I don’t know that much about ballet.

I did go to a touring Russian ballet with my Mom and Gran when I was a little tike. And although I don’t remember much, it did leave an impression on me. Maybe it was pre-puberty tiny sparks of hormones yet to come that kept me still in my seat glaring at those girls. But I’d prefer to think that it captivated me because it was art, it was imagination, it was beauty.

And as unusual as you might think that is for a boy, that’s nothing compared to my brother. Him being the eldest, I didn’t witness it, but I’ve heard family members recount the grinning story many times. If ever there was any ballet on TV, you were very likely to witness my brother dancing around, oblivious to the world in improvised bare-bottomed pirouettes. When my parents asked him why he had no clothes on, he would point at the TV and tell them that thats the way its done. Obviously all three year old boys think that beige tights codpieces are what they will grow into, so to speak. I don’t want to name my brother here because he might be embarrassed.

So although a silly embarrassing story is more than enough reason for a blog post in my book, the main reason for this post is to point your attention to an imminent death. The Cape Town City Ballet Company will bow to its last encore shortly if there isn’t a miracle. After more than 75 years on operation, without more funding it simply cant go on.

Since this is so close to the heart of The Forge we have launched a campaign to try our utmost to help keep this art form going for future generations. It going to need a miracle, but it can be done. And you could win an Apple 16GB iPad just by spreading the word. Visit the Campaign site now and make a difference for a worthy cause.

While jamming track 4, the particularly rad and ethereal “I Still Care for You” off Ray LaMontagne’s latest – Gossip in The Grain in the car this morning – I thought of Dr Phil. As I often do of course.

Well, not Dr Phil exactly – although his mustache is scarily hypnotizing, but rather something he said. One of the + ticks to student life back in the day was a slumbering noon wake up and daytime TV and coffee with ‘ol boy Phil. Good times.

Promoting his next best-selling book or set of bumper stickers he came up with a concept that a person’s life is largely defined a set number of pivotal moments. I’m not sure, it could’ve been 5 or 7. As marketers or blog mavens know, putting a number to a title sells more cupcakes.

So while contemplating Phil’s eyebrows somewhere in Paarden Island at a red light to the rhythm of my right turn indicator, I thought of my own moments. Only one really stands out.

On a side note, I really love driving through Paarden Island – its a shitty industrial area, and if I parked there my car will probably be wheel-less and standing on bricks in 5 flat, but I’ll save those thoughts for a blog post titled “Stupid information that nobody gives a shit about”. Stay peeled for that one. Gonna be a corker.

So back to my moment: Table View primary school. I was about 6 years old.

An hour after the final school bell, the place was the setting of a make believe suburban ghost town western. Empty apart from the random janitors armed with a mop and laboring displeasure, and the library teacher who always stays late to colour code books with stickers and sneak in a passage from her secret order of Mills & Boon that never made the student rack.

Instead of the openness of a playground now kicked open for me to stomp around in, it felt closed and confined. The echoing corridors with shiny buffered linoleum type floors – smelling of ammonia cleaning products and pencils and wooden desks and day old sun-baked sandwiches hidden under desks was a reminder.

I made my way to pick up the one poor left blue and white striped suitcase that lined the passage – the one with a Mr Tickle (of Mr Men) sticker proudly displayed on top.

Tennisette time! Which is basically tennis for babies – where we use a tiny all wooden bat like a beach bat on miniature gravel courts. I was the king of tennisette amongst the uncoordinated group, and was ready to unleash all kinds of whip ass on my little friends.

Kitted out in my little white shorts and dreaming of being Pat Cash winning Wimbledon, I set out spacily towards the end of the corridor.

And that’s when I had my moment – one of the most pivotal and profound of my life.

I dropped my bat, my suitcase, my togbag, and stared blankly ahead to the end of the corridor. I really have no idea how long I stayed transfixed like that.

And the strange thing is that I don’t really think that I can convey in words or in writing exactly what I thought or felt.

