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1:41 p.m. - 2005-09-18

IF MATLOCK WAS STILL ON, I WOULDN'T HAVE THESE PROBLEMS


I had a really crappy night Friday night.

Every Friday night, without fail, at 9 p.m., a couple come into the club.

This couple just recently celebrated their 51st wedding anniversary.

So they're like ... I dunno ... in their 70s easily. I'd say mid-to-late 70s.

They're super nice people and somebody's great grand-parents.

The problem is ... this is a night club.

And it's populated by people in their 20s and 30s.

Now ... this couple have six songs that they want to dance to every single Friday night.

1) "Boot Scootin' Boogie" by Brooks and Dunn

2) "Strawberry Wine" by Deana Carter

3) "Old Time Rock and Roll" by Bob Seger

4) "You Look So Good In Love" by George Strait

5) "Could I Have This Dance" by Anne Murray

6) "Achy Breaky Heart" by Billy Ray Cyrus

Let's just say I cringe like a pitbull's gnawing on my nutsack every time I see them shuffle slowly through the front door.

They waltz to the slow songs and they do these bizarre line dances to the fast ones.

The man always wears a faded white undershirt, SHORT shorts, DARK SOCKS and sandals.

He's out there doing this "1,2,CLAP. 1,2,CLAP" dance that always leaves the rest of the club staring at him like he's whipping his pecker out on the dance floor.

They're the sweetest old couple you'd ever hope to see.

But ... if I'm not playing one of their six songs ... they sit at their table with their fingers in their ears.

This drives me freakin' batty.

So Friday night, we had a decent crowd early on who wanted to hear new wave 80s music interspersed with classic dance tunes.

I played "Turning Japanese" and had a full dance floor while the old couple jammed their fingers in their ears and glared at me.

So I followed it up with "Old Time Rock and Roll" which caused me to lose the entire dance floor ... but brought out Grandma and Grandpa to do their patented clumsy line dance.

BUT...

BUT...

BUT...

A large portion of the club began booing the fact that I was playing the song.

Which made me feel like crap.

I didn't take it personally but I was all "You people are BOOING this old couple!!"

Trust me, if they weren't in there, I wouldn't have played it.

They're only there for one hour every Friday night ... 9-10 p.m.

And I manage to squeeze all their songs into that time frame because they always wave at me when they walk in and I give them a weak smile and wave back when inside I'm thinking "I'm going to get crucified for playing their requests tonight."

Sure enough ... one guy began YELLING when "Boot Scootin' Boogie" came on.

And he WOULD. NOT. STOP.

He wasn't yelling anything in general. He was just bellowing at the top of his lungs.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

Finally, I stopped the music. Just hit the pause button in the middle of the song.

The old folks stopped dead in their tracks, mid-clap.

"What seems to be the problem, Skippy?" I said into the mic.

The guy was dead silent.

I continued.

"You seem to think that maybe you're the only one in the club tonight," I said. "And that everything I play should meet your standards of what you deem worthy of listening to. This is a nightclub with several different types of people here. We have black, white, old, young, male, female. Everyone has different tastes and I'm trying to make everyone happy. Now this lovely couple on the dance floor wanted to hear this song. If there's something that you want to hear, please come up to the DJ booth and request it. Otherwise, stop the yelling. You sound like a monkey with Tourette's."

The guy yelled "Play some AC/DC!!"

Oh.

How freakin' original.

If I had a dime for every f'n request I've had for AC/DC since I first spun a record, I wouldn't have to work today.

I used to like AC/DC.

But now, every single male over the age of 30 thinks that AC/DC is the alpha and omega of popular music and requests it with reckless abandon.

And it's made my job miserable.

And it's not like they want to hear "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" or "Hells Bells" or another cool AC/DC song.

It's ALWAYS either "Back in Black" or "You Shook Me All Night Long".

Because those are the only two songs that they know all the air guitar chords to.

So after I restarted "Boot Scootin' Boogie" and the octagenarians (sp?) finished their lame dance routine, I fired up AC/DC.

"You Shook Me All Night Long".

The screamer screamed.

The old folks shuffled back to their table and jammed their fingers in their ears.

Nobody danced.

And I just wanted to cry.



Whether it's obvious or not, I'm really getting burned out on the nightclub stuff these days.

I still like doing private parties. Mainly because I make a poopload of money doing them.

But this whole facing the same regulars with their same requests and the same drunken losers every week is starting to wear thin.



I watched "Kung Fu Hustle" yesterday and liked it much more than I ever thought I would.

While, yes, it's a Kung Fu movie, it's hilarious at parts.

I have to watch it again.

Soon.

Not right now.

But eventually.

Someday.



Andrew has pink eye.

Yay.

His eye is so goopy it's almost glued shut.

He's handling it well, but he keeps rubbing his eye and then touching mine for some ungodly reason.

I guess he wants to give me some of that juicy eye crap.

I dunno.

It's hard to look at a four year-old and say with all seriousness "Get the hell away from me!"

Especially when you're their parent.



For those of you concerned with Baby Matthew's progress next door, this is going to be about the last update because ... trust me ... he's fine now.

He did have some surgery on Friday to correct a sinus problem that he's been having.

But they came over to the house briefly this past week ... well ... I say "briefly". I had to leave to go to work so I have no idea how long they were here.

Anyway, he's a chubby little happy baby who breaths heavily.

Or breathed heavily.

Hopefully this surgery corrected that.

If not, he's going to have a heckuva career as a pervert who calls women and breaths heavily into the phone.

You know.

If there's any money to be made in that field.



I'm trying to talk Susie into letting me buy a DVD Recorder.

I've been trying for months, but I finally found my angle this morning in a sheer fit of brilliance.

BACK STORY: When we went on her family reunion in Arkansas this past summer, I videotaped a lot of the family with the idea that we were going to come back, put it all on videotape for the six brothers and sisters who were at the top level of this family tree and send those tapes off.

TODAY: While leafing through the newspaper, I pulled out the Best Buy flyer.

"Hon," I said. "Brilliant idea."

"What?" she sighed.

"Instead of putting the Arkansas trip on videotape, we should buy a DVD Recorder and put it all on DVD. Nobody has VCRs anymore! If we sent them tapes, they'd go to waste!"

"These are all people in their 70s," Susie said. "I don't think they have DVD players."

"Oh pschaw!" I scoffed. "Everyone has DVD players now. Especially old people. Old people love 'em!"

"Well then," she said. "I'll call Dad tonight and see if he'd rather have a DVD or videotape. If he says DVD, we can get one."

My fate rests in the hands of my father-in-law.

I sure as hell hope he has a DVD player.

If not, it gives me yet another reason to stare longingly at that bottle of heavy duty sleeping pills in my medicine cabinet.

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