Idol chatter

The only reason I’m not obsessed with Idols is because I don’t have M-Net. And the only reason I don’t have M-Net is because I cancelled my DStv subscription as step one on the road to recovery from TV addiction (because really – a person can only watch the same episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians so many times). But on the weekends when I go home to mom for vegetables, advice and couch time, I inevitably relapse, which is how I came to love L’loyd Cele, family man and Idols finalist.

I’m not sure what it is about the Durban graphic designer that sets him apart for me. Perhaps it’s his understated presence and his unexpected take on tunes you think you know (I honestly always thought the Parlotones’ Push Me to the Floor was kind of naff until L’Loyd belted it out). Don’t get me wrong, I think Elvis is great too and I have no doubt they’ll both go onto bigger and better things, but Elvis is a dime a dozen while L’loyd is a once in a lifetime.

My friend Lebo and I had the chance to attend Sunday night’s finale, thanks Ford, and the guys were both so good I actually felt the crowd’s mixed emotions, wanting their favourite to win, but being sucked in by every performance.
Well, almost every performance. If the backing track to former winner Jody Williams’ song hadn’t been quite so loud and obnoxious, I swear you would’ve heard awkward, squeaky crickets during the underwhelming performance of her new single Don’t Stop the Music (we wish someone had and pulled the plug on that one). A pity, because she clearly has some pipes on her – the girl just needs a better songwriter. The stage was also graced by other previous winners Sasha Lee and Jason Hartman who fared better, but still couldn’t steal the spotlight from Elvis and L’loyd.

The two showed off their first radio singles and well, the jury (of one Natalie Pool) is still out. The track written for Elvis – Things My Father Said – fits him perfectly, while L’Loyd’s Because of You is kind of disappointing. Not because of his vocals, but because he’s impossible to pigeonhole and the writers took an easy and safe way out with a soppy R’n’B tune. Hey, it worked for X-Factor’s Leona Lewis. Hopefully airplay will prove me wrong and give the track time to grow on me.

At the end of the day, does it really matter who wins tonight? Not so much. Anyone remember the guy who beat American Idol finalist Adam Lambert? Not so much. The trick is to capitalise on the momentum stirred up by the competition and not fade into obscurity to finish your studies or set up house with a criminal (no names mentioned). Both guys have been given an incredible platform and hard work, talent and die-hard fans will take them far.

All dressed up and everywhere to go…

Who hasn’t watched The Amazing Race on TV and wondered if they have what it takes? I know I have, and, after competing in The Amazing Race for Charity two years ago, I knew I had the fire, if not the sense of direction.

This year, CLEO rounded up eight of our most fearless friends (thanks to Living and Loving and People magazines for loaning us Lebo and Zea – they have been returned only slightly worse for wear) to compete in the ultimate race around Jo’burg because, well, we’ll take any excuse to wear tutus in public. Plus, proceeds go to charity and it really is the most fun you can have with your clothes on (and with them off as some participants proved at the pillow fight challenge, but more on that later).

Hosted by communications agency Halo and its founder Dean Oelschig, The Amazing Race for Charity started three years ago as Dean’s birthday celebration with 20 teams of his closest friends (I know, who has that many friends?). Since then, he’s organised one every six months, with proceeds going to charity. Over the years, it’s grown into a massive event, with teams putting the props departments of Oscar-winning films to shame with their outlandish outfits, ridiculous names and pimped-out rides.

A week before the race, it dawned us that we needed to put our game face on and Team Amazeballs was born. Practical and cute were key in planning our outfits and “toight and bright” became our dress code (think ’80s Madonna meets ’70s Jane Fonda). Suzuki came to the rescue, loaning us a sexy little SX4, perfect for navigating Jozi road works, potholes and detours in a hurry.

