Tag Archives: gym

Hop, Skip & A Dump

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Stop start kind of day really. Or is it start stop? Humidity might have been a factor. Mugginess is a killer. I like to think thats the reason why I can get irritable and headaches pop up when ever it is about. More than likely it is all in my head though. Which is true either way really. Managed to line up another few potential DJ gigs to keep me ticking over for the next few weeks. Plus I have started working on plans for where to live, work, pursue acting/writing and other such wonderful stuff, in anticipation for my return to L-Hey, whenever that might be. Oh, and I fell down a stairs. Kind of. The last few steps of a stairs at least. And took a nice hop off the floor when I did.

At the gym earlier, Boris wasn’t being too full on as he usually has been, which was good. I think it is because a few of his buddies seemed to be there as well. Seeing as I only had under an hour before the gym closed, I was racing through a few leg exercises, far too quickly really. Not recommended when doing squats. Between the humidity, and flying through the gym, I was a beaten docket as I left. At the same time I was leaving one section of the gym, I spotted Boris sticking his head out of the other part, and making his move as I departed. With this in mind, I bounded down the stairs. Stupid call really. It has happened a few times, where I have forgotten how dodge my legs are after squats, and nearly tumbled. As I briskly made my way down the two flights of stairs tonight, the last few steps were literally a step too far.

Dodgy left knee buckled first, should really get that checked out. Flimsy right leg followed. Thankfully I managed to break my fall by nicely hopping my shoulder off the ground, and ended up in a heap at the end of the stairs. Just lying there. At the front door. Panned out. Like a weak, defeated flower. Feeling fairly wrecked, and wondering if I had done any damage, I decided to just lie there for a minute, and suss out any potential injuries. A minute feels way longer when lying down on the ground in public. I might have lay there for longer, until I heard others coming down the stairs. Not wanting to surprise or shock Boris by having me passed out on the floor, waiting for him to scoop me up and carry me to my car, I brushed myself down, realizing only my pride and shoulder had been bruised, and off I went.

I’ll cleverly skip the part about the what is going on tomorrow. Let’s just say that hopefully my round trip to Dublin will all be worthwhile. Which would make a welcome change! If you remember my plan I wrote about before, that will give you a clue. In fact, it might merit another wonderful Vlog tomorrow to mark the occasion, which would be a bit ironic. A weak link to skip but it will have to do!!!

While I was lining up DJ gigs earlier today in town, I happened to bump into a girl I half know. And by that, I mean I dont know the half that has her name. Anyways, while I was talking to her, or listening to her complain to be exact, I noticed myself drifting away, and instead just looking in complete wonder at different parts of her body. Not in a sexual way, oh dear Lord no. In a completely bewildered way. Seeing as I think it was the first time I have seen her in the cold light of day, I only today noticed how her hands, feet, face, neck and ears were all different colours. I admit that I might be a bit obsessed with fake tan. As in my dislike and disdain for it. Still though, when someone’s skin changes from orange, to kind of green, to patchy white, back to speckled orange, I can’t really be the one who is odd for noticing it. I have forgotten how unforgiving the cold light of day can be!

However, by far the worst part had to have been the smell. Maybe I was just unfortunate to be standing down wind from her. It is chronic though. I was at least a foot away from her today. Actually, thats almost on top of each other now I measure a foot out with my hands. Say 3 feet. And I could still get the smell of a weekend old fake tan. At this stage, I prefer the smell from the dump, than that of fake tan. I would say I prefer the smell of someone’s dot dot dot, but thats just weird either way you look at it. Not something you’d really prefer to anything. Only the smell from the bathroom in the old bus station in Cork, and puke, are worse now for me. Just in case you were wondering. I am sure you were dying to know how much I do not like the orange curry powder.

Wrap it up, the heading probably outshone the rest of the blogaruu! Seeing as I am tired, time for a chilled song…

Sufjan Stevens

Casimir Pulaski Day – Sufjan Stevens

Boris, My Hungarian Stalker?

