2oceans Vibe

One of my social co-ordinators informed me of something that should be investigated. Apparently ‘Po na na’ (my choice of pre-going-out-drinks venues (along with Osaka (Dharma’s boy))) had launched a vibe for Tuesday nights involving the screening of a movie. I went along with the plan.

We scurried along on Tuesday night and, upon arrival, were ushered to a little room. Surrounding the room were six little ‘booths’. The booths basically split up a 30 seater sofa with a little table in each section. We kicked off our shoes and watched ‘The Incredibles’ over a few toots and pizza. Excluding booze, the entry and pizza is R35 a head. Not a bad vibe for a Tuesday. Not a bad vibe for rainy weather. Not a bad vibe for Winter. There’s a new movie every week until January.

And right there, just like that, Po na na cornered the Tuesday night market.

Oh my sack! My body trembles as I write this. My legs are frozen to the ground. I have received two mind blowing things this morning. Firstly, we have recevied contact from the TBG…. and secondly……. he is somehow connected to David Hasselhof!

I know!

This is the email I received from the alleged TBG:

Wake up people, David Hasselhof is a legend.

It seems that we are on a pointless crusade, thoughtlessly fighting to fault the one man we have all, at some honest point in our lives, dreamt of being. We mock him for things which subconsciously we dream of.

I have known Michael for some time now. We met in the mid 80’s when I used to run for the sofa at 7pm, still chewing my last mouthful of dinner, launch from at least a meter and half away in order to beat my brother and make it just in time to feel the opening tune of Knight Rider pulsate through my body like a rush of adrenalin. It would run down my veins and pump through my heart transporting me into the bucket seat of what must be every boys dream. The talking car… a talking car… KITT (If you don’t know what that stands for you are a loser).

He gave us our very first injection of artificial intelligence right there. How many times have we fantasized: Setting off on the open road, darning a daring blood-red polar neck and jet-black leather jacket, KITT, armour-plated, chick-pulling, auto-piloted, gun-shielding, mach-speed bulleting, turbo-boost buttoning, black-talking Trans-fricken-Am, complete with red swishing unnecessarily spicy lights.

The TBG and The Hoff – UN BE LIEVABLE

Take a bow Michael, excellent first scene.

Curtains open.

Scene two.

Enter Mitch Buchannon. Time stood still, literally.

Leaving us (for what seemed like an eternity) in a trail of dark tight jeans, red polar necks, open necked shirts and shattered youthful dreams, he struck back. Coming in from the cold, like an explosion of sunshine, bringing a new form of red in the form of breath-takingly tight shorts despite obviously skinny legs. He found us again, and realizing that we were older, wiser and completely puberty stricken, he gave us California. He made it hot, and he put in right back in front of our KITT sofa.

He invested in Bay Watch himself and hence continued his influence on the shaping of our future. By rejuvenating a failed show, he gave us a reason to live, a reason to wake up every morning, a reason to look past the pimples reflecting in the rain drenched window. He gave us Pamela Anderson. He placed her, running, on a heavenly innocent, white, desolate beach, with a back-lit, shimmering sea like the sparkling of an angel’s blue eyes. He did all this just for us, and what’s more, he did it in slow-mo.

Then, as Bay Watch started to droop, David looked inside, deep inside, and touched the desire we all have, he wanted to be a rock star. David, knowing that his voice was somewhat shocking, traveled to where people wouldn’t know the difference between Kenny Rodgers and William Hung. He went to East Berlin before the wall came a crumbling down and there he sang those big hunky lungs out for those poor lost people. He gave them an anthem and an 8 week number one. Once again putting others first.

He has since earned a long over due star on the Hollywood Walk of fame, checked into the Betty Ford Clinic like all good rock stars and been personally fucked by OJ Simpson. The guy is hurting people.

As a final thought, let’s all walk down that childhood memory lane and remember David’s sprinkling of black Trans-Ams, polar-necks, leather, red shorts, beautiful woman, beautifully curly hair, white teeth, endless good times and all the sweet joy he has given to us.

Thank you David, you are indeed a legend.

- The TBG

I am finished….

A moment occured at Planet bar on Friday night when 2oceansvibe stumbled upon the TBG and was able to catch a photo of the elusive Cape Town enigma. We took a pic of the TBG with a (clearly excited) fan of his.

The TBG told us that he only recently became aware of his TBG status but is still very confused about how it all started. So are we, TBG. (repeat sentence for effect) – so are we.

I wanted to put the picture up here, before the Picture of the Moment changes. Keep the picture for a few years – it’ll be worth a FORTUNE one day.

Once you’ve dealt with Morpheus the bouncer at the foyer entrance, you get the feeling that you’re on your way to an illegal poker room. It feels like some sort of an opening scene of a Steven Segal movie. The silence of the high-speed elevator ride, girls giggling, guys shuffeling. Everyone staring at the changing digital floor numbers above the door. I commented to the tart on my right that I thoroughly enjoyed her fish net stockings.

“They’re actually from Woolworths”, she tells me.

“Does it matter where you bought them? They’re fish nets”.

The doors opened on the 31st floor presenting a complete change of senses; music pumping, large pods of angels hurtling around at high speeds and a vulture’s view of the City of Cape Town at night time. (Did you enjoy my semi-colon back there?) Sand blasted glass surrounds the VIP section where girls dance on tables and the club owners knock over buckets of champagne. Welcome to Hemisphere night club on the 31st floor of the ABSA building. It’s quite fun here.

Angels. Three of them. Three angels.

We farted around and danced with some of the underage angels (These we refer to as ‘UNDERangels’). I threw out some moves, allowing them to feed off me. They did. I had to have a chat with Janine the VIP hostess. Gorgeous.

My barman (earlier seen skulking around the loos) was very silly. Do barmen still argue that the incorrect drink they just served you REALLY IS what you ordered? No one cares if you think I said ‘lime’ and not ‘ice’. Take the fucking glass…. empty it…….. and pour a double Jameson with ICE, not LIME, white guy.

It’s not that easy. This particular prima donna stormed over to the sink, turned to me and shouted over all of the music and the noise, “I’ll have to put in (pay) for this!”. Still looking at me, with his arm outstretched behind him, he turned his hand – allowing the contents of the incorrect drink in his hand to pour expertly into the sink, without him having to look at it. With his foot tap tap tapping on the floor like a proper little bitch.

VERY IMPRESSIVE………..TOOL. But please note that your little toy throwing exercise has taken 20 seconds out of our evening. Get that double Jammy and then, if you behave, I’ll use your head as a step, allowing me to climb up and over you to reach things. Like if I wanted to reach up and get a cooler box on top of the kitchen cupboard. I’ll use your head like that – like a step.

As I write this, MTV has gone back in time and played Britney Spears ‘Baby one more time’. God I miss you, Brit. Can’t we just start over?

Back to the bar. The double Jammy’s and ice finally arrived.

“Thanks, Dave”

“My name’s not Dave”

“………..what?”

“I said my name is not Dave”

“….whatever”

I must say, the dance floor was heaps of fun. Heaps. And the angels played so nicely! Groups of four, sometimes five angels at once – dancing, playing, smiling, laughing…..jumping. You’re very cute, Romi. Sadly the DJ wasn’t able to play my current late, unhealthy obsession with Good Charlotte’s ‘I just want to live’. I didn’t expect him to have it, it’s not the right “vibe”. The DJ left later in the evening allowing the actual club to take over the choice of music. It was around this time that our ears started to bleed. That little “Greased Lightning” medly causes migraines – does no one realise that?

I’m still not ready to use their valet parking. Might take the chopper next time and go in directly from the 31st floor landing pad.