The thing is this man. If you are going to post a picture of yourself getting vaccinated, kanalla make sure that it’s a lekke pic. You can’t go to the vaccination station with a thick long sleeve top, and then awkwardly stretch and pull the top so that it’s off your shoulder. The whole situation just looks very stressful. Plus, now there’s that bra strap that wasn’t expecting an outing on that day. You know the bra strap I’m talking about, the one that’s not for a special occasion. Now you are looking stressed, the bra strap is looking stressed; you shoulder is looking stressed and that’s the picture you post. You shouldn’t. That’s the kind of picture that encourages the anti-vaxxers. You are supposed to make the vaccination process look fabulous and desirable!
That’s why I made sure that both my vaccination pics were lekke. I would like to think that at least one person out there saw my vaccination pic and thought: “I don’t believe that this covid thing is real, but I’m going for the jab because i also want a photo like that!”
And since I’ve mentioned the anti-vaxxers, let me not ignore the elephant in the ICU ward. My Pfizer jaw dropped 2 days ago when I saw that the anti-vaxxers decided to protest just outside Groote Schuur Hospital. The mind boggles, picture this. A pre-protest meeting was held and someone raised his unvaccinated hand and said, “guys I have an amazing idea, why don’t we protest at Groote Schuur Hospital where all the exhausted front-line workers are; where there are people like you and me fighting to breath. Ja why don’t we have our protest there!” And someone else with matric responded “That’s an Amazing idea Nazeem! Not brutal at all!”
WHAT THE ACTUAL! As they say in the classics Moettie My Bors Warm Maakie. Don’t make my bors warm. Which would be a bad thing to happen right now, as Ventilators are currently in high demand; for those of you who didn’t know.
Let’s move on to less controversial stuff, shall we? Someone sent me an email last week to say that there’s no way in hell she was buying a ticket for my upcoming show LOOT! Her reason: it’s disgusting to poke fun at people who loot. We were all quite perplexed by this. Here is someone who has big problems with a show that nobody has seen. Even I have not experienced this disgusting show yet, but now I’m certainly looking forward to it.
I’m not going to bore you by fiercely defending the yet-to-be-seen show, as I’ve always believed that comedians venture into tricky territory when they start explaining their craft to philistines. Instead, I’m going to tell you that the artwork on the LOOT! poster was created by 12 year old Ben Appolis. His dad Lindsey usually photographs me, but this time we decided to go into a completely different direction. My point is: how kwai is it that this young human being is only 12 and is doing beautiful stuff! I love it when the world gets like this. Remember when you and I were 12, all we heard from the grown ups was: “go play outside, big people is talking!” I would stomp off, traumatized by the knowledge that they were oblivious to the fact that in that sentence, ‘people” is “plural”, they should have said: big people ARE talking! Surely!
I want to encourage you all to be like daddy Lindsey. Don’t only push for the academic A’s. If you can see that your laaitie is artistic, celebrate and encourage those skills too! Ben sent me an invoice and everything. Yes his dad made him take them out to lunch but that’s besides point.
Be a lekke parent. And be a lekke person and buy a ticket for my show LOOT! Details somewhere here on this website.
Jusss is actually a fabulous word. Not often used in polite company, I don’t believe that there’s an absolutely right way to spell it. Today I shall spell it JUSSS, simply because I want us all to be on the same page as to what word I’m placing under the spotlight.
Last week I was in a zoom meeting and of course, Murphy’s Law, the minute I got all professional and settled into the meeting, my 2 dogs started “performing”. Now “performing” in this instance is also an interesting word (When we were kids on the Cape flats and we were acting silly and being the source of much annoyance to the grown-ups around us, an aunty would easily klap you on the back of the head and shout “hey stop performing bladdywill!!!”)
So my dogs were “performing” while I was on zoom. Basically carrying on as though they were possessed by all the demons from Devilsdorp. I gracefully excused myself from the 4-person meeting, got up from my chair, and barked: ARE YOU’S JUSSS!!! The dogs understood immediately and quietly went to chill like lions on the cover of an old Jehovah’s Witness magazine. I calmly returned to the meeting to find everyone pissing themselves. Breeking.
