Described by the Urban Dictionary as:
When you put a picture from a “while” ago on your social media sites.
Omg Throwback Thursday, I needa find a photo of myself from like hella long ago and post it on facebook.
Throwbackthursday, usually written as `tbt`is an acronym that is commonly used with photos posted on the internet to show an activity that took place some time ago/before.
E.g #Throwbackthursday – Back then in college with my friend Janny… (picture attached).
Gosh, I love how simple these guys are with their definitions :’D The image below is a throwback of course – or else this whole intro would’ve been super confusing. During the month of March on the 28th, me and a few friends got to hang out with one of the coolest bands in South Africa right now, The Plastics, and it was awesome sauce. We did shooters with rockstars, dude!
That one time we got to hang out with The Plastics a bit. Like irl. Like, thee best time at Rise and Shine Festival
I don’t usually go to an event where I’m sure I know A LOT of people, especially people from uni. There are too many ghosts. ‘Ghosts’ are people who knew you before you got an actual fashion sense, got a job and started making good dating decisions, actually ghosts are mainly the bad dating decisions you made in your naive varsity past. Homecoming Picnic is the best/worst place for these kinds of run-ins to happen because it is generally a jump (definition: really awesome soshe) and if there’s one thing all those bad dating decisions have in common, it’s knowing how to party. So regardless of the cons, the one big pro – plus my best friend Phiwee emotionally blackmailing me – sealed my HCP fate and I found myself at the Centurion Rugby club with a cooler bag and even cooler clothes on my back.
The event was well attended, and I might be understating that, with a nice little popular line-up featuring Pretoria’s beloved Kuli Chana, who I think I’ve only seen twice before. The host person, I think it’s called MC and I honestly don’t care, was Nomuzi from Mtv or whatevs and she was awesome because she did quite a bit of mc-ing coupled with quite a bit of ‘soft-twerking’ – a term coined by my other friend Juliet. I’ve been hearing about Homecoming Picnic for a while now but it was my first time going, because why not? I’m almost too old to go and nothing could have said that better than all the post-teen bad b*tches in twerking pants/printed leggings I was drowning in. True to form, I was also kinda drowning in ghost related things. I shall not dwell. Reason was really good, as usual. I mean, the dude really just makes me wanna watch and not walk around looking for alcohol or an ex, which is the best!
I came across the Cognac Conjure for the first time, very ‘ballin out of control’ and very not my thing, but it tastes fine enough. Night time came and it became a bit out of control. Male hormones and steroids took control, possible grinding babies, I got lost, everyone got lost… It was like a mosh pit of epic proportions, and I have those Malatji boys and their peoples to thank for all of that unorthodox fun. I might be bullied into going again next year… 😉
Photo courtesy of Nami I Was There
Obviously, every year I put my body through the same awesome turmoil that is the dusty camping, rocking, falling, drinking, unified, merry mess that is Koppi. This year was no different and a bit different. This year I’m older and wiser… NOT. The Bewilderbeast had me very excited to enter it’s belly and vaguely see a great number of awesome bands, while bumping into friends I haven’t seen in weeks and months and others a year since the last Oppikoppi. Even though my favourite South African bands, like 340ml or the young men of December Streets were not in performing attendance, the fact that Oppikoppi is more of a culture than a simple music fest still had me as excited as a chubby teen rapidly dropping her baby fat unexpectedly. I missioned to Northamrockcity with one of my fav colleagues – I mean, he goes to Oppi, so he’s obvi cool, duh – and found myself happily inhaling that first dust by Wednesday night.
You can probably tell that I have very little to tell, because between the walking from stage to stage and being completely nake, I have no real review-like stuff for you. I saw a Mango Groove though… I saw Mango Groove, you guys. If Special Star doesn’t make you wanna get up and dance and be South African… You’re a douche, put a Madiba in the douchebag jar and go hang in King’s Landing with Joffrey, you heartless lunatic. I saw Toya Delazy – let me explain, I had lost my friends and her stage had the biggest vibe at the time. I was forced to look at her. Gods be good. And there were a number of other famous and non-famous people I saw in between that too. I particularly enjoyed Beatenberg, whom I also stumbled upon while searching for lost friends. I was too tired so I sat on the grass, continued partaking from my sippy cup and listened. Their lead seems like such an awesomely cool pothead and I would do bad things to the guitarist. Also, their music is pretty good, thoroughly enjoyed their set. There was another B-word band I saw, sounds something like Backuk or whatevs, I was too high on life by then but they were awesome! There was a cool poetry session at the Rayban Stage – who knew Afrikaans could sound so romantic. I made a few bad decisions but a couple of good and fun ones too, because that’s what people do at Koppi. People make fun-bad decisions and get lost and found and find themselves and love everyone. That’s Oppikoppi Bewilderbeast!
When I woke up on the 27th of July, I had no real plans. Just the usual sort, you know get up, go buy junk and wine and get back inside my bed and await a sports game that’d be playing later on that day so I can go to my local pub. That is my usual Saturday regime and I’m supes content with it. But on this day, my friends gatecrashed my morning moping to drag me to some auto spares place so we could buy headlights and wipers *yawn*. Little did my lazy self know that it was the lacklustre beginning to an awesome day! After we got the car parts, we headed straight to Cool Runnings in Melville, which is a place I feel very comfortable being in – I possess dreadlocks and dub saved my life, so it’s like entering a realm where everyone thinks I’m gorg and awesome. A few drinks and some Ska later and we decided to head on over to the French Music Festival up the street. Do not ask why we didn’t think of doing this earlier.