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On Saturday, two things of note occurred. First, unfortunately I had to go to a funeral. However, it was honestly one of the more upbeat funerals I have been to. At the end everyone in the congregation sang a song, When Irish Eyes Are Smiling. Initially I tried to play the cool card, and not sing. Instead shrugging my shoulders to say I would if I could but I don’t know the words. However, a kind lady next to me gave me a sheet with the lyrics. Then looked at me until I actually started to sing along, and not just mime the words. So sing on I did.

While taking pointers from the priest’s sermon technique for my own stand-up act, one good bit of advice stood out for me. The priest was quoting a Spanish writer I think, and mentioned something along the lines of… “You will not be remembered for your secret thoughts. Go out and do it.” I might have added on the second part, not too sure. Still though, I thought it was good. Instead of thinking about X, Y and Z all the time, yet just doing A, B or C, do those things you have in your head. Don’t hold back. You will be remembered for your actions, kind of thing. 

After the funeral, I decided to go to le gym. Saturday afternoon, nice and quiet in there, happy days. Well, just one other person in there it seemed. Not so happy after all. You might remember a few blogaruus back, I mentioned a weird Polish dude who I thought was chatting me up in there before. Couldn’t be sure, but it was bizarre, asking me for my number, and looking to meet up. Well, he was the only other dude in the gym with me on Saturday. And, I was wrong, turns out that he is, in fact, Hungarian, my bad. However, my other first impressions were correct. Bit of a nut. Might also be a stalker. Not too sure.

I was told before that when doing improv, always say yes to any question you are asked, to keep the scene flowing. I would recommend that if you are ever talking to someone who you suspect might be a nutter, always answer no to whatever they ask you. Unless you want to see what happens. Stupidly, I made the mistake of answering yes to… “Are you going out tonight?” Eh, yeah, I’d say so. “Where? Me too, we should meet. I am fun to go out with.” Ok. Em, I am actually working, now that I think about it. “Are you DJ’ing the music? I will come listen to you. Maybe, I will dance as well.” Not too sure yet where I am working, I’ll let you know, I’ll talk to you later on. “Ok, give me your number, and I will ring you.” I’ve no phone. “Everyone has a phone.” I meant, I have no Irish phone, I’m using my American one. “Ok, give me that number later on, we can dance.”

Trying to move on, I stuck my iPod back on. This did not deter him from the pointless chat. Not in the slightest. No matter how many times I pointed at the earphones, he kept on asking me oddly phrased questions. What was my favourite top song? What song did I not like at all? The last CD I bought? Could I make a mixed CD for him? And one for his friend. And another one for a girl he lives with. 3 CDs in total. No problem buddy! He would write out a list of 10 to 30 songs, and I could just put them together for him. When he asked about a CD initially, I actually said yeah, cool, ok, leave me be so, just to be polite and try to appease him so he’d leave me alone. The 30 song request and the way he looked like he thought I would do it, made me tell him to just do it himself. This led to him launching into how the police would catch him downloading the songs, and send him home to Hungary. It had happened to his friend. Sure it did.

At this stage, I told him I was going over to the other side of the room, gym was closing soon, must plough on. “What are you working out today?” I don’t know, my upper left shoulder blade perhaps. “Me too, I will join you.” Actually, I’m going to do my Achilles heels altogether. “You can show me what to do, I need to work them out as well.” Have you ever had a weird dude sitting next to you, staring at you in the mirror in front of both of ye, while working out? Strangely, there is an up-side. It is the best motivation ever. You fly through stuff, just so you can get it over with, and get the funk away from him as quickly as possible. It was a weirder than average staring technique too. Shoulders slumped, head drooped down, yet looking up at me. Just bizarre. God only knows what secret thoughts he was thinking, especially when he would give me a weird smirk every now and again. 