Cameras, phones and GPS devices fully charged, Team Amazeballs 1 and Team Amazeballs 2 arrived at The Baron in Sandton on Saturday, two hours before the start. Pretty soon, the quad was filled with Lego men, superheroes, pirates, Lady Gagas, The Flintstones, The A-Team, bumble bees, dominoes and a whole lot of spandex.

One Vida coffee and a Play Energy Drink later, and we were raring to go. First clue in hand, the teams dispersed in a manic fashion to track down the next set of clues. I won’t detail our every step because it’ll only make you sad that you weren’t there. Suffice to say, the clues were tricky, tricky, tricky.

After deciphering a crossword and an anagram, we counted coffee beans at 44 Stanley’s Bean There Coffee Company. We then rushed off to Nelson Mandela Square to take part in my first flash mob ever (I highly recommend it) and I can only imagine what the civilised patrons of the surrounding restaurants thought as hundreds of crazily-dressed people stormed the square with placards, shouting “His head’s too small” at the statue of Nelson Mandela. Moments later, the signal to disperse rang out and we made a mad dash to our cars for the next task. After shouting profanities at the Jaguar who’d parked us in, we hit the road again.

Pippa alley docked blind-folded while Nikki and I shouted, “Backwards, backwards grab!”, we performed the Thriller dance in the parking lot of Morningside Shopping Centre (another task I can tick off my bucket list), downed Jägermeister at The Codfather, as well as tequila at Cantina Tequila in Fourways (FYI: our driver Pippa abstained from alcohol during the race). We then tracked down the Fugitive (Dean’s leather-clad business partner Chris Koller – hot, hot, hot!) on his Harley at Giles Restaurant in Parktown, before making a chalk outline of our “dead” teammate Nikki on a suburban street in Parkhurst. Sjoe!

Two clues left to solve and we were stumped. We’d driven around Morningside, searching in vain for a Nashua Mobile balloon and overheard our competition talking about the pillow fight at the Field and Study Centre but were too suspicious to trust the intel (we later learned that some girls had performed the task shirtless, thus ticking off the number one task on every guy’s bucket list).

We turned to Siya (our cute-as-a-button fashion intern) who’d been monitoring the UJFM 95.4 airwaves all day on her phone looking for clues. The first teams were already in, so with no chance at winning, we hit a Shell Garage to take advantage of their pie-and-coke special (not part of the race but rewarding nevertheless) before returning to base camp for drinks, prize giving and high-fives.

In the end, 150 teams entered, all money raised (including a generous donation from The Baron) was donated to Philimpilo Community Care, the Lego Men won Best Dressed, and, after seven attempts, The Lost Superheroes won and donated their R10 000 prize money, sponsored by Play Energy and ABI, to Doctors Without Borders. Now that’s a win-win situation if you ask me.

If you want to be part of the next Amazing Race for Charity or see more pics from Saturday’s event, click here:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2087423&id=1463379015&l=0b8828c6ac
http://amazingraceforcharity.wordpress.com/
http://www.jeanetteverster.com/2010/10/the-amazing-race-for-charity-part-8/
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=7345882377

Baby got back…

Hands up, who likes shopping for jeans? Personally, I’d rather yank my fingernails off one by one than spend not-so-quality time in a suffocating fitting room, surrounded by bright lights, too many mirrors and hundreds of denims designed for tall, skinny people who think an ass is a miniature horse. If I sound bitter, it’s because I inherited the short, curvy genes, without having a pair of short, curvy jeans to match, if you know what I mean.

So it was with great trepidation and skepticism I RSVP’ed “yes” to a function that promised to reveal jeans “designed especially for me” (not likely). The cunning people at Levi’s®, however, sweetened the deal with a swanky venue – a suite at the Michelangelo Towers (yes, please!). I pulled into a parking bay at 9.30am and rode the lift to the 33rd floor while my ears popped and my eyes bulged. Maybe this is why Khanyi Mbau – a former resident – always has such a wide-eyed expression!

