We Few Aging Disgracefully
Once, not long ago, the process of my day would sound something like this: wake up, smoke a bong, have a shag, go for a swim, have a bite to eat, have a drink, shake a leg, talk shit for a while and then have a kip. No longer. Now, something as innocent (!) as Christmas turns into a traumatic overload of too much food, too much booze, an inevitable and hazardous exchange with remotely-related racist bigots and of course the crowning glory: expensive crackers with cheap Chinese trinkets in them, which of course nobody wants and as a result are left in a forlorn pile after all the shouting is done. The rest of the year is much the same: weeks are no longer a matter of marking time to wait it out for the weekend, they're an endless roundabout of packing as much to'ing and fro'ing into the days as is possible, and the weekend mostly seems a respite from the demanding schedule, although often it's as busy as the days that precede it.
In keeping with this, the present all-grown-up-and-got-a-real-job complicated life comes with all the changes that must ultimately follow as time has its way. To use a fresh example: the traditional New Years' knees-up seems to have become too much to face for some of the extended network of friends. And - even though they've no kids, which at least is an honest to goodness legitimate excuse for avoiding the hue and cry of a boisterous tub-thumping balls to the wall two-day party - despite the furrowed brows and declarations of undying commitment to attend your party, they weasel off to sit around expensive bars or someone's lounge and get thoroughly, totally and inevitably pissed. This, on the grounds that a dance music event a short drive away would end up being 'dangerous' or 'too much'. This reasoning of course ignores the glaringly obvious negatives of driving under the influence and doing nothing essentially different for a New Years party than is done any weekend during the rest of the year, ie: sitting around getting rat-arsed and emphatically discussing much the same dog-eared subjects as have held their interest all year.
In keeping with this, the present all-grown-up-and-got-a-real-job complicated life comes with all the changes that must ultimately follow as time has its way. To use a fresh example: the traditional New Years' knees-up seems to have become too much to face for some of the extended network of friends. And - even though they've no kids, which at least is an honest to goodness legitimate excuse for avoiding the hue and cry of a boisterous tub-thumping balls to the wall two-day party - despite the furrowed brows and declarations of undying commitment to attend your party, they weasel off to sit around expensive bars or someone's lounge and get thoroughly, totally and inevitably pissed. This, on the grounds that a dance music event a short drive away would end up being 'dangerous' or 'too much'. This reasoning of course ignores the glaringly obvious negatives of driving under the influence and doing nothing essentially different for a New Years party than is done any weekend during the rest of the year, ie: sitting around getting rat-arsed and emphatically discussing much the same dog-eared subjects as have held their interest all year.
Did they get old before their time, or are we few simply aging disgracefully? Personally I'm quite willing to go with the latter option as I've yet to get any grey hairs and am not ready to reserve that nice plot at the top of the hill and put a deposit down on an oak veneer casket quite yet, thank you very much.
Happy New Year.
To paraphrase Renton (yeah, lazy, i know:
Chose life. Chose wife. Chose job. Chose house. Chose car. Chose credit card. Chose overdraft. Chose not to go gentle into that good night. Chose to have a life. Chose to not become a boring old fart in the suburbs, with a 3-series, plastic-titted wife, and latent rascism and sexism dripping out every pore while I man the braai on a sat-arvie.
Yeehaw!
Perhaps, the Jhb massive could get its colective butts in gear and make one of your KZN knees-ups some time...a bit of tropical R&R is always good for the soul and even better for the heart.
I may even drag his hedgehogness down from the kalahari...after all, what's a ship without its (shipfaced) captain???
Keep on posting those gig notifications and we'll keep on reading your killer blog.
Vaya Con Dios
Senor Neek
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Thanks for the words of Dylan Thomas, words to live by, they are.
As for rounding up the posse and making a break for the coast - make it happen! Our next NONONO!!! gig is on April 24th and will feature some seriously shit-hot music: SEAKE are a two-piece electro techno digital beatmachine and then we've got NISKERONE from Fiction in CT coming up, apart from the usual shennanigans from us residents the Eclectica Allstars and Lapis Lazuli. For more, look for NONONO!!! on fuckfacebook.
Rock and Roll!