99 Luftballons

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The following three adjectives might sum up why I am not yet back in L.A, typing this up… stupidity, impatience, and my inability to wait for the website page to load to confirm my flight had actually been booked, instead of me closing it down in a rush to leave the house. Maybe prolix should’ve been the third one. (Ha, just in case, like me, you have to look that up, click here). Anyways, luckily for you, even though I said I would only blogaruu from on when in L.A, a few events have taken place over the past few days, which have urged my typing hand to type.

Firstly, the draft of the episode has more or less been fully completed. Re-writes are slowing down to roughly only one a day, so I think it is good to go. In fact, is has gone, been emailed out to a few people in L.A already, time for the offers to flood in. Nay. Completing the episode and emailing it off to interested parties has actually provided me with far less satisfaction than I would previously have imagined. Far, far less. Which is actually a good thing.

Now it is written, so what, well done. Same as writing a good song perhaps, lyrics mean bob all on paper. I now need music, and singers! If you get what I mean. The script is longer than one (well, I) might have imagined, almost 50 pages. Getting someone to sit down and read all this, fully as to get the humour and all that, is asking a tad much. Particularly when I am who again? The key here is to get my visual, any visual, to accompany my script. I am aiming for a few scenes to make a mini episode out of them, but even if I can get one in the time which I have left, I shall be pleased. Moderately. At least then I can show a 5 minute clip, or a 30 second clip, giving the feel that I am aiming for, and luring, whoever it may be, in with my packet of sweets and my cheesy reel, so that they will want to then read the magnificent episode!

Another event to have occurred since last blogaruu, was a little old D.J gig, in a bar here in San Frankisco. Finally, a flow of money inwards was on the cards, but everything comes out a cost. Including money. I was told beforehand that it might not be the kind of crowd that I play to regularly down in L.A, i.e the crowd at the gym. Not too worry, I told them in return, I also D.J in a bar in L.A, I am very adaptable, I have a broad range. My one request, is that you have none. Ok, cool, should be good, just bring a few Irish songs along with you in case. No, I shall not, I will win them over with my remixes. Take them on, head first. If the women and the gay guys in the gym love them so much, then your punters surely will too.

Happy enough that my name was up in lights outside the door as I entered the bar… Tonight “D.J No Requests” All the way from L.A!!! A new name is added to the list. To say that the bar was packed, might be a bit of an exaggeration. It was busy, ish. Very ish. To say that the bar was Irish, might be a bit of an understatement. Think of a bar in a little village somewhere in West Cork, with a few American tourists after wandering in, and you might get a visual of the place. Pre-tty Irish. I was asked to stop the music at about 12 o’ clock for a while so a raffle could take place. Gay gym remixes all the way!

First song in, I decided I would play a little medley I had prepared, wow them with my D.J’ing skills. The first section of the medley had barely kicked off, when some drunk dude comes stumbling up… “Will you play that s**t song, Poker Face? Play that for me, I like that” No, did you not see the sign at the front door. He started to give me weird looks, copping on that I was Irish too, which threw him off. I gave in, easiest way to get rid of him would be to just play the song, so told him cool, no problem, and played the remix I have… “I Poke Her Face”, which I think he liked. Thankfully that was the only request I got all night. Nay. The requests came flooding in, a wide and varying range… “Play some Scooter”… “Play some heavy metal rock, then some Scooter”… “Play that band I loved back home, Cascade?”… “Do you know this song (and this is no lie, he thought I would get it from this) – Do do doooo doo do dooo dada – that dance one?” No, sing it again for me… “La la laaa la le da da doo da – you do know it? Everyone knows that, what kind of D.J are you?”… Eye balls me up and down as I shake my head and laugh at his attempt… “You’re some s**t D.J”. Cheers bud!

One guy in particular grew an immense dislike for me, in such a short time too. “Play me some rock will ya, some heavy s**t, all my friends are D.J’s, its cool, I know what I am on about” (Incidentally, this was at my highest point, when I started to play the gym remix section, which had the crowd pumping and actually on the dance floor) Hang on two minutes, I’ll play it in a while for you, just hang on. “Play it now, I want to rock out before I go home” Hazarding a guess, this guy was closer to 40 that 20. Also very drunk, and gripping an empty bottle while looking me up and down. So he decided to hang on for the rock, standing next to me, looking at me with disgust.

Eventually, I decided to throw in a rock song. A Metallica one, just like he asked. The floor had died down at this stage, to the point where he was the only person on it. And he started rocking on, air guitaring his heart out, but not in a piss take way, this was life and death stuff. Until he realized that it was not the version he was expecting, but a remix one. Ha, he flipped, straight up “For f**k’s sake, you pr**k, play me a rock one, my friends D.J too, they play rock for me.” Again, gripping his empty bottle and eye-balling me. So, obviously seeing as I am so obliging and all, I played him another rock song. Which was also a remix. “You f**king pr**k, you’re a c**t, you know that, stop DJ’ing up the song and let me rock out!” 

By this time the dance floor had picked up a bit again, the rest of the crowd enjoyed the remixes it seemed. This little angry ape of a man was now in the D.J booth next to me, informing me that I was a s**t DJ, really s**t, his friends are way better. Now that I had a view of him almost face in my face, I would confidently say he was almost 40. “I’ve never liked you playing here before. You’re always s**t when you play here. If you don’t play me a rock song, I’ll bottle ya, ya f**king pr**k”. I decided not to inform him that it was my first time, and high possibility my last time, playing at the venue. Instead I gave him a patronizing smile, wink, nod and a thumbs up. Strangely, this calmed him down, maybe thinking I was being serious.

Either way, as he walked back onto the dance floor, over to his group to inform them of how s**t I was, I decided to play him this great rock song, one he would be able to truly rock out to… 99 Red Balloons.

Ha, he went mental, by the looks of it his friends had to hold him back, and “If I didn’t know your cousins, I’d smash the bottle over ya”. Again, I gave him thumbs up, two this time, rock on! I meant to ask him for a favour before he left, but decided against it. He would’ve been an ideal candidate to read my episode and give me an honest opinion though! At the end of the night, last song over, a few of his friends moseyed on over… “You’re not Irish, are ya?” Sorry to disappoint you, but yes, I too am Irish. “Well, you’re not from Cork”. Again, apologies, but I actually am. “You’re not from Wishht Cork anyways. Because that’s where I’m from!” You got me there, well done! Delighted, knowing looks spread on their faces… a “Thank God this quare isn’t one of us too” kind of look. Yeah, thank God. Besides these minor incidents, coupled with the sound system almost blowing out, which nearly blew out my ear drums, all in all, it was a good night!

Almost wrapping up, 3 little bizarre incidents that occurred today that I feel the need to type about, maybe just so that I can remember again if needed. 1. My toothbrush snapped in half while brushing my teeth earlier. Strange enough. 2. My nose started to bleed uncontrollably in the gym while I was doing a squat. Worryingly weird. And 3. On the way home from the gym a homeless woman flashed me her left… ? Guess. Delightful.

Finally, I got a bit of bad news today, so not sure how long more this section of the L.A adventure, and in turn, perhaps the blog, will carry on for. 99 Red Balloons has another symbolic meaning too, can you figure out why? Re de de, the next blogaruu might be the…

Besides the obvious, classic rock song above, 99 Red Balloons by Nena, the other song for this day, which is either highly annoying, or strangely good…

Combination Pizza Hut & Taco Bell (Wallpaper Remix) by Das Racist

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