As I sipped on bubbly with Jen Su and PR guru Toolz Hadebe in the plush three-story suite (I half-expected Willy Wonka to jump out of the glass elevator resting in the lounge), it occurred to me that it’s moments like these that lead people to believe I don’t have a real job.

Debbie Gernhardt, the marketing director of Levi Strauss South Africa, soon revealed the reason for our fashionable little gathering – the launch of Levi’s® Curve ID. Turns out the trick to finding your perfect fit isn’t in figuring out your size, but rather the measurement of your hip to your seat. In other words, it’s all about the swerve in your curve, the junk in your truck, the bounce in your butt.

In most of the 110 countries where Levi’s® are available, three Curve IDs exist – the Slight Curve (for gals with a straight, boyish figure), the Demi curve (for those with even, hourglass proportions), and the Bold Curve (for those with a hint of a booty).

But of course, us Africans need another option – one that fits our itty, bitty waists and big, round behinds (I may be a white girl from the ’burbs, but trust me when I say my booty is all African). Enter the Levis® Eva jeans which have been added as an option in the Curve ID range and hug your curves without gaping at the back or exhibiting crack, which – as everyone knows – is whack.

Turns out I’m a 30 in the Eva’s, which sounds fabulous. Levi’s® are always a couple sizes down from your usual size which is really just another cunning trick designed to make you feel good about yourself. Altogether now: “I like big butts and I cannot lie…”

Get measured for your perfect fit at your nearest Levi’s® store or visit the Women’s Show in Johannesburg this weekend, from August 27–29 at the Coca-Cola Dome, Northgate.

Smooth operator

Perks of the job include sometimes being asked to be part of a live studio audience for local TV shows. This week I made my way to Urban Brew Studios in Randburg to check out the taping of Tonight with Trevor Noah (Wednesdays on M-Net @ 7.30pm). This is the part where I admit I missed the first episode, only to hear a few negative reviews peppered with words like “awkward”, “cringe worthy” and “unfunny”. Nevertheless, I wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity to go behind the scenes of showbiz and, if nothing else, perv over the dreamy Mr Noah. Yes, the man is verging on overexposure – thank you Cell C, Simba, Kulula and SARS - but that doesn’t make him any less funny or oh-so-cute. The truth is that I’ve been after him for years, in a purely professional way of course. Ever since he emceed a hair care function I attended, I set my sights on getting him shirtless… for the magazine, I mean. I even threw myself at him at The Venue a few months later when he was hosting another show and launch party. Polite as always, he told me to email him. I did. About a hundred times. Such a busy guy, he’s probably still going through all his mails. He’ll get to mine eventually. Right after he answers all those Cell C complaints that is…

So back to the show. It wasn’t as awful as I was led to believe. In fact, they seem to be working out the kinks and I had moments of genuine laughter not prompted by the applause sign. Okay, there wasn’t really an applause sign but rather a guy named Lefty encouraging us to make some noise. The funniest moments happened in between takes. Trevor goofing off with his pal Eugene Khoza and guest HHP bursting into an uncanny impression of Sean Kingston, headband and all, had me doing the silent laughter thing when you gasp for breath in a heaving, unattractive kind of way. Sexy.

Once the cameras stopped rolling, the always-generous folk at M-Net ushered us into a room filled with snacks and Savannahs (thanks, Ingrid) as I waited for my chance to making a lasting impression on Trev. He appeared half an hour later and I got a chance to snap a pic with him (thanks, Ingrid) but alas, he didn’t appear to be bowled over by my charm and wit (note to self: not a good idea to make jokes around a stand-up comic, especially not about his black velvet jacket).

In the end, the man barely said two words to me. I guess I can’t really blame him. It must be quite annoying to be bombarded at work by randoms wanting a piece of you. And let’s be honest, it’s not like he needs any more publicity. The next morning, Trevor was back to being cute and funny on 5FM while he defended himself against the inevitable backlash that comes from public success. And he won me over - all over again!