After racing through all the shoulder blade and Achilles exercises I could think of, Boris conveniently gave me a window of opportunity to bunk, by telling me he was going to get his phone, so he could take down my American number. Cool Bor, I’ll be here. He disappeared around the corner, I headed for the exit. Stupidly, I didn’t drive away straight off though when I got into my car. Replied to a text, made a quick call. Then, I started to drive home. As I was pulling out of the car park, I happened to notice the guy in the car behind me, head drooped down, shoulders hunched, cap pulled down. Was that Boris? Looks like Boris. Oh Jesus. Decided to take the long scenic route home. Just in case. The car followed me along the same route. Oh Jesus.

Being honest, I couldn’t actually be fully sure if it was him or not. Still though, better safe than sorry. Did I drive past the turn for my house as a precaution? Obviously. Did I then go around the roundabout by my house twice, to confuse whoever it was? Obviously. It worked. Short term anyways. That stare did look a bit psychotic. Might make out that 30 song mixed CD, just in case. Better safe than sorry. Probably too early to call him a stalker as well. At least a bit of randomness is back in town, wuu huu. 

New band, Local Natives, two songs…

Local Natives

Airplanes – Local Natives

Cecilia (Cover) – Local Natives

Am I?

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Hypothetically speaking, if people kept coming up to you, trying to give you letters, thinking you were a postman, would you at some point, question if you were actually a postman? No. How about if when you were out during the day, and people kept giving you their change, as they thought you were homeless. Would you think, am I homeless, do I look like I am, or what? Maybe. Ok, if people kept coming up to you, speaking Polish, thinking you were from Poland, would you ask yourself, do I look Polish or what is it? You would. Perhaps a better example might be if different girls kept saying to you, how they really must set you up with their friend, and then that friend turns out to be a guy. And you’re not gay. Would you question what was going on then? I think so.

On a similar note, one which is more applicable to me, is the way I manage to end up getting chatted up in gyms, of various types, in various places, by various dudes. The gym I am going to at the moment is a basic, no frills, grand, does what you want it to do, kind of gym. I don’t think the gym has anything to do with me being chatted up. Perhaps it could be related to me wearing bicycle shorts, tight pink t-shirt, and walking around in a little tea-cup hand sticking out type manner. I don’t know, perhaps.

On appearances alone, I would not have thought this dude was gay. In fact, he might not be at all. However, if a guy comes up to you in the gym, unknown, starts asking you weird questions, then for your number, I have realized this means he probably, definitely, actually, is gay. I had seen him a few times in the gym, and did notice that he nodded and saluted me every time. I just presumed he was being friendly. By my logic, when I nodded, saluted, and sheepishly smiled back, he probably presumed I was gay.

Started off, by coming over and asking if he could listen to the song that was playing on my iPod. Completely random, bizarre, had to get him to repeat his question just to make sure. Pretty strange, good opening line I suppose. Ok, here’s an ear, this is weird, what’s going on. Next, would I mind if he hooked it up to the sound system, so he could listen to it as well while he worked out. Ok, bit strange but at least you like the music, work away. Then, he asked if I was a DJ. I suppose, why so? “You’re just the perfect man for me, the guy I’ve been looking for” was he response, then left it at that, as he did something on a machine next to me.

At this stage, I got back to yelping on a different apparatus, hoping that that was the end of the weirdness. However, he came back to tell me why I was the perfect man for him. He wanted me to write a song for him, as I was a DJ? Not too sure you know what a DJ is, I don’t actually write songs or sing them myself. Ok, no problem, I could just write him lyrics instead, to a song he has in his head. What the funk, emm, pardon? Not to be deterred by my inability to grasp any of what he was saying, he decided it would be best, if I instead actually tried to write or find music, that would accompany his lyrics. Happily, he then sang me a few lines of a song, in Polish, I think. I scanned the room for any cameras as part of a wind-up show, but it seemed to be legit.

At this stage, I told him I was not, in fact, the perfect man for him, so I better get back to whatever I was trying to work-out on. Unfortunately, this was a squat machine. Seeing as we were now buddies, to him it seemed, he stood next to me while I was doing a few reps. Which was just weird, him standing next to me, looking at me in the mirror, as I went up and down, freaked out looking back at him. Although, not as weird as his offer to help me, he could support me at the waist, so I could go down even lower with the squat, get a real burn. Thankfully, he didn’t react too badly to me turning down his kind offer, and actually went to leave.

