saturday night fever…

just how difficult does it have to be to find a place to dance on a saturday night in johannesburg? based on my experience this past weekend, very.

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seeing that we’d taken the trek out to montecasino so i could be guest dj on jacaranda fm, i decided that we needed to make a night of it. in l.a. i would be out at some party maybe once a week, or at least a few nights out of the month. i’d spend an age dressing up outrageously, pack my spinning toys and go and play with a lot of very creative, crazy other burners. here in johannesburg, i seem to be living someone else’s life. a very staid, boring someone else! i never seem to go dancing anymore. i don’t spin as much any more (more lately, but still not enough).


anyway, once done with the jacaranda interview, we head over to kai thai for supper. ok, but not great, food. i break out the red bull i have in my bag. ready, set, go. we head over to wakamata, a club recommended by a few people. unfortunately, they’ve got some hip-hop event happening. i have finally headed out of my house to find some dance house, and they’re playing hip hop! i feel like i’m deflating fast. we head upstairs to a restaurant whose name eludes me know. they’ve got a live band playing “o lare, ohoh…”. their tiny dance floor is pretty much packed. we contemplate the floor for a minute, but decide we’re forcing the issue.


after much uhm-ing and ah-ing, we decide to head over to rosebank and try out moloko. i’ve heard about the place from a number of people. on joburglive it’s described as “The slick, power suit community at play.” and it is. it’s still early so there’s no one around, yet the very pretty model type wo-manning the velvet ropes, gives us a very snooty appraisal before deigning to let us in. she laughs as i call her on it. inside, it’s all black on black, niche lighting to go with it’s niche market. the place to be for the BEE set. we pick a seat against the wall only to have a guard point out that this area is “reserved”. o-kay! we get a drink as the place starts filling up fast. finally the music bumps up a notch, and we hit the dance floor for a few minutes even though the music is kinda old-school. i’m still in search of some phat, progressive house beats. not here, at least not now.


i head to the bathroom where i have to clean the previous fashionista’s piss off the seat. if you’re too good to put your ass on the seat, at least have the decency to clean up your mess! but oh wait, i forget myself! someone else is expected to clean up after. jeez! we promptly depart and decide to check out latinova upstairs. the music sounds pretty pumping, but the guy at the door is officious and the cover is R150! i am obviously way out of the loop! who has the the kind of money to frequent places like these?



as we head to my car, we decide to check out the capital. i’m trying to figure out what the scene is, while the doorman tells me that it’s a “private function”. it takes me a minute and then i realize that this is the monthly lesbian bar a few of my girlfriends have threatened to take me to. it is obvious that we don’t belong here. if i were on my own, i’d check it out, but instead we head round the corner and downstairs where the doorman directs us. the music seeping out the door sounds pretty decent, so we opt to pay the R70 cover. inside, almost everyone is hip, black and at least half our age. the music at least, finally hits the jackpot and we hit the dance-floor and get down. this lasts about 45 minutes and then seemingly irrevocably, it switches to hip hop. we at last decide to admit defeat and call it a night.

it’s about 01h30 and between the two of us, we’ve spent between 6 and R700 on the evening. maybe next time i’ll roll up my carpets, crank up the music, and get down to house. at my house.

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taking a trip down…

sometimes i wonder about myself, you know. sometimes i really worry.

tv plus magazine flies me down to cape town for all of 48 hours, to once again be one of the judges for their high school drama competition. i fly in somewhere around midnight on friday night. i have every intention of reading scripts on the plane, but instead i sink down in my seat, pull my cap over my eyes and hopefully don’t snore for the duration of the 2 hour flight. upon landing i, surprise!, don’t wait an eternity for my bag and when i get to the counter at budget, my paperwork is all done. i give them my cell phone number and the nissan tiida is mine for 2 days.
just like that.
paul is waiting up for me and wolf gets up out of bed when i make it to claremont. we make chai tea and eat mint chocolate balls while we catch up till about 2 a.m. i marvel at what hugo, their spca pavement special, looks like now. just goes to show, one never knows what one will get when one gets one of these lucky dip dogs. originally a dark brown ball, he now has curly ginger hair and is a marvel of hard to place features. one of those adorable mutts that wins your heart in movies.
saturday late morning i head into town to check out the afro coffee cafe to see if they have any more of the fabulous colorful bags like the one i’ve worn to death. i check the website for their address, only to discover when i get there that afro coffee no longer exists. their website says they do, but they don’t. guys. time to update your website. please.
i wander back down to miriam’s kitchen, one of the best places to buy salomies. (some kind of curry filling wrapped in a roti – a south african version of a burrito). i get a chicken salomie even though i don’t eat chicken 98% of the time. when i eventually get home, wolfgang and i polish it off with some tomato jam. all gone. yummy!
before that though, i walk through the greenmarket square flea market to get to my car. it used to be my all time favorite place for all kinds of unique items, but now it’s pretty much all curios and not much more. some leather jackets catch my eye and i spend some times going through the tchatchkes on the guys’ table. i buy an antique looking pencil even though it’s not working. imagine my surprise when i get home and google the marking on the pencil.
 
