Useless

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Seeing as this is the 58th post, I feel it should be marked with a celebration. As all things 58 should be. So I will celebrate by giving you some useless random information. Mucho gracias to all those who are reading the blog regularly, the numbers are climbing steadily, almost up to 5 people a week now, ha. The cool thing about the blog is that the stats page shows you amount of readers per day, what they clicked to get to the website, what google searches were used etc. However, yesterday, two irregular, peculiar ones popped up. First one was funny in fairness… “Is Mark Heyes gay?” Good spelling by whoever it was, I hope Google gave them the answer.

The second one is highly odd and a bit disturbing. This is it, word for word…”guys changing room” rape “gay porn”. Seriously. So I Googled this to see what came up, as it was way weirder than other random searches people might stumble onto the blog from (e.g guy picks up mexicans in truck). And what came up number one in the Google search when I typed this in…? My blog!!! For funk’s sake, great stuff to be associated with really. Something like free gay porn and rape fantasy were second and third on the list. That’s great. (Apparently my post about 24 Hour Fitness tipped the search in my favour, lucky me).

Another bit of random information I got last night was in the acting class with the savage teacher, he is miles ahead of everyone else I have been to so far. Plus his stories are good. One of the nutters in the class wanted to do a scene where he got fully stripped, for no apparent reason. So, the teacher used this story as an example.

Apparently, in the movie “Romeo & Juliet”, Baz Luhrmann wanted Marlon Brando to play the priest (eventually played by the Irish actor, who now that I check is actually English, Pete Postlethwaite). Brando agreed to do it, Luhrmann was delighted, until it came time to shoot. Brando decided the priest would only work if he was naked for every scene doing it, more effect. Luhrmann said no, he didn’t want a big fat Brando on the screen for no reason. Brando said he would only do it if he was naked, Luhrmann said good duck to you then sir. So, the moral of the story… only get naked for a reason!

In case you have not yet realized, I am writing this short post for a reason. It’s a filler, a quick fix to the 5 readers until I get time to write the longer one about the acting class I went to last night. I just don’t have the time now. I think it may be good too, seeing as it involves sweating, s**t, Tropic Thunder style characters, losing German friends, and a man date. So I didn’t want to rush it now.

If anyone is on Twitter as well, follow on!!! I am slowly getting addicted to it, plus it gives me something to text when I’m in a club with Andy and Colin and need to look busy. Here’s a song that pops into my head every time I think of Twitter… Rockin Robbin by The Jackson 5

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DJ Bluffing

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Second day of DJ’ing did not start so well. In fact, yesterday I had one of those mare of a days everyone has now and again, for no apparent reason. Looking back now, and after being told by my buddy today, I was being a little b**ch. There was a heat wave so it was ridiculously hot, as in about 100 degrees. I had could barely sleep with the heat, so woke up in a little b**ch mood which continued for the day. What am I doing with my life, I worked all weekend and made about $25, homeless bums are higher up on the salary ladder than me, I stayed up trying to find good remixes and ended up downloading about 200 crap songs (paid for them, obviously) and for what… a DJ gig I don’t even get paid for, what an ape I was, am, will ever be. This was the mood I was in when I headed to the gym to DJ. My little b**ch mood.

So I started off with a rock intro, purely because of the assistant manager and me being an ape trying to please her. This did not go down well with everyone else in there it seemed. There was no bopping around, not even fake bopping from the dude behind the counter. I kept trying to save it with more rock, but even as good as they were, I got the vibe that they were not going down well. The DJ booth is located half way up the stairs, so I can’t see as much as I would like. The main entrance, people on the stairs, and the front desk more or less. I was then informed that the assistant manager wasn’t even on that day, the funking job. My little b**ch mood got even worse.

All I could think about was what kind of ape I was – stuck under a stairs, playing songs the people didn’t even like, sweating to death, tired from being up all night downloading these crap songs, and not getting money for any of this ape-ness. And I was wearing headphones that no sound came out of. What a tool I am. Funk that, this music needs to change, and fast. I cut the song that was on short, but changed the entire musical angle too soon. I put on a song that I think, played at the right time, could go down well. Not though, when things are going horrendous to start with. I went from a (savage) remix of a Clash song, to not this song, but a remix of this…

The remix, obviously, is not too bad being honest, its pretty cool. But when you’re trying to save making yourself look like an ape, it is probably not the best song to give you street cred, I actually saw one girl look up at me and laugh. Oh Jesus. I blame it on a rush of blood to the head, what with the headphones being stuck on too tight and all. I half thought of stopping the set short and just leaving, what were they going to do, not not pay me? I gave it one last roll of the dice with a few guaranteed remixes. These got me in a better mood at least. Until I saw the General Manager making a bee line for me. Balls.

