: Ok, this is getting a little-

DEAD

Slick to Nephew 1: Who are these people, man?! They’re handing our ASSES to us!

Nephew 1: I know, I’ve only got 5 kills so far.

Slick: What?! How is that humanly poss-

Nephew 1: Six kills. Haha! Caught a guy camping, what a jerk.

Slick: Yeah… I hate it when they do tha-

DEAD

Slick: OH COME ON! I WASN’T EVEN WATCHING THAT TIME! I’m done man. I’m out. These guys are pros. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re actually seen action in real life.

Nephew 1: I doubt it. A few are playing with headphones and I’m pretty sure the person who just killed you is either a girl or a kid who’s voice hasn’t broken yet.

Slick: FML.

 

 

So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to immerse myself in a whole lot of (hopefully) killing for the rest of today, so yeah.

Have fun at work Knipogende emoticon

-ST

04
Apr
12

Brilliant App For Music Lovers

mzl.skszqkpl.175x175-75If there’s anything that having an iPad and frequenting the app store almost daily has taught me, it’s the value of the “Staff Favourites” section.

It’s there that I discovered this radass music app called “Band Of The Day” that is free to download and is literally changing my life every time I use it.

The app is brilliant in its simplicity – it’s like an advent calendar full of cool bands with a new one uploaded every day to sink your teeth into and trust me, these are not your run-of-the-mill bands everyone knows already. In the entire month of March there was one band I’d heard of.

Selecting a band brings up a menu of options where you can access reviews of their latest album, bios of the band, Q&As (sometimes), a list of all their albums and videos and a player that streams some of their tracks.

 

 

With some bands the player is limited to three or four tracks, but in some cases there are eight or more tracks to listen to which, considering it doesn’t cost a cent, is pretty damn sweet.

The first time I fired the app up I lost myself for a good hour or so, trawling March’s bands and finding some very cool shit.

The “Buzz” option in the menu is also really sick – it pulls all the recent Tweets mentioning the band you’re listening to so you can see how may mentions they’ve been getting and what people are saying.

 

 

You can of course tweet and post to Facebook straight from the app as well to share new bands with your networks.

The only issue I’ve had using the app has to do with my ropey 3G connection which results in songs stopping while they buffer, but otherwise I literally cannot find fault with this killer app.

-ST