It was a realization that my name is Brendon Grobler – that’s who I am. That I’m this person, and I have a very defined form and identity. I repeated the words in my head: “I am Brendon, I am Brendon”

I know that that all might sound silly, but the profoundness of this wasn’t in this realization (I wasn’t in the “Special” Class where arithmetic and language skills were replaced with knitting and crafts), but rather how absurd the idea was – that I was this person called Brendon – that that was my definition, that was my only framework to move in.

So yes, I can be a slave to logic, and I think that anyone with a bit of smarts is rightly seduced by logic, but after that moment, I know that in spite of any science or calculation of mechanics of what we cumulatively know and what we think is real, that I am right. I know that if Einstein or Hawking sat me down and spread out the sweetest most convincing argument of how I am in fact this person with a name, I would listen and smile in my own knowing.

So, I blame Dr Phil. Not for any other reason than I now have the hankering to grow a bit fat ginger caterpillar of a mustache, and dye my eyebrows (again).

If you use Twitter and Firefox this rules.

André pointed out this awesome little Firefox addon using Greasemonkey.

Get it Greasemonkey here.

Once installed just add the nested Twitter replies script.

After you’ve restarted your browser you’re ready to rock.

Its a very cool and useful way to enhance your Twitter experience. Making tracking conversations as easy as Tara Reid after a bottle of champagne.

Unwise or not things just got personal.

Well, lets gander into the personal meadows for the first real time on this here blog. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still tough as nails hard face serious as a fist. All business. My collection of Swiss Army knives is more than testament to that.

“If women didn’t exist, all the money in the world would have no meaning.”

Aristotle Onassis

I’m going to go one further. I completely adore woman – form and spirit. The most captivating amazing creatures. I couldn’t imagine a world without them. Even though they can be a pain in the scrotum (if you get lucky), feminine influence and presence in my life makes it turn evenly. So this very personal little note go’s to you. Not woman, but a particular one.
Thank you to the beautiful, amazing justbcoz.

I remember the first time I heard it Mojo Pin.

Over twelve years ago on the Barney Simon “Night Zoo” radio slot on what was at the time Radio 5. Every Monday, in a one hour slot, Barney got this dude in (forgot his name) to play and talk about rock rarities and obscure artists. I habitually taped Barney’s show as I lay sprawled on my bed – as usual caving into the seduction of drawing and scrawling into notebooks in place of doing school homework. Just in case he played something awesome and then I could source it.

The guest dude spun a story of tragedy and loss of two great artists – Jeff and Tim Buckley. Jeff’s recent shock drowning echoing Tim’s heroine/alcohol overdose at a similar age. For journalistic effect he played two tracks back to back – first Tim’s Dolphins and then Jeff’s Mojo Pin (which I later found out was off the album Live at Sin-é).

Dolphins was amazing – I hadn’t heard a voice like Tim’s before, but it was Mojo Pin that set in a lot deeper.

I cant say I loved it right away. But I woke up thinking about it. I found myself playing it every day on my Walkman. The tape became stretched with overplaying – it set under my skin and into my bones. And when my imported copy of his only real album Grace finally arrived – I found myself playing the album two, maybe three times a day. Totally mind blowing. Totally in love with it.

So now, twelve years later I still listen to his music every day. I have all the live and unreleased recordings that Ive been able to source over the years. I know every nuance in every track before it arrives – and then it still seems to surprise me when the genius hits.

So, it go’s without saying that super excited doesn’t really cut how I feel about the latest official Jeff Buckley release – Grace Around the World.

STANDARD PACKAGE INCLUDES:
1) Grace Around The World DVD featuring previously unreleased TV performances from U.S., UK, Germany, Japan – and France, where Buckley was the best-selling international catalog artist of 2008
2) Grace Around The World CD featuring audio versions of all the tracks
on the DVD plus two additional previously unreleased tracks

DELUXE PACKAGE INCLUDES:
1) Grace Around The World DVD
2) Grace Around The World CD … PLUS
3) A second DVD featuring the award-winning documentary
Amazing Grace: Jeff Buckley;
Combined running time for both DVDs is 169 minutes (nearly 3 hours!)
24 page booklet, 2-sided poster, and MORE!!

