Tough old week. Got chased by an angry snarling Alsatian. Not sure. But. Might be related to the previous blog? Speaking of which. Quiet on the blogaruu. My bad. Very busy doing highly important things. Such as… Walking into people. Rushing for the bathroom. Power striding. Bladder bursting. In synch. Hand out. Turned the door handle. Opened the bathroom door. Foot forward. Weight forward. Unfortunately. Guy exiting at the exact same time. Door open. Foot back. Weight back. Little chap. Walked into him. Onto him. Fell. And somehow ended up pinning him down to the bathroom floor. Half holding. Half hugging. Some little chap in a cap. Trying to break his fall. More importantly, break mine. All happened quite quickly. All ended quite awkwardly. Another guy came out of a cubicle. And looked down. At us. Tut. Tough week. As I said. Busy. Realising highly important things. Such as… Continue Reading »
To my naked eye, it would appear that Memorial Day weekend is the time Americanos like to booze and booze until they can’t remember a thing. Thankfully, I remembered it all. Starting with Saturday night. DJigging. Mighty hoot. Until. Manager asks us to shut down the music. Crowd were going too nuts. Testosterone flying off the walls. Estrogen dominating the dance floor. Not enough security to control them. Dose. Shut down. At least we got to finish earlier than anticipated. Happy days. Celebrate on! Last call. Left the bar. Strolling home. Myself. Chowder. Ted. Trying to flag down a cab. No joy. Stroll past my old street. Old haunt at the top. Shop of Bodies. Big Jim. Head bouncer. Long time no see. Shouts over. Where’s my free book, Irish man?! Where’s my dignity, Big Jim!? Before we know it, Jim is twisting arms. Come in for a drink. Nay, not a fan any more! Twists: Free in! Ehh. Can’t remember the last time we were here actually. One drink? Why not? Never hurt anyone! Famous last words. Continue Reading »
LA… Mighty. Halloween… Nuts. Throw in a few Irish… Big buckets of mighty funking nuts!!! If ever you were going to visit L-Hey to see how bizarre/mighty/dancing/full-on/ape-ish/funreal/savage it actually is… Halloween all the way! Last year had me stumped for words. Arrived back here from Ireland. Straight off the plane. Threw on a red top-hat. People thought I was a banshee. And by thought I mean told. L-Hey took my mind to an orgy. Tried to blow it up. Almost fully danced away with it. Came uncomfortably close to losing it over a forgotten pair of scissors. This year… More or less the exact same. Minus jet lag. Plus a scissors. Minus being ill-prepared. Plus a gaggle of visitors from home. Along with buddies from here. The Man. The sink. The whole lot! All gathering for the perfect storm. Imagine being on mushrooms. Now imagine you’re fighting Mike Tyson. On mushrooms. Fighting Mike. All going on in the Chocolate Factory. Seeing little green and orange men running around while your senses are being pummeled from all angles. Imagine all that if you can. So. Halloween here is kind of like that. But actually maybe even harder to describe… Continue Reading »
You know what you can’t beat? A donkey kick in the head. Particularly at 5 in the morning. Figuratively. Obviously. Kicking through a few barriers. Ploughing you on. When least expected. Wee hours of this morning. Sitting. Thinking. Still so much to do. Add layers. Do this. Do that. So much. To do. Especially the more I think about it. Keep thinking. Of how much there is to do. Nice cloud of frustration forming. Go on, wrap it around your brain. That’s the answer. That’ll get things done. Think. Think. Think. Why is it not getting done? Continue Reading »
Not too sure exactly how, particularly after Friday night, but the weekend somehow got more nuts and hectic by the night. It was mental! Which was highly surprising seeing as I presumed that Friday night would easily be the pinnacle. How can you beat a night of hoovering the house?! It was tough to see how that would be topped. Saturday and Sunday somehow pulled a few gems out of the bag though. On a side note, anyone not in Ireland probably won’t have a clue what hoovering is. Not actually a drug related term as someone in America mistakenly thought before, her eyes lighting up when I said I must buy a hoover. It is another term for vacuuming. However, unlike the drugs she thought I was on about, hoovering is cool no matter what term you apply to it!
Saturday was a highly productive day. I got some savage new songs and mixes under my belt. Pretty exciting. After the excitement of that, and the night before, I decided my best bet for a quiet, uneventful, innocuous night, free of all the annoying, good music I had to listen to that day, would be to go out in Cork. Hardy har. Main incident of note from the night out, was trying to figure out which girl it was that left such a lasting impression on me. I have it narrowed it down to two. Two apes, of equal measure. Too many reasons to go into for them to be painted with the ape brush. The big impression one of them left on me was a hand print from her fake tan on my top. Funking lovely. Worryingly large sized hand as well. Similar size to a bear’s claw, to give you some sort of an idea.