The return of the one man show

On a cold Saturday night a few weeks ago I found myself at the Malva Store at Main Street Life on Fox Street. There I was, sipping a cappuccino from the Cupcake Factory, browsing the boutique and swapping 50 bucks for the chance to catch a one-man-show called Mouche. How I came to be there, I’m not entirely sure but I’m so glad I was.

It’s not often you find yourself in the heart of Jozi, breathing in culture in the middle of a quirky little store showcasing everything from baked goods and chandeliers, to half naked mannequins, feather head pieces and a small black stage bathed in spotlight. Based on Paul Gallico’s nolvella Loved by Seven Dolls, and portrayed by Tim Redpath, Mouche tells the tale of a French puppeteer and the former stripper who cracks his cold heart after winning the affection of his troupe of puppets, including a sexy French fox and charming little ginja ninja named Carrot. Wearing just jeans and a vest Redpath is able to transform himself into a whole host of characters by tuning his accent, posture and expressions. And through the interaction of these characters with the invisible girl, another star is born – a vulnerable and loveable woman named Mouche (the fact that she exists only in your mind is irrelevant and testament to the Redpath’s multitasking).

It was all I needed to be reminded of the mind-blowing talent and balls some people have. Another South African with balls, figurative ones anyway is Gigi, winner of Survivor South Africa: Santa Carolina and co-owner of the Lollipop lounge, who is back in her one woman play Nipple Caps and G Strings. Feeling brazen after my town experience, I ventured to the Victory Theatre on Louis Botha to catch her in all her glory, not quite knowing what to expect.

I never watched a full episode the celebrity Survivor and had only a vague mental image of Gigi as a blonde hussy who used her womanly charms to win over men and contestants alike. And while I wasn’t entirely wrong, I wasn’t entirely right either.

Gigi is the Queen of the Strip but she’s also a rather crafty individual with a Bachelor of Drama and training in ballet, mime and piano. Her charm lies not only in her smoking hot body (and I say this in a purely heterosexual way) and gold stripper heels, but also in her throaty laugh, disarming Afrikaans lilt and her ability to laugh at herself, even when wearing nothing but said heels and a microphone.

While the play doesn’t quite live up to it’s tag line of “Everything you wanted to know about love, marriage and strip but were afraid to ask”, it is adult edutainment at its most hilarious and honest. If Gigi can persuade her former nemesis Ashley Hayden to get on stage and give her man a lap dance then it’s only a matter of time until she wins you over. The show is on until August 14 and tickets start at R90 from Computicket.

Also check out Malvastore.blogspot to find out about all the different treats they have to offer.

Out but not down

Like many South Africans, it has taken a World Cup in our own home country to get me interested in soccer. And only two weeks in, I’m sold – hook, line and sinker. Watching Bafana Bafana play their hearts out against Frogs on Tuesday was literally the most exhilarating moment of my life. My hands shook with hope, joy, disappointment but above all, pride – not just for the team, but for our country and the fans. (And this was before I took advantage of Jolly Cool’s two-for-the-price-of-one tequila special.)

Unlike some nations who will remain nameless, South Africans have the unique ability to celebrate just about anything, anywhere – even if it’s a loss. We’ll dance in the streets, at tollgates, in shopping centres, restaurants, bars, clubs, shebeens and at work. We’ll sing before battle, during strikes, as well as parades, and along with Shakira and the Black Eyed Peas one too many times.

It’s very easy to be patriotic off such a high as Bafana’s passionate display and the excitement of the World Cup and I can only pray that these feelings linger long after the last goal has been scored. We’re all proudly South African now, but credit and thanks must to go to those who believed in us long before the first plane-load of tourists arrived.

As hopeful as I was about us being the hosts with the most when the bid was announced four years ago, I had my doubts. I never thought the Gautrain would be ready in time, I voted in favour of banning vuvuzelas, I didn’t bother to understand the off-sides rule and couldn’t figure out why we should fork over cash for sport stadiums. Ashamedly, I was also one of those people who gargled the middle part of our national anthem.