In the aforementioned example with the animals, “are you’s jusss!?” means “are you crazy!”. So that then, is one meaning. In my world, there are three more meanings, bear with me kanalla.
So off you and your 7 friends go to your favourite restaurant. You order your main course. The food arrives, everyone is excitedly asking everyone else what their meal tastes like. Your meal is mind-blowing! This is when you look up and say “Oh MY GOD,THIS FOOD IS JUSSS!” Yes. Jusss also means amazing.
And as the evening progresses, you realize that one of your friends at the table is looking quite fabulous. Not dripping with loud or trendy labels or anything, but everything that he is wearing is just fitting lekke. The perfect outfit on the perfect person. Well you would look at that friend and say FRIEND, TONIGHT YOU ARE LOOKING JUSSS. On point!
And then you all order another round of drinks. Remember you’re a table of 8 ne, everyone is now smaaking a different beverage. You notice that the waiter is not writing anything down. You mos know the kind of waiter I’m talking about, allergic to pen and paper. You suggest to the ambitious waiter that maybe he should get a pen. He casually dismisses you with his left hand accompanied by the “I’ve got this” body language. The drinks arrive and it’s a predictable friggin disaster, genius has screwed up most of the order. You angrily observe the chaos, lean over to your chommie and whisper I AM SOOO JUSSS! This of course is when jusss means furious.
Now that very same sentence means something completely different should you end up making out with one of your friends in the uber, on the way home from the restaurant. That’s when you might whisper, after nibbling on a warm earlobe: I AM SO JUSSS RIGHT NOW. This definitely does not mean that you are angry, it means fifty-shades-of-grey stuff. I’ve noticed over the years that people who grew up speaking suiwer Afrikaans, in this scenario, spell and pronounce the word as follows: JAGS. I only discovered that spelling later in life. And when people spell it like that, the word only has one meaning: horny. This suiwer afrikaans pronunciation of the word has always made me giggle, I don’t quite know why. I think it’s the GGGG sound, it’s just so perfect. Letting you know exactly what’s about to go down. Repeat after me: GGGGG
I wish for you a beautiful week ahead. Ja man, have a jusss week! And don’t allow annoying idiots to get under your skin and make you jusss. And then if you are lucky enough to spend time with someone you love, don’t be shy to get cuddly and lekke jusss, it’s good for your mental health.
I wish I could say I was in absolute shock but I wasn’t. I was in absolute disappointment, yes but shock, no. I have become acutely aware of the fact that it’s very tricky to stay out of the destructive path of Aunty Rona. The only way to not meet and greet this vicious number is to stay home. The second you unbolt that trellidoor, anything is possible.
In my head, if Aunty Rona was a person I imagine that she would look like Alexis from Dynasty. A classic bitch that permi causes kak and just won’t go away.
So I wake up one morning more than 2 weeks ago and I feel a little bit off. Now at my fabulously feisty age, waking up and feeling a little off is not the most unusual thing in the world. I more than likely would have written it off to a tequila hangover, except that I had very rarely been partying during the pandemic, there’s been very little reason to. And also, it’s just weird opening a bottle of tequila if you can’t share it with 15 other maskless friends before breaking into Whitney Houston songs.
My partner Anwar reassured me that it’s probably his flu that he passed on to me. Well Anwar then decided that maybe he should go for one of those quick Covid tests. It came back negative. And a few days later he was fit as a fiddle and flaunting around the kitchen in city bowl gym wear. So of course, I thought must just be having a little flu headache.
No breathing problems. No fever. No loss of smell or taste.
When I suddenly took a 2-hour nap in the middle of day and woke up tired, with a scratchy throat, I took myself for THAT test. At which point Alexis hoisted a Rothmans and held it mid-air and thought to herself: “let me quickly fock up this one’s day.”