Not before he asked me for my number though, to talk to me more about the song he had in mind. Or just to meet up. Not sure how really, but my number eluded me at this stage. So, instead, obviously, I gave him an email he could contact me at… JimGym@hotmail.com. Or was it GymJim@gmail.com? Either way, I told him to try them both, and I’d be in touch. Super, gave me a wink, and he left. The whole thing was bizarre. Maybe he’s not gay at all. Maybe just a complete nut. Or, maybe, it’s just me? Who knows.

When I got home, I was half worried that he might have slipped me something in my water. For whatever reason, inside my stomach felt like two wild, deranged roosters were having a fight to the bitter end. The pain was immense, and out of nowhere. Bloated, cramps, nausea, irritable, annoying even myself, I took tablets from my medicine cabinet which had those exact symptoms on them. Turns out, that they were period pain tablets. Maybe, the question should be, am I a woman? Especially seeing as they worked. A treat in fact. My body rejected the tablets, made me puke them and the roosters up, and I was feeling better in no time. And now, I must wrap up, so I can go off and write the music to accompany his Polish lyrics. Never know, it could be my big break!

Song of this damp, dreary, Irish summer day…

Sunshine

Sunshine – John Talabot

I Deserve A Medley

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Apologies for anyone left high and dry without their daily dosage of the blog for the past day or two. Well, to that one person who asked where they were. The sitcom episode is coming together, but with my brain being used for that at full capacity, it could not cope doing both. However, over the past few days, one might say a medley of stories have occurred. So I’ll now string a few together, starting with the most important.

First random bit of useless info. A while back, I mentioned that one search that someone (or people) used to find the blog was something related to gay rape in a gym, or along those lines. Recently, “Do chicken have teeth?” was somehow, no clue at all as to how, but somehow, used as a search to get to my blogaduu. Pre-tty weird.

On my way to the gym on Friday I tried in vain to think of any possible connection of how this might be linked to the blog. Still didn’t get to figure it out. However, I did get to see a big gang fight happen. And by big gang fight, I mean two big gangs, being tough, talking about fighting, but not actually fighting. Like most fights really. Not like how Jack and Sawyer fought in the last episode of Lost, with the realistic punch effects. This was proper fighting, with little to no punches being thrown. 

While observing this tough gang fight, I noticed the homeless couple I had seen the day before. Once again, they were sitting against a wall, on the side of a street, and, once again, they were at it, hammer style. However, there was a difference this time. When the homeless woman got up and left her spot to get a better view of the fight. I noticed this, but also, that the hammer kept on hammering. By who, I wondered. Ah, thats right, obviously, by the dude. Sitting on the side of the street, with his hammer in his hand, covered, but still, doing a D.I.Y job, on his own. Once again, in the light of evening. Watching the fight, and, seemingly, getting off on it. All feelings of empathy were immediately lost. Like Bonnie, he was not the same without his woman. Now he was just a weird, blue balled, bald, homeless dude.

Unfortunately, he was not the only weird, blue balled, bald dude that I encountered that evening. In the gym, a regular nutter, some old, weird, bald, gay, creepy dude, once again started asking me if I do much work on my legs, could I recommend anything for his legs, or show him some exercises? These chicken things? No. And, no. When he left, probably the only other person younger than 37 in the gym, a quite pleasant looking girl, told me he chats her up as well. We bonded over baldy, blue balled weirdo! Turns out I was wrong too, well kind of. Still, I shouldn’t have presumed. He wasn’t gay. Actually, he was bi, seeing as he told the girl that, while also revealing to her that he likes to wear a wig at times, one similar to her own hair style! A great chat up line if ever I’ve heard one. Ha, funking nut. We bonded well over him. However, once the conversation drifted to any other topic, we lost the connection. Blue balled and bald, or nothing.