“Hey man, we haven’t been properly introduced yet”… Yeah, look I’ll pack my stuff and go… “I just wanted to say, great job, you are really getting the place going” Eh, say what now? “You are definitely better than the last guy we had” Ok, I’ll take that as a compliment that you think I’m better than at least one other person, cheers. “Any more 80′s remixes, we loved the other one you just played?” Rick Astley? A girl laughed at me, are you sure??!!! Here you go so… I put on a gem (At the time, I had put it in the bob hope pile after the reception I thought poor Rick had gotten)

Now I could see people bopping and dancing around, my tunnel vision and little b**ch mood had been lifted! People were even singing along at the top of their voices, it is Hollywood too I suppose so they might have been hoping to get signed up for a record deal at the same time. This even brought one of my fans out of the woodwork from upstairs. I saw his head pop over the banister, squeal, and rush down with a friend in tow to tell me he loves to dance to this song. Good stuff, no I will not dance with you. So the two of them stood halfway up the stairs, where I was situated, and danced along to the song in front of me. Very flamboyantly with each other. Throwing me looks. The whole song.

More and more people were swinging by now to say good job, great work, wuu! One guy rushed out to his car to give me his friend’s CD to see if I would play it next time (I wont, it’s horrendous, for the gym at least). They also seemed to linger around, to watch me do my magic. It was then when I realized that these people thought I was actually remixing these songs on the spot, making it up as I went along. I only mix the end and start of songs. My headphones are plugged into a slot in my laptop where no sound comes out of. When I realized they were watching my hands to see how I was remixing these songs so well, I did what any person would do. I informed them that they were remixes I had found. I wish.

Instead, I did what any ape would do, and pretended to mix, scratch and mash songs together. On my laptop. With no external mixer or sound card. My headphones filling my ears with silence. Making sure to press parts of the keyboard where there were no buttons, pretending to wiggle my fingers around on the scroll part as if I was rewinding the song down or speeding it up. Tapping the side of the laptop as if I was making part of the song repeat and then finally kick in. I can mix two songs I have together well, but these people were convinced I was remixing entire songs, who was I to disappoint! I kept this up until they seemed impressed and convinced  I was doing it and left. It was tiring enough, pretending to be a master remixer.

My fan came back a good few times to tell me “Good job” and give me two thumbs up. Where did he put his thumbs, I hear you say, hardy har. I was going to see if I could get a photo with him for the blog, seeing as he was dressed in a ridiculous get-up once again, but I didn’t, for two reasons. Firstly, my camera has been bust since Mexico, and secondly, aren’t fans the ones who ask you for a photo, not the other way around? Although I presume Larry David is calling over to my house any day now for a quick polaroid. 

I finished the set on a high note, even getting calls for “One more song!” which I duly obliged, with a song I’ll play below. My little b**ch mood had been lifted. It was in the back of my mind that hopefully no other DJ will ever watch me work my magic on the remixing side, notice my headphones are plugged into nothing, or that the remixes are the exact same every time. Plus I remembered that I still was not getting paid for any of this, but I pushed all of that irrelevant stuff way back to the very back of my mind. 

I headed home, chilled out a while, tried to be productive, sweltered in the heat, then decided it was a boring Monday night, I might as well go work out. Which is when one of my roommates asked me where I was off to… the gym. “The gym? Weren’t you there earlier?” Yeah. “You have a fun life, the gym twice in one day! I’m only joking, have fun!” Have fun you say. Twice in one day. I have a fun life indeed. Indeed I do. Indeed. I have no life. Twice in one day! What kind of chump am I? Twice in one day?!!! What are you doing with your life?!! You are a bum, sort yourself out! And what the funk is with this heat?!! Why can’t it be cold and miserable?!!!… And I was back to being a little b**ch again. Wuu.

Here was the encore song that had people doing the zombie dance that goes along to it…

Thriller Remix by Michael Jackson

Being honest, I used this post as a way to vent out the last of my bad mood. Today, in contrast, has been mighty!!! You must be so excited to hear about it next time!!! Re de de!!!

