A bad thing about working is that if you find yourself becoming a lot more boring quickly. After Thursday night and crawling through Friday, I was in for the night with hardly any regrets. In fact, I was in bed by midnight. I don't even go to sleep that early during the work week -- which really is the root of all my sleep deprivation problems. The ennui carried over to Saturday afternoon when the extra special plan was cleaning my room and making it to the mall. Yeah...neither. Lounging in the fuzzy pants until it was dark enough to motivate me.
I was off to meet P. Fizzie in Brooklyn for a party. Being slow and unlucky individuals, we missed the open bar portion of the evening and were feeling restless. Still, we danced and chatted, marvelling at the small world and giving a shout to Nick. As has become our MO, we bounced back and forth at will. First was traipsing through Park Slope and doing our best wino impressions. Getting back, the place was more live, but I felt the discontent bubbling up.
I hate a significant portion of New York DJs. Why? Because they fucking suck. Why do they suck? Because having records does not a DJ make. You need to some of degree of mixing skills and the ability to read a crowd in order to keep a party going. For example, "Seven Nation Army" and "Get Low" are good songs, right? On their own. Perhaps even a mashup, though I significantly doubt that -- and enough with those because they're becoming so uncreative as time passes. But those two songs right next to each other DO NOT MIX. I repeat, DO NOT MIX. So, if you as a DJ are putting those two songs together that DO NOT MIX, you are fucking up whatever party vibe you just had going. Notice how people just stopped dancing when you did that? That means you fucked up. Of course, those songs are the extreme cases, but really, enough is enough. It's bad enough that they only play about 40 songs all together to begin with and I can rattle them off in my sleep. Shitty DJs piss me off but crowds are stupid sheep also. Wow, Poison and Crazy In Love too. Ooh...and Yeah! Oh my God, I never hear those songs anywhere! Add onto that some non-dancing ass bitch (there's always one) who kept bumping into me because she had like zero concept of rhythm. Smoke started rising from my ears, so we decided to take another break.
Off to the curb for a smoke break. We made a friend because I am a random magnet after all. Is it me or is it sad that the only ones who would ever compliment me on my looks are old and/or gay? Such is life in the big city I suppose. We decided to give up and stroll off back down Fifth Avenue to see what we could find. We ducked into a restaurant/bar and were seduced into staying by the wings. We bounced back into the now winding party and just shut off the brains and danced before it was all over.
We walked down to the Atlantic Avenue stop and P made the mistake of taking the local N as I jumped on the Q express. 34th Street in 10 mins...how sweet that was! I went to the F and jumped on that, comatose kicking in a few minutes later. I woke up as the train pulled into Parsons super disoriented, but I got my shit together enough to get off. I was really wondering how I'd gotten to the F though as I walked up the stairs. The cobwebs lifted and I made my home to do my time honed burrowing just enough space to sleep on a clothes filled bed. Good times.
Posted by Candicissima at June 7, 2004 11:32 AM