Skip forward to tonight (final gym and homeless related story). While walking back from the gym, I noticed a new homeless guy, who was not there on my way to the gym. And the reason I knew this, for a fact, was that he had managed to get a massive kings sized bed set up on the path for himself. It was huge, bigger than any bed I have ever slept in. How he got it there, I have no clue. He asked for a dollar, so I gave him all my money, a few quarters, purely for having that bed. On a footpath. It was highly impressive. When I remarked this to him, he offered me a seat, try it out, lie down man, it is a nice bed. 

Just as I started to bend my knees, and take him up on his offer, I somehow managed to stop myself. I got the feeling if I sat or lay down with him on the bed, I might never get up. The next few years of my life would’ve been mapped out. Lugging that bed around with him, street to street, living the high life. That can wait until I’m retired, work to be done first.

I’ll finish off with the reason, that I think, maybe I should be given a medal. Earlier today, I went to my first rugby match, USA against Ireland. Being patriotic, however, should not be the reason for maybe getting a medal. Can’t beat a day in the sun. Swimming amongst all the factor 60. Or else a nice, dangerously rare – steak wise – looking shade of pink. No, the reason I may deserve a medal, is that I stayed until the end, ha. Sweet Lord. First and last has a nice ring to it really.

Two songs, for all the factor 60 and pink armed fans earlier today… 

Psychic City by Yacht

And, Wild Thing (Remix) by Tone-Loc and Peaches

p.s I think I now have a bit of sun stroke. Should’ve put on some of that factor 60. Clever rugby folk.

Cough, Spit & A Fondle

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Today, I realized a few things. Firstly, I have noticed that I have started to consciously swallow drinks. And, by that, I mean, I no longer just swallow water from a bottle or tea from a cup and get on with whatever I am doing. For some bizarre reason, I believe because I think that I have started to gulp loudly when I swallow, I make an effort to control the swallowing. Which, in turn, leads me to focus on swallowing after the third go, lets just say, and I inevitably gulp louder, get the liquid to go down the wrong tube, and I end up coughing, spluttering, and have to spit the water out. In case I choke. All makes perfect sense. To me. In my head. There is a reason for this nonsense.

Moving on, I have also realized, that the 16 block walk to the gym actually does bring up a few random stories. I had just been too anti-San Fran, probably missing L.A like the temptress that she is, to let myself observe the carry on. Unsurprisingly, for San Fran, there is a lot of homeless people on the gym route. Which provide a few interesting scenarios. Again, I was waiting at the lights to cross the road (a mighty place to observe life it seems) when I saw a couple at the other side of the road having a big fight. Screaming at each other. In Chinese. It was near impossible not to watch, or start to slow down walking wise to see what was going on. 

The Chinese woman was freaking out for some reason, although I am only presuming she was, not speaking too much Chinese myself. She did not seem happy, giving me a nice dirty look as I walked up, maybe she was trying to say hello though. Again, the lack of Chinese was a barrier for me. They had a place set-up in the doorway of a bank, with all their stuff there, two shopping trolleys next to the make-shift bed. The Chinese man was backing off, shouting back a bit, but it was plain to see that the woman was kicking him out, of their doorway. They were now taking up the entire path, so she started physically kicking out at him to clear off, threw a blanket at him, then gave one last tirade in Chinese, and the guy gave me. She had kicked him out, he was gone. Across the road he went, to the bank on the other side of the street, and sat in that doorway, with his blanket. Few more words shouted over and back, and it died down. Fight over.

We were all able to go on our way. The path was clear. There were a few of us after building up on the path, waiting for them to finish up, so we could keep walking on. On we went, me drinking back some Red Bull, listening to see if I was gulping loudly for every drink. Few coughs, few splutters, and the can was almost gone. One last drink, and, conveniently, there was a bin to my right. In fairness, I did kind of stop suddenly, but I just noticed the bin, to my immediate right, as I took the last gulp. Stopped suddenly, stuck the can into the bin, but as I did, the person who had been walking right behind me, walked straight into me.