Eh, Define “War Crime”

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I will not lie, it is ridiculously hot in L.A at the moment. Record temperatures I do believe, so finding the energy to stand, never mind write, is tough enough. I will plough on though, can’t let down my two fans! (Wrong fans I know but its too hot to think straight. You might say I’m thinking gay. Oh Jesus.)

The other day I was watching part of Sister Act 2. Whoopi was telling Lauren Hill something like… “If you wake up thinking about singing, then you are a singer”. This led me to ponder what I think about when I wake up. Lately, it has been writing and DJ’ing. Plus, as most guys do I would presume, women. Well most guys outside of West Hollywood at least. So, using this logic, I must want to be a writer and a D.J. And a woman. Logically. One thing, however, that I have yet to wake up thinking about, are Shamwows. We have not gotten off on the best terms as of yet.

Sunday I was meant to be working all day, from 10 in the morning until 11 that night. Seeing as it was the worst carnival ever though, this was cut down to starting at 5 until whenever the last person left. Sunday afternoon I went to the gym, met my two fans, and headed home. On the way home, while waiting to cross the street near my house, this homeless guy asked me for a dollar. He entertained me with a few horrific jokes but as he made the f so I forked over a dollar. Still no sign of the green man, so I asked him how much he had made today, seeing as his bucket was fairly full when he stuffed in my dollar bill… $35 in about 3 hours he told me! What the funk?!!! The previous 2 days I had made $15 in 12 hours! A homeless bum was doing better than me, it was soul crushing to say the least.

Apparently, the bums do really well here, its unreal. They are all connected, on the phone to each other, where’s good today, where’s slow, rotate spots etc. They have an organizational structure it seems, ha, weird enough. I gave the bum my C.V in case any positions became available, fingers crossed!

With that in mind, I went off to resume life as a carnie and a Shammy salesman, with the intent of at least making $35, I could not be beaten by a homeless dude! And, surprise surprise, I made $150 in 3 hours!!! I was delighted… spoooooof. I was well and truly beaten by the bum. In about 4 hours I made a grand total of… 2 sales, let me add that up quickly, I made $12. $3 an hour. The bum made 35 in 3, he’s on almost $12 an hour, ha, what am I doing with my life?!

One sale was to a couple, after we had packed up everything and were almost gone. The other sale was to a very pleasant chap. Seemed like a nice guy. If you ignored the Nazi aspect. And he hadn’t shown me the tattoo of Hitler on his back. But he did, so he ruined the first impression I got of him. After I made the sale to him, he came back for some small talk, the carnival was horrendous as I said. He asked where the Shammys were made… In Germany, and you know the Germans make the best stuff right?! (I had the spiel learnt off to a tee). “They definitely do, are you from Germany yourself?” No, I lived there for a year though, I go back as often as I can (I did live there, but I don’t go back as often as I can, most depressing year of my life). “So you like the Germans? You like their style and beliefs?” Ah, yeah? I suppose, what? The Germans make the best stuff right?!

I get the feeling he must like Germany, or German women or German products, perhaps I could get him to buy another set of Shamwows. So I praise Germany and all its products to the max – great cars, great women, great rap, ha, and great Shamwows, you might as well buy another set buddy! I see that he is warming to me liking all things German. He wants to know if I can speak German, I sure can Junge, wie gehts?!

This pleases him immensely, I think I can seal the deal on another sale, and jokingly give him a “Ja, voll!!!” About this time, he nods me a knowing nod, as if we’re both in on a secret, tells me that he certainly does know the Germans are the best, and lifts up his top. He is covered in tattoos, but the one he wants to show me, is the Hitler one covering his back. Oh sweet Jesus. He is a Nazi, or neo-Nazi, whatever it is, I didn’t stop to ask which he was. This is no longer banter and small talk. This is now me making sure I don’t get curbed by him. I quickly realize that we are actually close to where the movie American History X is set, no lies, it is nuts! He pulls his t-shirt back down, and turns back around, waiting for me to say something. Eh, cool, that was a nice tattoo you had of an angel on your shoulder, oh you weren’t showing me that one. Did I mention the Shammy holds 21 times its own weight in water, ja? Oh mein Gott in Himmel!

Thankfully his girlfriend had seen enough of the carnival and came back to drag him off. He gives me the rock fist to say goodbye, I accidently give him the Hail Hitler salute in anticipation. No curbing for me. I should really have taken the Shammys back off him and given him a refund when he revealed his true nature. I took the money over the moral stance though. You would too if you knew a homeless bum was making more than you!