I live in gratitude that my symptoms were very mild. Essentially a semi-permanent little headache and not much else, I’m guessing it’s that one Pfizer jab. I now have to postpone the second one but yirre, can that day come already. While pondering on the new date for my second Pfizer jab, I suddenly remembered, that pre-pandemic, when we spoke about Pfizer, we were whispering about a connection for Viagra. A Pfizer jab of a very different kind.
I received overwhelming love and support after I spoke about my Covid status on social media. The surprise for me was twitter. Because while I have a decent amount of followers on twitter, I don’t engage much on that platform, it’s a hectic space. You have to tread very carefully in that land. People are ready to tell you your moer quick-quick. Zero time for Maya Angelou quotes there ☺
But wow, when I posted about my Rona test result, twitterati came to life! Twitter loves a good ol’ fiery vaccine debate! Don’t come here with your pictures of snow and roses, go pose with your puppies on insta! ☺
So I move forward very cautiously, masked up and grateful for every sunrise. But I’ll post that pic on the gram.
Happy Women’s Day to Women all over World. Well to all women, except Aunty Rona. She can now gerus put out her entjie and mince. Ashes for that one. Over it.
On Saturday, I sprinted to the lounge to catch the start of the rugby game.Yes, sprinted because I simply could not miss out on seeing Belinda Davids sing the national anthem. Whilst in other households at that time the prayer may have been “please let the Boys be focused and play a brilliant game”, the prayer in my household at that time was “please may Belinda look smashing and may she hit every ridiculous note flawlessly”. Happy to report that both Belinda and the Boys delivered.
I must say, I was quite surprised by my interest in sport over the last few days. Or maybe I should not be that surprised, how can you not be moved by the drama of Olympic medals, coupled with the victorious Bokke!
And that sort of captures the kinda sports fan I am. I don’t really have a clue as to who’s who, or who broke what world record. I just sometimes know that, occasionally in the world of sport, there are certain things I have to pay attention to.
Growing up, the big sporty thing for many of us was Wimbledon. In fact, we took to the road to play ‘wimbledon-wimbledon”. The tennis court was mapped out with sand in the road. We became McEnroe, Navratilova, Chris Evert Lloyd, Andre Agassi and Boris Becker. We played until we fought. We fought until we cried. The game would come to an abrupt end when whoever owned the tennis bats would stomp off home in tears, bats and all. To return the next morning best of friends.
Prior to Saturday, twitterati kept reminding me to also focus my attention on the Olympic Swimming Pool. There were murmurs that South African medals were going to be flaunted. And sure as hell there they were. By Friday midday we all knew the name Tatjana Schoenmaker. Even I, the one who can’t tell a breaststroke from a box kick, posted a little something about our first gold medal winner this year.
Swimming for me is much like singing. Wait, let me explain, when I sing in the shower I firmly believe that I am Whitney Houston. And when I swim, I firmly believe that my technique resembles that of Ryk Neethling. I will tell you that I have never been offered a recording contract. I will also tell you that when I “dive in”, friends sitting around the pool just frown momentarily and wander off to the braai area. But I can’t be bothered by the perceptions of others, that is not how you move ahead in life!
Fun fact: I sometimes wish I were sporty. Not as in Wayde Van Niekerk sporty, but as in socially sporty. (One of my many shortcomings I guess). You know those socially sporty guys. Great with their partner. Great with their kids. Great at their Job. And then great at soccer, swimming, rugby, volleyball and badminton. Yes, badminton. No limits to the skills of these supernatural beings. I usually stare at those guys and think: ja but can you write a joke ?!?
To this day still, I cringe when the cricket bat suddenly appears at the braai. How do you even pack that in alongside the potato salad! And now the pressure is on me to stay as far away from that damn ball as possible. It’s like being at Square Hill Primary in Retreat all over again. Little gay Marc purposefully running in the opposite direction of the rugby ball. But that’s a story for another therapy session.
I wish you an award-winning week. Give yourself a medal for fabulously navigating your way through life in spite of any perceived “shortcoming”.
