Tag Archives: DJ

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!!!!!

Gymps!!!

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I am trying to decide whether I will start my roommate’s fun filled blog today instead of mine or tell you about my ape like story? Ape, I hear you say? Ape it is. 

Big day yesterday. A very nervous day for me. First day of my new job, remember, the one that doesn’t pay me any money. Big day for a chump like me. Seeing I was on at 12, had no mixing equipment, or mixing ability that I know of (yet), I got up at 11 to prepare for work. I hooked up a 3 hour playlist, where every song ended with a similar sounding beat the to start of the next one, mixaruu on! All I needed to do was stand there with my headphones, pretend to be mixing, and I was a born again DJ.

Having re-read my spoof DJ cue cards with all my lingo, found my best DJ-esque t-shirt and equipped with my laptop and cable, I was good to go. The sun was shining, L.A was buzzing, the walk up to the gym had me pumped. In I get, and go to the front desk, informing the girl I was here to DJ, wuu, get ready to be pumped. She gives me an inquisitive look, oook, let me just check, I was never told anything about that and the manager has just left. Ooook, I’ll just go get a Red Bull to wake me up. So I go over to the little shop part, Red Bull it up, ah shur would you look who it is, my old buddy Common has come to join me for a beverage. 

While he is waiting for a shake of some sort to be made, he seems to remember me and sparks up some conversation (my achievements have taken a beating lately, so at this stage, the fact that someone remembers who I am is pleasing, how the standards have dropped!). “What up Irish, are you in working out?” Not today my common man, I am DJ’ing in a minute. “In the gym? How did you get that gig? Funds your drinking at least man!” I choose not to tell him that I won’t be getting paid money for the gig, just great publicity and all that crap, ha. I realize that Common has now a new found respect for me it seems, he has gotten the impression that I am in the music business as well. I forget as well to inform him that I am actually not, who was I to burst his bubble.

While we are talking music, and as Common gives me one of his demos to see if I will play it sometime, ha, spoof, I notice that the guy with the fairly bulbous head next to us is trying to edge into the conversation. Back off buddy, I am letting Common sell me the concept of his demo, give the man a chance. At a second glance, I see that its Craig David (I think anyways, looked like him, English accent, sounded like him, I am presuming it was him). I didn’t really want him to give me a demo of his to play as well, so I ignore his efforts to join in. Around this time the girl from the front desk comes back over, and ruins it all.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt, you’re actually not DJ’ing at all today.” I look at Common, and see the respect drain from his face. He thinks I am a spoofing ape, tuts at me, shakes his head, then says he’ll be off, must go work-out. As he goes up the stairs, he turns around taking one last look, a look of disgust, and shakes his head, how could that Irish guy have led me on! I swivel to the girl working there, you ruined it all woman, how could you do that, you gymp!!! “Yeah, Jim said you were going to come in on Monday at 12? Not today” I told Jim yesterday I would start tomorrow, as in today. “Oh yeah, that probably meant come in on Monday” Oh right, that makes plenty of sense. I am being turned away from my new job that I won’t get paid for, this is a great feeling.

She tells me that she could ring the manager again and see if I could do it maybe for an hour now. The pity vote. However, I get the feeling she might not know much about setting up the sound system, so I inquire if she does first before she goes back and rings the manager. “No, I wouldn’t have a clue, you should be able to figure it out though, right, it should be easy for you.” Ha, do I look like a DJ or something to you? I’ll hold off until Monday, I don’t want to risk feeling even stupider by struggling to set up my equipment, i.e plug my cable into the correct slot, rocket science really.

The dejection and gimp feeling on the walk home was tremendous. Just when I thought things could stoop no lower or become more comical, lower they go. To save myself looking like a complete fool, as opposed to just a gimp, I decide to buy mixing software so that when I do go up on Monday I can at least have that up on screen and pretend to be using it if anyone walks by. It only cost me $50. Which was great. So far it has cost me only about $68 ($18 cable that I’m still not sure is going to be the right one) to not work at a place that wont pay me anyways if I do every end up working there. Great work if you can get it, lucky me!!!

At least I have a plan to spruce up the gig on Monday if it does actually go ahead. I am mulling over having the dude from Bros’s song at hand if he happens to be in working out. About time someone else is embarrassed in that gym besides just me. Song of the day was needed to chill me out on the way home… Paper Aeroplane by Angus & Julia Stone