The last big mouthful sprayed out. Not really actually, more it filled up my mouth, caused me to splutter, then half sprayed, half snorted, out my mouth and nose, as I tried in vain to save a bit of dignity and hold it in. Should’ve let the spray just gracefully happen. Must have been quite a charming sight, if anyone had seen it. The person who had bumped into me was annoyed with me, for stopping. I was too covered in Red Bull to remember if I should’ve been annoyed with anyone, probably myself, but it all ended then and there. Continued on to the gym. This was getting more eventful, this was more like it.

Into the gym, did my bit, drinking back the water, needed to refill my bottle up at the water fountain, which is in the downstairs part of the gym. This gym is far quieter than the one in L.A, so you can take your time with the machines. And the fountain. I had a bit left in my bottle, might as well finish it off before I fill her up, so took another big gulp. With my iPod earphones on, I started to think that might be the reason why I was hearing stuff louder in my head, the earphones being on! Which, obviously, made me concentrate far too much on the gulp. And I have already described what happens. Cough, splutter, down the wrong pipe, out comes the liquid. Over the water fountain. Didn’t really get the spout part, but still nobody wants to see someone dribble back over the water fountain. Thankfully, I don’t think the person behind me, waiting for me to finish up, saw any of it. Either way, I gave it a quick rinse. Left it germ and dribble free. 

Leaving the gym and walking home threw up one final piece to this tale. Two days ago, next to the gym, in the bright light of the evening, on a main street, I thought I saw a different homeless couple, getting cordial with each other. As in the full wack. Just with clothes on. Not fully sure, but I was 99% certain. Seeing as they were a foot away from me, in a doorway, while I knocked on the door of the gym, not realizing that it was closed early for a holiday here. I was pretty certain. Leaving the gym tonight, the same couple are sitting in the doorway, not on top of each other or positioned like they were last time. Just sitting side by side. With her hand somewhere. Blatant. Like a hammer.

All of this lead, kind of bizarrely, lead to a feeling of empathy for the homeless folk. For the following reason, which I could relate to, a bit. Kind of. Not that this has ever happened to me, obviously. However, do you remember when you lived at home, and a girl wanted to come around for, eh, a cup of tea? But you didn’t think the best place to bring the girl for a cup of tea, was to your place, for various reasons. You were left wondering, where should we go? Where could you go? Probably not their place, for the same reason. More than likely at the age where a cup of a tea in a hotel was too expensive, have you seen the prices, or you simply would not have thought of it. What were you to do? Have a tea party outdoors? Dodge. Fun once, perhaps, but after a while, probably get a cold. So, what are those without any home, meant to do? Not fair really. I know it is probably not top of their list of priorities, but still, amongst many other problems, that must annoy them.

I am not making fun of the homeless either, far from it. Just observations. I’ll wrap up by saying I got a bit of good news myself today. I now have a marketing company in L.A waiting for my sitcom pitch, to help me with my viral campaign. Plus, I have camera men and lighting crew waiting in the wings to help me out with making a scene or two. Wuu to the huu. Good to have the pressure on. Must get the script finished and get back there. Time is ticking! My Mastercard is running out! Oh Jesus. (That is meant to be a brutal dumb joke. But, now I think about it, it also makes sense. Take it in the dumb joke way. If you get it. Always fun feeling the need to explain a joke). The End.

Song of the day. This is a ridiculously good song, which hopefully will not be wrecked by drunken sing-alongs too soon. I am still scarred from hearing the people in the apartment below doing muffled karaoke for a few hours yesterday. They were horrendous. Mundy & Damien Rice were sang over and over, ruined a few good songs…

The Gardener by The Tallest Man On Earth

Two Sec’s There

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It would appear that this name is beginning to stick, when it comes to me and DJ’ing. Or a hybrid of it, Tsector perhaps, I am not sure how it is that the people not understanding what I say, might spell it. Not too sure how I feel about the name, but, who cares really.

