You would gather from this blog that I am a big fan of cheese, which is why I like heavy metal and horror films. I also like corny cheese which is why I hope to visit Avastar in the near future. But a couple of minor points came to mind while reading the open letter linked to above.
"From a Capetonian perspective... "This is a dead give-away that this is not really a Capetonian perspective. Real Capetonians are wilfully ignorant of anywhere in the country beyond the mountains that the eye can see. It's only political refugees from Gauteng who went to Model C schools and then to UCT who feel the need to point out to the rest of the country that they are Capetonian. Real Capetonians won't speak to the rest of the country out of principle because true Capetonians are Trustafarians.
The Trustafarians even put a mountain between them and the other people who live in Cape Town. Despite these measures, meeting a true Capetonian is not as hard as it sounds. If you'd like to meet a native Capetonian, you'd have to resort to these two simple steps:
- Find a native Capetonian.
- Convince them that you are not from beyond the mountains.
|This is a reasonable approximation of what a Capetonian looks like in the field.|
The former is not as hard as it sounds, you just need to follow that distinguished Hospice thrift shop smell. The latter is easily achieved by taking on the appearance of a recently mugged and desensitised golf enthusiast. This is to say you need a grandpa hat but be sans golf gear and sans caddy. Caddies are very Boere-Swazi and we only still keep them in Gauteng. I'm not sure why we do as they frequently make off with our golf gear.
The final cog in the wheel is that you must use the Zen approach. This means using the age old reverse psychosis technique. To clarify, if you were not Capetonian, the obvious thing to do would be to look, smell and feel like a thrift shop before you approach people in an unassuming manner to meet them.
In Gauteng, we do this mostly to show that we are unarmed. This is so we don't get shot in the face by people who assume unassuming approachers are in fact trying to take their golf gear by force. In Cape Town, you must appear like you are merely part of the scenery and you're trying to avoid Those Who Walk Behind The Mountains. Sooner or later, you would bump into a Capetonian and you'd start talking. Good locations for these chance meetings are recently gentrified neighbourhoods with a few remaining buildings on the verge of getting demolished.
The reason I'm mentioning this is that Cape Town's little known and even less frequented underbelly has scummy joints the likes of which Mike Basson can only dream of with his Avatar blue fur wet dream.
I intend on visiting Avastar in the near future. I have to try a cocktail on a goddess.