Here’s another tremendous mix I located recently… In The Air Ce Soir by Phil Collins vs Yelle

Fantastisch!!!

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Great news, it seems my dreams are finally falling into place, like a perfect jigsaw. This weekend I became a carnie, wuu, and now today I found out I have two fans. I am not just being presumptuous either, they kindly told me. However, it is not as glamorous as you might think. You might presume they are two hot female fans who love my writing and acting potential. You would presume wrong. Obviously. 

This morning I was up early to watch Everton waltz into the F.A Cup final, a great morning. So, I decided afterwards I would go to the gym earlier than usual. This is where I was fortunate enough to meet my two new fans. They are a proud set of fans if ever I was to choose them.

Since my rocking DJ set, I have been to the gym twice, but both times late at night when it has been dead. Today I went roughly around the time I DJ’ed the last time. Firstly, I’m not really a great fan of striking up random conversation with randomers in the gym. Have you ever tried to talk random crap to a girl while she’s pumping away on a machine or on the treadmill? Her head all red and flustered, looking like she’s just after stressful, sweaty sex or has been sitting on the toilet for too long. It’s not really an ideal place for random chat, to me at least. Other people have a different view it seems.

While I was figuring out one machine, I noticed a guy two over, giving me the eye. At least that is what I thought. I presumed he was gay, but maybe not, I could be wrong. He was an Asian guy, maybe in his 40′s, balding, pencil moustache, pink vest and rainbow knee high socks, and funnily enough, a pair of black shoes. Maybe he wasn’t gay, who knows. Who hasn’t worn that kind of outfit at least once to the gym?! While I am resting between trying to use the machine I am at, he is staring me down while working out on some calf machine. It was then when I realized, stupid me, he was just probably looking at the mirror behind me, not at me, checking out the calves as they like to do here, how cocky was I to have thought otherwise, what an ape. When I noticed that he had started to pant like a pregnant woman, and was definitely not looking at the mirror but staring me down, I decided it might be best if I changed machines, to the far side of the room.

Conveniently enough, he followed me over, sitting on the bench next to me. I dodged eye contact for as long as possible. When he was almost in my face looking at me, I gave him a “How’s it going” and tried to move swiftly on. However, the minute I took an earphone out of my ear to acknowledge his look, he swooped in. “Did you DJ here the other day? You did, you did, oh my gosh, I loved it, I am such a big fan of your music. I love what you did!”  I gave him the “its not actually my music” spiel but he wasn’t listening/didn’t care/couldn’t understand. “So, where do you play?” Eh, I play here, and sometimes, in my room, I play with… I mean by myself. “You’re definitely my favourite DJ in here now, definitely, keep it up!” Pardon me, there are other DJs?! What do they play?! Do you swear I am your number one? Swear?!!

Yet another take on such a simple name managed to end the conversation nicely… So what is your name or do you have a DJ name? After quickly mulling over would I say DJ Tsector after the last girl, I opted not to and stuck with Mark… “Merk? What a great name, is that short for… Merkel?” The “Ha” and what-an-ape-you-are shake of the head I gave in response kind of threw him off, seeing as he gave me a “Hmmmm, ooook, no need to laugh, I was just wondering” and left in a huff. I hope I am still his number one! At least there were no more stares or grunting in my direction after that.

Not from him anyways. Why are there no insane women in the gym, only weird guys?!! While doing one of four sit ups, another random guy next to me started dancing like a mad man to his iPod, pumping it in the air. Again, he too might not have been gay. Who doesn’t flail around to their favourite Britney song, miming the lyrics, at the gym?! I got the familiar feeling of the side of my head being peered at, but this time I had my blinkers on and stared straight ahead, at the wall a foot in front of me. However, this did not deter the dancer. He got more flailing and wild with his arm movements, so that the iPod in his hand was being thrust into my face, as if he was trying to sell it to me. When I asked him if he was ok, was this his space or something- noticing the stuck on the toilet look on his face, lovely – he squealed that he was, he just loves music. “Did you not DJ here the other day? You did! I love music too, I was a big fan of what you played, so great to hear something different, although you never played the Britney I asked for.” I actually didn’t play here at all, the music is not mine, I don’t own it, and its crap anyways, please leave me be. “Don’t be so silly, I saw you, would you do me a super big favour?” No. “Will you make me a CD of music like that?” No. “Aw, really?” Actually, I will, $25, fair price. This got a laugh out of him. He didn’t get that I was being serious though, so he laughed some more. Again he did not get that I would do it for the money (make the CD, obviously), so his laughing tailed off until it dawned on him. We were just left with an uncomfortable silence. I won the battle and the silence at least made him move on.