Which leads me on to Sunday. And, all sarcastic tones aside, it was actually a good night. Got a call late on to D.J, happy days. Particularly seeing as I had a basket of new music to try out. Without doubt it has been my most enjoyable gig in Ireland. There was no selling of the soul, play what I wanted, wuu to the huu. Sounds obvious as funk, but once you get girls dancing, the rest will follow. Easy enough really. Its not like a group of guys will lead the way and start gyrating together on the dance floor. That is never going to happen. Unless you happen to have DJ’ed in a gay gym. Apologies to the guys who requested good songs last night that I ended up dodging. I’m sure they are reading. Again, might sound obvious, but sometimes savage songs, are not really savage for a club, if you get what I mean!
Speaking of requests, that fun area is one which is there for life I think. I think it’s the minority have me scarred. The majority were grand last night, as long as you just say yes to every request, people are happy. Playing them barely matters. It was just those 3 or 4 special people that would make you wonder at times. Two girls at the end telling me they loved the music, now could I play either Galway Girl, or any Tiesto, as the last song. I like neither. More importantly, I don’t have either of them. So, I split the difference, and played them Rick Astley. Which lead to a 3rd buddy coming up to tell me I was a prick, and had ruined their friend’s birthday. By not playing Galway Girl. Or a Tiesto song. The success of the friend’s birthday must have been on a fine line if that was the difference between a good and bad night.
There was one in girl in particular, who was very bizarre. A gem really. I think she was the first into the club with her buddies. Initially, I thought she was Polish. I couldn’t understand what she was saying to me, plus a few guys that she was there with were Polish. She didn’t have the same accent though. So, obviously, I thought that she must have been twisted drunk. Apparently, there’s a song out at the moment called One? Or Number One? I thought she was asking for that one, that song, you know that one? No, what song? One, that one? That lost me completely. When I copped on it was me being dumb, I decided to give in to one of her other many, many requests.
When I asked her what other song she wanted, she kept on asking me for the same song over and over. Coming up, asking me was I playing it next. About 5 times. When I played it, she had a little dance for herself, then came back up and asked for it again. Apparently her buddy was in the bathroom, and didn’t get to hear it. When I tried to fob her off by saying I couldn’t understand her fully (which I couldn’t), she started to write me notes, asking for that song to be played one more time, please, I will love you for it, please! The club was still quiet, so I played a snippet again for her and her buddy to dance along to. But she didn’t dance with her buddy. She just stood at the DJ booth and stared at me while the song looped over. I gave her a few thumbs up, but they didn’t scare her off. Standing there, staring at me, Boris style. Around this time, it slowly dawned on me that she must be mentally challenged.
When I turned back to my laptop, she slipped into the DJ booth, right behind me. Standing there, with a blank expression. Asking me if she could just flick through my songs on the laptop, to see what I could play for her next. This is when a barrage of bad breath almost made me puke. I don’t know why more people don’t carry mints, chewing gum, or tic-tacs with them. Or why their friends don’t tell them how bad their breath might be. If it was me, I’d prefer to know. Anyways, I tried to explain to her that I needed my laptop, she couldn’t flick through it, sorry. Could she just stay here in the booth, she asked? No, sorry. She got disgruntled, pushed me to try and get to my laptop, and then asked why I would not just play that song one more time! I kicked her out of the booth, she stood there with the same weird blank expression, but finally went off in a huff. A bouncer came over but I told him it was cool, not too sure but I think she’s mentally challenged, it was fine.
Night was over, equipment packed up, lights were on, good to go. I was making my way out of the club, when she came up to me one final time. “Will you play me one more song, Halo by Beyonce.” This was as people were leaving, with the bouncers herding people out the door. She asked again, for a different Beyonce song, giving me grief on top. Trying to be nice, I gave her my pack of tic-tacs instead of playing her the song. When she threw them away, and asked if I was going to play the song, I told her I would so. Just have to go outside to my car, and get my Beyonce CD from it. Best part was, she believed me. Told me she’d wait there for me. I just looked at her, in complete wonder, slowly realizing something. Now that the music was off, I could finally hear her properly. Turns out, she was not, in fact, mentally challenged. She was, simply, it seemed, a pikey. A traveller. Who spoke in whispers. And liked to stare. Probably mentally disturbed, not challenged. Kind of gutted now that I didn’t hold onto her number that she had written earlier on one of those notes. Would’ve made it a great weekend!