Walking through the gates – there were no gates really but those barricade thingies which I always dub the Gates of Awesome when I go out and about – the first thing that greeted me was… Food stalls. Are you kidding?! Juhdlwolouichlueujv. Sweet potato chips, Some weird bread with veggies in it, other bread with stuff on it, spring rolls and I got try Chinese Beer! It’s in a green can and it’s called Tzingtao and it’s as cool as any – probably more cool to carry around than to drink. And honestly, I’m not sure if I even got the chance to try anything French out. I caught a bit of the TUMI performance and a bit of the Muffinz. Yeah, I know I’m supposed to see some music when I’m at a music festival, but for me, ‘festival’ time is ‘walk around and inhale the beauty around me’ time. And oh was there beauty… I spoke to some wonderful Spanish girls while waiting in the Pita line, let’s just say my Spanish is not what it used to be and it wasn’t that great to start with, so. I saw a few boys who could definitely be future Mr Funimal (so many beards and veldskoene). The streets were swarming with culture and vibrant colours and people. Music was coming from all directions, lights hanging over our heads all the way down the closed off street, honestly felt like I was in another country for a bit.
Mostly I got to bond a lot with my best friend over Chinese beer and something that looked like Chinese wine/vodka, I dunno. It was awesome and I’m so amped to do it again next year!
Don’t worry – this is nothing inappropriate. It’s just a clever play on words Converse used to refer to their massive jam at Mary Fitzgerald Square in the greater Jhb. I’m not sure if I’d planned on going all the way to Jozi to jam or I just had the cabins and made it a point I was out of the house. I have a strong feeling it was the fear of missing out – people call it FOMO but I don’t really like using that term because I feel like I’m saying Omo and I’m not sure if I like washing powder brands enough to use them in my everyday vocab (Surf is an exception – it’s unavoidable).
The event boasted a pretty kick-ass line-up but as always, you never get to see everything at gigs like that, especially since there were three stages and a merry-go-round swing gold reef city type thing. And all of that is actually what made it kick-ass. They had Shadowclub, Blk Jks, Jeremy Loops and I’m pretty sure I saw Zebra and Giraffe during that haze of awesomeness but it was a very cold night and there was tequila involved so I could be wrong about that last one.
The good thing about inner city Johannesburg is that the chances of ghosts (exes) appearing out of nowhere are pleasantly low, so you’re just out there, bobbing your head to great music, partaking in some ale and having a great time with pretentious hipster strangers. It’s all good. Apart from good looking indie boys and a a fantastic jol, I was looking forward to seeing my beloved BLK JKS. I love them! So you can imagine my err… shock when I see that the lead is missing and there are two other randos ‘joining them’ on stage. What? I must say my loyalty is pretty serious, so I was obvi a bit numb throughout the the performance, even though their new set and sound are pretty good. So because my friends and I are pretty forward under the influence we decided to walk up to the dude who plays guitar for the Blk Jks, Mpumi. “Hey, we didn’t see Linda up there. Is he sick? Is he on hiatus?” we asked. “The Blk Jks is nobody’s mother,” responded the handsome boy with the never-ending, never-moving afro. And so we got our answer. I must say, I’m heartbroken seeing as I had a Stacy Jaxx and the character played by Malin Akerman type stalkationship with the lead of the Blk Jks.
Anyhoo, the do was awesome. The music was mint and I had a blast. Can’t wait for the next one.
Shoes are boring. Wear sneakers!
August you dirty old thing, you have brought much drama and confusion into my life (all pronounced excitement). Every year this month I go to the super festival that is on a hill in a faraway dusty land with thorn bushes and a city of tents, our source of life, the freedom of the wild, rock music and barrels of alcohol. This year was a bit too full but it was almost completely worth seeing and meeting all the faces I hadn’t seen. And one face in particular. The face of one Mr – we’ll call him gentle giant – I would have opted for super gorgeous Viking god but gentle giant seems less stalker-like.
Now, I have a lot of crushes. Everyone does. They come and go, they are on different types of people for different reasons. But my crush on the gentle giant lasted about four years. He’s my unattainable, my ceiling, and part of me likes it that way. I don’t understand people that always get what they want, they never get that burning longing and I enjoy that stuff, makes me feel alive – no, I’m not a masochist. So as you can guess my music festival experience was made when I encountered the gentle giant walking down that dusty hill in all his super gorgeous Viking godness. My friend obviously pushed me to talk to him. I never spoke to him before really. Because I can’t, my mouth won’t allow me to. Anyway, so I tried to say ‘hi’ but it was downhill from there… it was a sad sad attempt at sparking conversation. And I hope the next time I bump into him I’m a renowned author without a stammer. That’s all I wish for.
I came back from Oppikoppi with the usual dust, looking like I had been trekking in Somalia, complexion confused, liver bowed out and soul shattered. I needed a pick me up so I did the unspeakable. I read a bestselling novel. COTCH. I read Fifty Shades of Grey. To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect, didn’t have much to go on except what I saw on Saturday Night Live, that women secretly read it from their Kindles and masturbate to it on Mother’s Day. What I discovered was worse than that whole disturbing sentence about moms. Maybe the other mistake was buying a grocery bag full of snacks and a bottle of wine to read it, I don’t know.