Yesterday was a glorious day of DJ’ing. After trying to be clever and prepare six hours worth of music for two gigs, I ended up just making them up as I went along. My new evening stint in the gym is looking promising. Not that are paying me or anything for it (yet, talks of it yesterday), just the fact that it is the busiest time in the gym, more people are coming up to me giving me good feedback, and, most importantly, there are double the amount of good looking women in there at that time, than there usually are when I play during the day. On the down side, unfortunately I can no longer say I pleasure a room full of gay men anymore. Now it is half and half. Although one guy did come up to me and tell me that he didn’t like my A-Ha remix. The way he said it though, with a tut and a huff, made me play him my Rick Astley remix straight away. If I was to lose a fan, I might as well fully lose him, tut, huhh.

That gig went well over the two hour mark (it is tough to say no to requests from certain girls in there) so I was in a bit of a rush for my first night DJ’ing in the bar by me. Seeing as I had bob all time to prepare for that gig, I decided I would go through the decades, 60’s, 70’s, 80’s. 90’s and oo’s, and so on and so forth. A playlist of 10 hours to choose from, I was good to go. First ever gig in a bar, in Hollywood, with just me and my laptop, I was a tad apprehensive. However, a bar tab of all you and your friends can drink, took the edge off a bit. There was never really a need to worry, the music sold itself. I am convinced the main two things you need to DJ are: cop on, and good music. I at least have the good music part. The rest can be dealt with. Mighty work if you can seamlessly mix two songs beat for beat, perfectly in synch, with each other, the crowd did not even notice, but if they are crap songs, who cares. My view at least. Not that I wouldn’t like to be able to do what DJ AM, for example, can do, but it is all about the baby steps!

Now that I know, I should have gotten into the DJ’ing malarky a long time ago. Purely as it is one of the easiest ways, in the world, to get women to approach you, and use brutal lines, on you for a change. Anyone out there thinking of giving it a go, do it! On the down side, “Oh my gawd, what song did you just play? And what are you playing now? And what will you play next?” are three fun questions I encountered over and over last night. The reason I know the majority of them really cared as well about the music, was by the way the majority of them either walked away/zoned out while I was telling them the names of the songs/bands.

The bar is not a poser, full on model, look at me, who are you, kind of bar. So when I say I was trying to juggle three or four different conversations with different girls at one stage, I am not trying to give the impression that they were all the prettiest flowers in the pot. But, it did lead to me telling a group of them, again, two sec’s there, while I mixed a song or two, and all of them to ask, “Whats tsecstor? Where are you from?”.

I had told my buddy of the other girl in the gym who first mixed up what I was saying, so he informed them that it was my DJ name, DJ Tsector, to which they bizarrely liked, and squealed loudly over. Odds are they probably did not understand in the slightest the explanation, or anything that was actually said, well at least not by me.

As the night progressed, and the free bar tab continued to flow, the music got better and better. The place was rocking! Even if the crowd don’t know at first don’t know the song, “Where’s Me Jumper” by the Sultans of Ping is a good song to get them both pumped, and inquisitive. Bar the fact that my laptop, again, crashed at one stage mid song, and that one girl unwittingly unplugged a lead (tough for someone like myself with minimal wits at best to figure out what just happened) the night could not have gone much better. Oh, and playing the same song twice, in the space of about 4 songs, although nobody noticed except me, I think. They probably did then notice when I just got it off 1/3 of the way through but we live and learn!

It is fair to say that the drink might have clouded my judgement about last night, but I’ll ignore this if you do.The manager asked me back the following week, trial was over, money on, wuu huu. Although I had to disappoint her by letting her know I would be in San Francisco for the week. Genuine disappointment too, like the girl in the gym who works Thursday nights, asking if I was coming back next week. DJ’ing has turned the tables, so to speak, girls are now no longer happy to see me leave, I am now leaving them disappointed!

After all my talk about how DJ’ing was the best way to get girls to chat you up, I obviously went home alone. Obviously. Although, I do have the excuse that I had to get up early for a meeting! Obviously that was the only reason why. Forget the other long, long list of possible reasons. A great day.

Two songs of the day… Where’s Me Jumper by Sultans of Ping

And girls here are big fans of this song it seems… So Rich, So Pretty by Mickey Avalon