I really should not be surprised. Of course it had to come to this. There are now two camps in the family whatsapp group: those who will take the vaccine, and those who won’t.
I have absolutely no idea why I didn’t see this coming. Silly me thought everyone who had matric with exemption would jump for the jab. Verkere Bus Meneer Lottering! (Wrong Bus, Mister Lottering!) Even family members who speak really well have shocked me with a “TOTALLY NOT TAKING IT!”. Thankfully some of these bravehearts are debating the issue with more than just “NO! ONE OF MY FOLLOWERS ON FACEBOOK SAID THAT HE HEARD THAT THE JAB WILL KILL YOU”.
A few days ago I saw clips of a big group of unmasked people with placards walking on Sea Point Promenade chanting MY BODY, MY CHOICE. For me, it was hectic to watch. They looked like normal people with good jobs and houses and stuff. And yet…there they were.
And yoh, people are ready for a debate hey. I’m the worst person when it comes to having to have a debate. I just like to believe in what I believe and I find that life is way too short for me to have to explain to you why I believe what I do. My whole spirit just breaks into a heavy sigh when I realize that I may have to explain my thought process to a total stranger. And so, often in a company, I could actually come across as not being too bright. I’m sometimes even aware of the fact that some people, on first meeting me in a social setting may be thinking:” shoo he’s shockingly dull.” But that’s fine. ‘Cause usually when I speak my mind, I get paid. So ja.
These past 2 days have reminded me of a principle which I have adhered to for most of adult life: sometimes a person must know when to hou your bek – you have to know when to bite your tongue. I’m not going to publicly battle with anti-vaxxers.
My decision has been to go with what my trusted GP tells me to do. And if in a few years down the line, I suddenly grow a penis out of the middle of my back, well…more of me to love.
I raise a level-3 glass to all of us. Best of Luck with whatever you decide.
It’s been a few days of constantly having to decide which whatsapp vids are fake, and which are not.
And once again I was reminded that there will always be that one doos who cannot wait to share sensational news without bothering to verify its’ authenticity beforehand. It’s a case of “let me quickly post this in the whatsapp group before anyone else does, in case it’s true”.
I mean, Yirre Bronwyn you couldn’t use google to establish whether someone really looted a whole shark?!
We saw looting in SA like we have never seen before. And some clips went viral before you could say “get a bigger getaway car”. I’m now referring to that chap who looted a TV that was too big for his car. He’s notorious now. Or Famous. Depending on which way you swing.
I didn’t catch his name, let’s call him Jakes. Because Jakes sounds like a name belonging to someone who’s very hands-on.
I wonder if Jakes is sitting at home right now, watching TV. I wonder how his morning started, on that day. I imagine that he woke up and had to google which malls had a heavy police presence because that’s where he didn’t go. I imagine that it was his wife’s birthday on that day, and that he wanted to surprise her with something special.
Let me take my silly mind to that morning. Jakes quickly kisses his wife Joy and tells her he’ll see her in a bit. Off he goes, drives to the designated mall. All parking bays are taken, dammit. Jakes parks in the road. Puts hazards on. Because he’s law-abiding like that. Finds the right store. Spots the perfect TV. Fortunately no queues at the till on that day. Firmly gripping the huge TV in its box, Jakes rushes through the mall, to the car. (He is silently grateful that there’s no fish oil on the mall floor. That was mos a Shoprite trick).
He gets to the car, Shit. TV won’t fit into the car. Opens boot. Shit again. Boot full from earlier loot. It’s been a good morning. Clears boot. Shoves TV into boot and strings a miracle together.
Gets home with humongous TV on shoulder and shouts “honey I’m home! I have a surprise for you!” Joy responds from the bedroom where she’s packing a suitcase. “I know you have a TV Jakes, everyone knows you have a friggin TV. You’ve been on the news all day, along with my car and my number plate, we need to move. This is a shit birthday”.
If it’s your birthday today, I hope you’re having a better one than Joy.