S. MORDAN & CO. MAKERS
and i discover that this pencil, according to it’s markings, was made before 1850, i.e., 160 or so years ago! wow! score! probably worth way more than the hundred bucks i reluctantly parted with for it, though my intention is not resale, but personal use.
and then… and this is the part that really worries me, i proceed to clean the keys on my laptop. granted, the guys have left by now and i’m at the house all alone, and i’ve been meaning to do it for months, but please. i’m in cape town for the first time in 4 months. i should be out making the most of it, but instead i. am. cleaning. the. keys. on. my. keyboard. . . . . .
and i’m aware as i’m doing it, that this is weird. i. am. weird.
i leave an hour early for the theatre. i’ve decided to see if i can find ronald’s old flat where i stayed with him in 1981 and where wolfgang and i parted with our cherries. i drive to rosebank and find liesbeeck road. i walk through the now graffiti’d subway to get to the other side of the railway line and i’m surprised that i don’t really remember it. the elision of chunks of memory is scary…(i, unlike clinton, inhaled).  i don’t see the flat. it’s not where i think it was, so i stop to ask a family walking into their big old rambling house, whether they know a bridgebank road or bridgebank court. they point next door. i wander over there, but the blocks of flats across the road look more familiar than the building i’m looking for. it’s been renovated, but it’s not an improvement. i stand infront of it and stare, just as the occupants of a car parked infront of the building stare at me. i decide that i must look odd just standing there staring, so i move off.
i don’t know what i’m feeling.
from there i head into town, but on the way i have to pass the university of cape town,

where i spent 5 long years. on the spur of the moment i find myself on the ivy-walled campus. driving around and marvelling at how much and how little i remember after all the time i spent there. i finally head my car towards town, but when i get to the artscape complex. i am still almost half an hour early. i decide to head to beach road, mouille point, across the road from my friend ineke’s old apartment. i park my car and head out towards the ocean. i stand in the twilight and watch the waves crashing against the mostly submerged rocks where we scattered the ashes of one of my best friends in the world last november. i flew down to cape town almost every month last year saying a protracted goodbye to someone i found it impossible to part from, but finally i didn’t have a choice. i stand there. the last time i was in that same place, i had the gritty charcoal of ini’s cremains still clinging to my fingers, dusty smudges on my white pants.
i don’t know what i’m feeling.
introspective. sad? yes. i miss her crazy, wise, funny, penetrating, quirky self. i always will. i’m wondering about friendship. about the amazing people i’ve been privileged to have in my life. i think about about how though my friendships are consistent, my contact with those friends is not always so. something to change. i am getting old enough to have my best friends die. i don’t like this.
i get in the car and drive through the twilit city, the mountain a cardboard cut-out against the sky. i head to artscape where i am going to be one of the judges deciding, in essence, what direction a number of young actors’ lives will take. they are young and earnest and inexperienced and all pale in comparison to last year’s winner. i write my notes, i write down percentages. at the end of the night, we sit on the stage waiting for the results to be read out and winners announced. it is strange to see one of my high school teachers whom i used to dote on, in the audience. time contracts and expands and somehow is all the same moment. a winner is chosen. the girl who was 3rd last year, does not make top 3 this year. she walks off the stage, trying to disguise her emotions. i feel for her. around me the extremes of joy and disappointment. cameras flash. kisses, handshakes. the mask of comedy. the mask of tragedy. side by side.
i gather my masks and head back across the mountain.