On my way out of the gym I bumped into big gay Jim. I decided to ask him what the feedback the other day about the music was like, preferably from sane people. He started saying it was super until I cut him off, give me the criticism Jim, I can praise myself all I need. “Well, there was one person who said a bad thing.” Go on… “Our assistant General Manager didn’t like one of the songs you played, you’ll have to impress her next time”. One song? I played for 2 hours and she picks out one song! What does she know, I way prefer gay men over women anyways, when it comes to taste in music, obviously. I took the criticism with a pinch of salt, I swear. Wait until I show that b***h tomorrow.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad having two weird dudes as fans after all. Better than no-one at all. I’ll have to play them a bit of Britney next time to make sure they stay on board, a nice little treat. I might make knee high rainbow socks my signature look too for DJ’ing. While I’m at it, I might as well go all out and try their approaches on Holly Valance the next time I see her in the gym. Surely she’ll fall for my sweaty, grunting, red head look.

Here’s my song to get the assistant manager bopping around her tomorrow, I got some insider knowledge that she likes this band… Knights Of Cydonia (Ocelot Remix) by Muse

$15 For 12 Hours Work? Wuu!

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After being delighted with myself and pumped after job number one (rocking out my gym as the new, unpaid DJ), it was time to rush home and get ready to start my second new job of the day, I was putting in the double shift already! Job number two involved me being a Shamwow salesman, although the version I am selling is the Super Shammy if I am to be technical (same product, different name). For those you don’t know what the Shammy is, watch this video again to refresh the cockles.

On the way to the fair, where we would be selling the Shammys (although I was told I would need to do very little, they will sell themselves!) I was given my sales spiel to learn off and filled in on what the job would involve. Basically, there are festivals, fairs, carnivals every week where people set up stalls and stands selling different products. There are usually fun fair rides there as well. Wear what I want, outdoors, get a bit of a tan, free ride on the big wheel, it was sounding like the greatest job ever already! All I would have to do is stand there, let the Shammys sell themselves by giving people a demo run through and the commission would be filling my pockets to the brim. I was pumped.

However, and there is always a however it seems, once we got to the festival, I saw it was not as glamourous as I had imagined. For anyone in Cork, I would describe it as being a hybrid of Funderland (but smaller) and the Coal Quay (but worse, if possible). For everyone else not familiar with either, it was like a really crap carnival. And it was then when I remembered who worked at carnivals… carnies! Wuu huu, my dream of becoming a carny had finally come through! (Although technically I was one before when I made wax hands for people in an amusement park in Ocean City but thats another story).

Coincidentally enough, I have recently (well, recently-ish, I wasted 2 hours over Christmas and I would not recommend you do the same) watched a documentary on carnies and their daily lives. Highlights include incest, lack of teeth, and a version of English even more hubbula hubbula than mine.

Carny!

Carny WorkmatesThese people were not to disappoint. Characters like those above were floating about in the shadows, more behind the scenes folks. A few dodgy stares, and hubbulas were given until they realized you were one of their own for the next few days and they welcomed you into the family. The other sellers were a bit more upscale. As we set up our stall, I noticed the people to our right were selling shoes. Shoes that looked like they were all well worn in, but not in a vintage way, they looked dirty and second hand, but still expensive somehow. When have you ever gone to a fun fair with the intention of buying shoes, that are more expensive than ones in regular shops, and look like the seller just walked through a field in them, took them off and put them in front of you?!! The stall behind us were selling water bottles that sprayed you in the face as you took a drink, which was not a joke bottle but meant for practical use. The competition did not look great. Super Shammys were kings of the carnival it seemed. I could see the envy and respect in the eyes of the other carnies.

At least the banter was good with the other carnies. One older lady, who liked to rub my stomach as she spoke to me, freaked me out that she wouldn’t stop, asked me “Where did you get that accent from?” Eh, my Mum. This confused her no end, so she decided to pinpoint different countries, spot the odd one out… “Are you from Australia?” No. “England?” Nope. “Liverpool?” Ha, how did you guess that was the country I am from?!!!

Another carnie folk gave me an authentic Irish ornament she had made and was selling for an extremely high price, it is too weird to describe. Well, it is literally two small hazelnuts on top of each other with a leprechaun hat on top. Not too weird to describe actually at all, just plain weird and I had no idea how it was remotely “authentic Irish”. I’m sure she made a fortune from them.

