Guest Cow Blog: Baby tjoklits - partying with Planks

There is a part of South African subculture that has always fascinated me. Always being game for a fun night out, but not always in the mood for the same things such as the doef doef at clubs, watching sports and drinking draughts at pubs, and of course, my favourite, watching live bands perform and following them everywhere like a 70’s groupie, I love going to “plank jols”. Mostly because I can watch them for hours and ponder what’s going on in their minds.

Let’s start with the people. I love the 3 litre people (one litre of brandy, a two litre coke, and a 3 litre Ford Cortina). I am convinced that they were born without give-a-fuck-o-meters, because, well, they just don’t give a fuck what they do, where they go, what language they use, how they dress, and most importantly they don’t give a flying fuck what people think of them. That’s rare in today’s society and that’s most probably why their get-togethers are so much fun. When in their presence, pretty much anything goes so you can act as uncivilised as you like and no one will judge you. If they don’t care what you think of them, why should they care what you do? There is one thing that will get you into very serious trouble at a plank party though, and that’s looking at/ talking to/ looking as if you’re looking at or asking a planks partner to dance. Planks are very possessive, and when marinated in that much alcohol, fists are bound to start flying.

The women always go all out when dressing up for dancing. You can spot that over-teased three hour blow-waved home perm from a mile away. This is usually accompanied by spandex ski pants, a low cut bedazzled top that usually has some cleverly unclever one liner on such as “your boyfriend thinks I’m hot” with the unflattering so called flesh coloured bra straps showing, way too much plastic jewelry and lets not forget the pair of golden high heels that eventually end up under a table as the evening progresses. Oh and blue eye shadow. You gotta love the blue eye shadow, bright pink cheeks and prostitute red lipstick. The men’s traditional plank party attire on the other hand, is left wanting considering how much effort the gals put in. Give them some rugby shorts, a golf shirt they can tuck into the shorts, a pair of brown sandals and a bottle of overwhelming aftershave and they’re good to go.

There are two different types of plank parties. One with a cash bar, and one where you pay to get in and bring your own booze. The latter is often referred to as a Skilpad party (because you bring your own “dop”). Either way, there’s usually only two kinds of drinks they consume, Double brandy and coke or Black Label. They also get very excited at the prospect of a Mirror ball and strobe lights. I can hardly remember the last time I saw either anywhere else but at a plank party. Also something I guarantee you will only find at a plank party is maizemeal or flour on the dance floor.

Then there’s the music. Now don’t get me wrong, some Afrikaans musicians such as Theuns Jordaan have the linguistic ability and the vocal talent to sing the clothes straight off a woman’s body but it’s the rest I just don’t get. Almost all of it has the same beat and uses the same words, just in a different order. And some of its just plain silly. I mean who cares if you have a tooter op jou water scooter? And it’s pretty common knowledge that “die bloubul” doesn’t know much about anything so why sing about it? Well I figured that one out fast enough, just look at the combined IQ of the people dancing to it.

Watching these people dance, and often joining them on the dance floor is just as much fun. Essentially, there’s 3 different dances that the couples attempt, depending on how drunk they are. First, there’s the waltz, no not the elegant Viennese waltz you go to dance class to learn before you get married or before a matric farewell, this particular version entails a concertina and hey, how hard can it be to stay on your feet while repeatedly counting 1-2-3 in your head? Then there’s the ever popular two-step. A Plank can two-step to just about anything, from Kurt Darren’s Af Af, to Kenny Rogers’ The gambler to even Brenda Fassie’s Nomakanjani. The two step isn’t all that complicated either. Take two steps and try not to fall over when you turn. Then there’s what I call Windsurfing. And in my experience, the drunker you are, the better you are at it. Keep in mind that your dancing partner has to be on the same level of soused as you or you’ll both just fall over or step on each other’s toes. This dance is best suited for more rhythmic music that artists such as Nicholis Louw, Gerhard Steyn and Eden record to the same bassline and use the word baby over and over and over again.

As the evening progresses and the brandy bottles become emptier, the females’ vocabulary decreases to mostly a single word, FOKOF, and the majority of the males are passed out either in their cars or on the tables. This is probably the best time to go home as the women become agitated because they have no one to dance with except each other, this doesn’t stop them by the way. Also, the few men that are still awake but brandied up to the eyeballs decide that now would be the best time for a gentleman’s disagreement because the bloke passed out on the bar counter across the room, looked at his vrou. Even though barbarism in any way shape or form is disgusting, the fights are highly amusing because if they can’t even lift their glasses, how are they going to lift their hands and punch someone? If they can’t aim a stream of urine at a toilet bowl, imagine how entertaining it would be to see them trying to land at least one snotklap?

So, if you’re in the mood for something distinctly different, put on some Plakkies, dust off that old Vanilla Ice or Billy Ray Cyrus cassette, paint your face all pretty, take your Cortina off the bricks and head over to Brakpan. Pak uit die polony and go party with the planks!!!

Miss Jones