Yesterday I embraced the nothing. With a day fully off and an empty house, I suited up in underwear, amassed snacks and donated my eyes to a 6 episode crime drama about an ass kicking take no shit British grandmother. After finishing a season in a day and an unplanned nap, which left me in a daze, I decided to add to the filth by eating a heroic dose of grilled onions and a slab of salmon. I had committed to self-quarantine by this point. If you creaked open the door to my room and you felt the waft of the onion cloud and saw me in hunched half naked squalor, you’d assume you stumbled across the rare African American serial killer or an Encino Man scenario (or a Cereal Killer, I’m comin for you Cap’n Crunch). It’s at around 6:15pm when I receive the message “Are you by chance DJing at Macy Gray tonight at belly up?” I remembered discussing the possibility of this, but I never received an email confirming it. I checked my inbox just in case and sure enough, there it was, marked as read, but unseen til now. I was indeed opening up for Macy Gray and was supposed to be loading into the belly up at 6:30. All the sudden leisure turned frantic, and as I jammed records into a milk carton at speeds I generally reserved for young athletes not old mathletes, I found myself thinking quick irrational thoughts like “will Macy Gray fans appreciate Drive Like Jehu” and “Is Rod Stewart’s version of I’m Losing You Funky Enough” (it is). I was out of the house by 6:34, with pants barely on, socks and shirt would come into play at the red lights. Got there close enough to on time to find out the belly up has turntables, but due to djs having sticky fingers, no needles. I’m on the verge of panic attack when my friend ran to Lou’s and came back with one needle, therefor one turntable. This means that after every song I played there was a long pause as I pulled one record, dropped the next and cued it up using the light from my phone. This pause was just long enough to trick the crowd into thinking Macy Gray was coming out, whip them into a frenzy, start playing another song and hear the screams of a packed house muted to the palpable sigh of 600 Macy Grayless people. This happened literally after every song I played. Fortunately I know people were stoked on my set because a 60+ year old lady came over and gave me a ten dollar bill and a smile. Winning, as they say. So yes, last night I took a Delorian to 1999, a magical place where a packed room of people await Macy Gray with baited breath and endure the debut of DJ Salmon Cloud.
Posted on: Thu, 18 Sep 2014 18:12:42 +0000
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