Our stand was set-up, my sales pitch was down, the sun was shining, the carnival had just opened, 30, 000 people were expected over 4 days, if I sold 20 a day I would be making over 100 bones and at times you might sell 20-30 in an hour, I was pumped. Next step was just to wait for the people. So we waited. And waited. And waited some more. And no-one showed up. I did two demos for people, who turned out to be carnies from other stalls, and at the end of each pitch they asked if they could have them for free, in return for a slice of pizza and my palm being read. No thanks, and bob hope!

Apparently, now and again, between the really good shows, there are these off kilter, bad ones where not many people show up. But you still might sell 20 in a few hours at least. And at other times, there are really slow shows where you might only sell 20 in a day. And then there was this time, described as “The worst and biggest joke of a show I have ever done or seen”. Which was great seeing as it was my first day, but at least not really too unsurprising for how my luck has been. I made no sales in 5 hours, it was horrendous. The season pro in charge, that I was working for, also made no sales in 5 hours, so at least it wasn’t just me. Still though, this did not console me in the slightest. It was a great feeling going home that night, knowing that after working a total of 7 hours that day, I had made no money, whatsoever. In fact, I had a net deficit of money for that, after splurging out on lunch, ha.

The next day, the outlook was that at least it could not get any worse. How could you do worse than no sales. I actually thought of plenty of ways of doing this, ha, but thankfully none of them happened (e.g, while giving my demo, I would spill coke all over someone watching it, and have to give them free shammys to make up for it). About an hour in to the shift, I made my first sale. Strangely enough, to two guys about 15, God only knows why they bought them but I didn’t care. In the next 4 hours, I sold one and a half more (buy one, get one free, would you take half the price for just one, sold). The place was still like a ghost town, so nobody was around, it was horrific!

Seeing as 30, 000 had been promised, I had been upgraded to using a microphone headset as well to broadcast my booming sales pitch. This back fired slightly, when after one guy walked away, who had presumed and insisted that Scotland and Ireland were the same difference, I forgot about the microphone being on and called him an ape. Luckily he was all talk and I had the carnies to back me up, ha. We stick together.

At the end of the two days, I had to count my money and tot up my total. It took me all of 5 seconds… 2 and a half sales, I made a grand total of $15 for a total of 12 hours work, including both jobs. Actually, now that I think of it, seeing as I spent $15 each day on lunch, I came away with a net total of -$15. I wonder how much I will have to pay out when we get our bonuses.

Here’s a cool remix for the gym which I stumbled across while getting ready for my DJ set. Black Hole Sun (Chew Fu Remix) by Soundgarden

Oops, I Did It Again!

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Today was a tale of two jobs. With the outcome more or less the exact same – all work and no pay. I have a feeling it will be a looong post, so I will break it up into two, one for each fun job!

First on the agenda, was my DJ’ing debut in the gym. Mucho gracias to everyone on Spacebook that suggested songs for me to play, they were highly appreciated. Even though I actually did not use any of them this time. However, they did lead me down the long tail to finding ridiculously good remixes and bootlegs of class songs. So, once again, thanks for the indirect help. And to everyone on Twitter who might read this and did not bother to suggest anything at all, ye pr**ks, let me down.

With my music sorted, and my new brilliant DJ software in tow, I was highly pumped to get the gym rocking. And, this time, I wouldn’t just be pleasing big gay Jim on his own, I would get to please the whole gym of gay dudes, with the splattering of hot women, orgy on! In I went, confidently striding up to the front desk, unlike the last time. I am here to DJ. The guy at the front desk gives me the nod, I am good to go.

Up to the equipment and set up my gear. Which consists of my laptop, a lead to connect it to the sound system (they have it already, good waste of $18, a lot on my budget) and my headphones. I soon find out only my laptop is needed, headphones are props too it seems. I realize that the slot needed to connect to the sound system is where my headphones go. Headphones are needed for effect at least, so I plug them into the next and only other available slot, no sound comes through them, but at least it looks more legit than being caught with them not hooked up to anything but stuck in my pocket! I would now be mixing using headphones that will actually block out the music, ha, should be even easier now.