Now that I can say that I’ve felt the gees with every bone in my body, I don’t want it to go away. Don’t stop supporting the competition, the team and our country. We’re capable of so much more than we ever thought possible and regression is not an option. This time last year I would never have imagined that I’d stick our flag on my car and around my neck. I also never dreamt that I’d be showing Americans how to order beers at The Baron, drinking tequila with Mexicans at The Bohemian or taking a bus with Italians to Green Point Stadium. I finally get it. This is why they call it The Beautiful Game.

Nat
xoxo

The sound of music

Hear me out. I know my blog is overdue but I have a good excuse. I could easily have regaled you with tales of what it’s like to sit behind my desk, stuff my face with Nikki’s homemade coconut macaroons, answer emails and plan our June issue (which is going to rock ‘n roll your world, by the way), but I thought you’d better appreciate ramblings from MTV Africa’s 5th birthday celebration and Ramfest.

I love music. I don’t understand people who say they don’t. And I definitely don’t understand people who don’t like local music. Calling it “local” feels like an insult in fact, almost as if it’s a disclaimer, warning you not to expect international quality and asking you to give it a chance because, shame, they’re trying.

The beats coming from the belly of the African beast are in reality so flipping brilliant that I sometimes can’t contain myself and have to break into song and dance (neither of which are award-worthy). Artists who do deserve awards, though, rocked up at Urban Tree in Sandton this past Friday, a day after the 16th SAMA nominations were announced.

Nominees like Teargas, Jozi and The Parlotones joined Flash Republic and ProKid in celebrating MTV Africa’s 5th birthday at the spacious gallery-like venue with rooftop garden. The class act of the night however was JR of Make the Circle Bigger fame. Hard to pick out of the crowd (mostly because he looks nothing like his publicity pics and forewent the hip hop uniform of shades, bling and high-tops), JR hit the stage sans entourage and blew everyone away with just two tracks of ammo and a charming little stand-up intro of his tunes. That’s why we love him. That’s why we make the circle beega…

We CLEO poppets paced ourselves on the free drinks (my, how we’ve grown) knowing that we had TO be fresh for Ramfest the next day. The Western Cape music festival migrated to Emmarentia Park in Jo’burg for one day of scorching beats and sunrays. We made it through the gates just in time to catch Wrestlerish, a Pretoria band whose sound can only be described as magic sprinkles. Lead singer Werner Olcker is like a gentle giant whose shape-shifting vocals reach into your heart and make it beat faster (to feel it for yourself get down to their CD launches this Thursday, March 11, at Tings and Times in Pretoria, and Friday, March 12, at Back2Basix in Westdene).

Also hailing from PTA is alternative indie band Isochranous, who were incredible as always, all soaring keyboards, vocals and emotions (find key tunes The Tempest and Beauty Queen on their Facebook page). That first act would’ve been enough for most, but the reason fans braved the beer queues, porter loos and sunstroke were legends Boo! and Lark, both whom reunited to remind us how amazing they are, for very different reasons of course. Like a monki punk superhero Miss Chris Chameleon sported a black thong over hot pink leggings and dazzled with his animal sounds and glittering biceps. Very sexy, in a Frankenfurter kind of way…

The extraordinarily beautiful, horrifically talented and slightly scary Inge Beckmann, then took to the stage with Lark for a dark symphony of electronic opera (what else can I say?) By the time they’d wrapped up all the favourites like Moonlight and Half Eaten, I could barely hold myself upright. Not even the spellbinding light show from Aussie/Brit drum and bass group Pendulum could get me to stay, and we dragged ourselves back to the car in search of food. (God bless you Andiccio and your 24-hour pizza pie goodness.)
Tune in next week for a report back on Shaolin Monks: Wheel of Life at Montecasino and EFC Africa (extreme fighting champion peeps) and Kelly Clarkson at the Northgate Dome. ‘Cause that’s how I roll.

Nat

xOxO