GRACE AROUND THE WORLD FAN BUNDLE
1) Grace Around The World DVD
2) Grace Around The World CD … PLUS
3) A second DVD featuring the award-winning documentary
Amazing Grace: Jeff Buckley;
Combined running time for both DVDs is 169 minutes (nearly 3 hours!)
4)EXCLUSIVE MP3 album ‘Live at King Theater- May 7, 1995 !!
*Fan Pack for USA customers only. Fans in select countries outside the US will be able to buy the MP3 Live at King Theater album June 2nd via JeffBuckely.com. Details soon!
24 page booklet, 2-sided poster, and MORE!!

For more info check out jeffbuckley.com
http://www.youtube.com/jeffbuckley

Why would you want to be a social deviant? Step one is define it.

So, in your mind’s eye you’re churning the cogs, firing sparks of all the social deviants you think you’ve known. Don’t think of the obvious dude in Pantera t-shirts or the guy trying to convince you that the world will become catabolic if Uranus is in alignment with the earth on the day that Micheal Jackson’s comeback cd arrives on the shelves (although I would listen to that argument).

People that are outwardly tangent to socially accepted norms are thought to be irritating, hard work, or just plain losers by the general population. That’s because they usually are. Like any kind of self developed identity, that’s exactly what it is. Interesting looms in me if I’m different. They are making their mark – social deviance becomes a brand like everything else.

These punks give it a bad name. A simple subversion of norms for attention or punctuating your existence with an abrasive X is just plain irritating. Get out the tar and feathers.

So, now that I’ve (probably unsuccessfully) tried to lay down what social deviance is not all about, what do I think its about? And why do I think its valuable?

de·vi·ant (dv-nt)
adj. Differing from a norm or from the accepted standards of a society.

Normality is a good thing. Its a part of the very human need for stability, safely, and predictability. Social rules and norms are in many ways a product of that need. But sit too tightly in that world, and it will make you numb, and decisions will be made for you without you realizing it.

The truly admirable and successful people in my eyes are the ones who have managed to think and live outside of the the predefined social blueprint, but have still known that they exist in that world. Still been aware.

I’m not a social deviant, but if I was one, I would say the art doing it successfully is to never admit that you are one.

I’ve had this thought rattling around my head: Drunk Saints.

It may seem strange, but I wondered if it was possible.

Is it possible for a white light person to be a drunk, or have any major vice for that matter?

So i Googled  St Francis of Assisi. A legend if ever there was one, he’s the patron saint of animals and the natural environment.  An amazing dude. All testaments to his elegant existence only illuminate a life of complete saintliness. I couldn’t find any accounts of him guzzling wine by the gallon-loads or sniffing on fermented leeks.

Maybe there are some known renegade mullet saints out there. Crazy mad fools who howled at the moon at night and performing miracles during the day, but that doesn’t seem important now.  The reason why this idea kept me rattling was because of my crazy logic.

If a holy blessed saint could be a drunk;
then a drunk could be a saint.

I once heard a Zen saying that’s always stuck with me. I cant remember the exact wording, but i interpreted it as:

Always be kind and patient to every single person that crosses your path.
That person will always know something that you don’t.

I love this. I heard it when i was a teenager, and i think its awesome. its since been something Ive always tried to live by.

One interpretation of this could be that you can always learn or gain something from every person (or experience) that you encounter. That’s cool on its own, but i also like to think of it as the idea that nothing should be judged, appearances are false:

Just think of that bergie at the traffic lights, trying to wash your windscreen with his phlegm and a pee-stained 1989 Manchester United beanie. He may not be who you think he is.

He may be a saint.

photo credit