However, the minute the first song goes on, I know I am in a different type of trouble. I pick a remix of a well known song, not too left-field and well suited for a gym vibe. The people I can see in my vicinity perk up their ears. I can see the puzzled look of them recognizing the song kind of, they know those lyrics, but not the beat or the music. But their feet are tapping, hips are popping, asses shaking and heads are bopping. Oh no, this has started too well. There is only one way this is going and I am not ready for it after the big gay Jim incident

The song kicks in and the magic happens. Big gay Jim comes flaming out of nowhere “I love this song, pump it up!!!!” No problem Jim, where’s the volume though? Ha, amidst a sea of buttons and knobs, on the sound board obviously, I find the volume and we’re off! Here’s the opener… Smells Like Neon Spirit by Nirvana vs Disco Trash Music

Not one to blow my own trumpet, but I have done well and picked my music wisely. The place is soon rocking. The only mistake I feel is choosing Boyz by M.I.A (“where my boys at”) but going well besides that. I am getting away on the mixing side of things (end a song and start the next one with similar beats, blend, hope for the best, DJ on!) and big gay Jim wont stop giving me the thumbs up. Before I go any further, a Seinfeld joke springs to mind. One of his stand-up jokes is of how people take compliments about their clothes so personally. As in, if someone says “Nice jacket” the person wearing it might take the compliment too much to heart, as if they had personally stitched and hand made the jacket. When, all they did was pick it out and wear it. 

So, when people start coming up to me to compliment me on ‘my’ music, I give a thanks, they’re not actually my songs, I am a great picker though, cheers. The hardest part I found was making myself look busy up there and as if I was doing something. Headphone to one ear held up with one hand, fool around on my keyboard with the other, blend the two songs, look busy. It is all going swimmingly well, until my laptop crashes ruining my mixing, ha. At least two guys starting doing a fake chant “We want more, we want more” and then a big gay “Yaaaaaaay” when it was back up and running. 

The requests for Britney and Madonna are non-stop too, cliche on! A few people are even asking me for my DJ card, eh, what’s that? One guy, however, who is blatantly not a fan, is the guy behind the counter. I notice that when my head is up from pretending to be busy, he pretends to like it and bop a bit. But, when he thinks I am not looking, there is no foot tapping or bopping, until he sees me again, then spoof dances. The song I just put on is a long one, so having nothing to do, I decide to stare him down, to see if he cracks and just admits he doesn’t like it. Stubborn little guy though, he fake dances his heart out for me, I appreciated it.

Surprisingly, even a girl came up to compliment the music as well. Enthusiastic and popping off walls, she comes bouncing up to me, blah blah blah, what’s your name? She asked me this just when a song was changing, so I had to pretend to be busy and mixing. I tell her “Two secs there” as in, hang on two minutes, while I do this, and I will tell you then. She obviously understands me word for word, responds with “Tsector, what an awesome name, good job!” and off she bounces again before I could speak anymore hubbula hubbula to her. Unfortunately too, there was no sign of Bros, so his song will have to remain on ice until the next day.

My two hour set finishes up, I am pumped to the max, head is inflating from the new found respect I have from the gym staff and I manage to get Jim to realize it will never happen. As I am hobbling downstairs from the DJ area  (knee is still dodge), Jim is squealing in joy, balls, I made it too good again. Merrick, awesome, woah, I am sweating after that, and he then starts to tell me how much better it was than he thought it would be (the music and my DJ’ing, obviously). I am concentrating on my hobbling and the stairs and when he notices my gimp limp, asks why am I hobbling. Soccer, crocked, rar diddy rar. “Ooooo, you play soccer? What don’t you do?!!” Eh, men, for one Jim, sorry to disappoint. Ha, even if the guy behind the counter didn’t like my music, he laughed at my joke. In fairness to big gay Jim, he took it well too. The joke, obviously!!!

Song of the day, there could’ve been so many, but here’s a good one to make people think you can mix… Roxanne (DiscoTech Remix) by The Police

Ricky Bobby, We Meet Again…

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Having had such a productive day yesterday, I knew it would be hard to top it today. Started well though, got an email from the girl in the acting school I was at yesterday. She is offering me more classes to audit next week if I like, happy days, I feel bad for the others in there who paid thousands for the classes, I think she has a soft spot for a gibberish Irish accent and a big ball of hair, ha.

Back to being productive, time to start belting into my 19 bullets points of things to do. After the Champions League, obviously. It is tough enough watching matches here at times. I have two options for commentary, English with the American commentators and an imitation Irish guy, Tommy Smyth, or plug for the Mexican channel and not understand the Spanish commentary. There is only so much “Put it in the onion bag” and “The teams are the exact same team, just with different players” that I can bear. It was way better listening to the Goooooooooool when Ronaldo scored anyways. Here’s the only video I could find of Tommy, just to give you inkling to how bad he might be if he wasn’t reading from a script.

Next port of call was the gym, time to sort out when I was to DJ there. Up I hobble, the dodgy knee not taking kindly to the steps up to the gym, or the slight hill on my street, it was a struggle to say the least today for some reason. Rock, paper, scissors, how’s it going with big gay Jim, what was the story with the other day, rar diddy rar, oh I was meant to plough on and just play, cool cool, I know now at least, will I do it tomorrow for a couple of hours? Era shur, I’m a changed man, plough on! So, I broached getting refunded for the amount I had paid for the month in exchange for my immense DJ’ing skills, and a deal was struck. I am getting half of it back, and can pick what ever days I want to play a week (eh, just the one so I’d say Jim), and the gym would be back to being free for me. Nay too shabby. And the elusive, secret, Open Sesame way I now have if anyone questions my membership, is to just say “I DJ here”. Thats it. What a waste of paying for half the month. If anyone is in the neighborhood, I would highly recommend using my secret code to get themselves free gym. Ali Baba on!

With that sorted, I decided to hobble home and get back to my hefty list of things to do. My luck was out with the escalators (broken for about a week now, with the membership us members pay, it is about time they were fixed, ha), so had to hobble back down the steep flight of steps coming out of the gym. Steep steps are proving the biggest killer, if anyone can diagnose what is wrong with my knee from that information alone, please let me know. I eventually get down outside the gym and Sunset complex, at a big junction between my house and the gym, the green man is flashing to cross and the countdown is on. I have faith, I can make it across the road in 10 seconds, here I go.

And go I went, as fast as my knee would let me. It was killing me though so I was dragging my leg across the road. A car on the other side of the road got impatient and tried to cut across me and drive on but as they turned their option was to either hit me and drive on, or wait patiently and block the oncoming traffic. I was pottering along as fast as I could, but the car starts honking its horn at me. So, I slow down and look at the ape in the car. A blonde girl is driving the car and giving me a come-on-to-funk look, cross the road you hobbling ape. But she is not the one beeping. The dude in the passenger seat is beeping and also giving me a come-on-to-funk look, but more, if I was driving I would have drove over you at this stage. 

Obviously, I make sure to slow down, the horn is being beeped continuously by the guy, loud enough as well, so I put my hand to my ear and shrug my shoulders as if I can’t understand what the horn means or what he wants me to do. Cross what? Who? The road? Pardon me, I’m Irish, we don’t have these big roads at home. The other cars are now freaking at them now for blocking the road, the guy starts to give me the finger as I begin to hobble on again. I oblige and return the favour, thumbs up buddy, bending down slightly and leaning in towards the windscreen to make sure he sees. It is then when I notice it is my old buddy, old pal from the Hills, Ricky Bobby!!!

The fact that he had a hood on over his head meant I didn’t really see who it was until I peered in. I had a hood on too, so when I do peer in, I get the feeling he vaguely recognized my ape face and head from the drunken night in My House before, obviously he does not remember my name is Merrick, Eric or Omar. Or else he thought I might have actually been retarded by responding with a thumbs up, ha. Either way, next time he comes up to me in My House, there will be no high fives or sharing bottles of vodka, I am cutting him loose. 

Here is song of the day, which should’ve been used yesterday, seeing as Liverpool were knocked out of a cup competition. The last time they were, by Everton, wuu duu, there was a funny story to go along with the song. Weeks back, I was watching Everton play Liverpool in the F.A Cup. I had played this song on my laptop while having breakfast that day, and one of my roommates remarked how it was interesting that I liked that song and that band. Ok. So, I’m watching the match, my roommate comes back home from meeting her friend, who is now with her. How’s it going boss, big game on, give me a minute. He asks who’s playing, but as he does, Everton score in the last minute, last gasp winner, I am wuu huu’ing my way around the room (being an Everton fan) giving them high fives, hugs, great day, we beat Liverpool. It is then when I recognize the dude… the lead singer from this band, funking nuts! My first introduction to weirdness in L.A! After that long winded introduction, here’s the song… The Underdog by Spoon

It is a savage song, and they are a savage band. The song just came on my iTunes and if you did not gather, I wanted to include that story for ages, ha, hence the weak link, well worked really! The dude was sound, telling me about playing in Dublin with Interpol, not sure if many people in Ireland even know of them but Spoon on!!!!!