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6:53 a.m. - 2004-06-14


After this past weekend, I have decided that from now on if somebody calls me and says "I'd like you to DJ my party" I will say this, I will say:


And if they say "The party will be taking place outside and ..."

I will interupt them at this point and say this, I will say:

"Nope. Sorry. Fuck off and die, please."

And then hang up on them.

So I did a party Friday night out in the country.

It was a ... hmmmm ... I guess you could call it a rehearsal dinner. The couple were getting married on Saturday, they had just gone through their rehearsal for the wedding, and there was food there.

Thus, it was a rehearsal dinner by definition.

But it quickly evolved into the most uncomfortable night of my life.

I got there at 6:30 for the 7:30 gig.

Introduced myself to the Uncle of the groom which really didn't benefit either one of us because I didn't need to know the Uncle and since he was from Idaho, there was no need to impress him so that he'd someday hire me to do a party of his.

Plus, I don't think "Meeting a Wedding Rehearsal Dinner DJ" was really high on his list of things to do before he died either.

Anyway, got set up on this makeshift stage at the corner of the front yard.

By the time I had set up, my shirt was soaked with sweat and my Dockers were clinging to me like an amateur prostitute.

Luckily for me there was one of those industrial sized exhaust fans positioned about ten feet from my stage.

Except it was facing the same way that I was so that I wasn't getting any air.

I walked over to the fan and stood in front of it until I cooled off.

The Uncle walked over.

It was a meeting of the Uncles, I guess.

"Heard on the news it was 94 degrees right now with a heat index of 101," he drawled.

Holy shit.

No wonder my nipples were melting down my chest. Welcome to Hell. Sorry ... the air conditioning's all busted up good.

Soon enough, people started driving up and parking wherever they could find a place and shuffling over to the tent in the front yard, hovering around the Fantosaurus to beat the heat.

I started playing music. Soft music. Specifically, that Simply Red song "Sunrise".

A little old lady yelled out "TURN IT DOWN!!"

I had the volume at 1.5. It goes to 10.

I got on the microphone and said in a good natured tone of voice "Ma'am, it's going to get a whole lot louder than this."

She yelled back "It better not!"


That's not the best way to get a party started. Arguing with Granny over Simply Red tunes isn't my idea of funtastic fucking fun.

So I turned the music down to where it couldn't be heard, figuring what the hell ... I get paid regardless of whether they can actually hear the music or not.

It was around that time that I saw a weird bug crawling on my arm.

I swatted at it.

Blood spurted everywhere. It looked like the last five minutes of "Scarface" on my arm.

That was one juicy mosquito.

And there was another one on my other arm.

Another slap.

More blood.

Another bug.

Another slap.

More blood.

And the cycle began.

Bugs on my neck, bugs down my shirt, bugs on my scalp, bugs in my ear.

Welcome to the country in the heat of summer. Don't mind the bugs, they won't actually kill you.

...They'll just make your fucking existence unbearable for the next six hours.

Now I was working up a sweat just trying to keep the bugs from sucking my blood dry.

So I'm standing there, drenched in blood, sweat and on the verge of tears while trying to play music that would appeal to both 20-something beer drinking hell-raisers as well as Granny over there with the sensitive hearing aid.

I spanned the gamut, baby.

I'd play Glenn Miller and follow it up with Hoobastank. I'd mix Dr. Dre with Anne Murray. And if you never heard Godsmack followed by Don Ho's "Tiny Bubbles" ... baby ... you haven't lived.

As the sun went down, it got dark out there.

REALLY dark.

They brought out a floodlight to put on me, which didn't really appeal to me at all.

First, I didn't want a spotlight. Contrary to what you may believe about me ... I don't like being in the spotlight.

Second, that gave the bugs a chance to find a big assed juicy buffet in the spotlight.


I got on the microphone and said in mock sincerity: "Oh great. A spotlight. And more bugs."

That clued the Uncle in and let him know he could turn the spotlight off.

So we partied in the dark.

And the kids were great. When I say "kids", I mean the 20-somethings.

They got drunk and rowdy and decided to form a little pit right in front of me ... about six inches from my equipment.

Which had me freaking out a bit because these were drunk kids doing their little Phish dances with no regard for my shit.

When one of them put a Coors Light bottle on top of my brand new Karaoke machine, I kinda sorta flipped.

"Dude!" I yelled without the aid of a microphone. "Throw the bottle AWAY!"

He was all mellow and did just that.

As uncomfortable as I was, it was one of the best nights of DJing I've ever had. I had a totally responsive audience who were really getting into what I was doing (once the old folks left about 9 p.m.) and we ended up staying there and partying til about 1 a.m. when the groom's mother told me to shut it down.

The groom came up to me, slurring his words as if he'd just had a stroke and told me I was the most awesome fucking DJ he's ever heard.


The drunk kids.

They love their Uncle Bob.

Saturday afternoon was slightly worse.

This was a "gathering of friends and family" to celebrate the engagement of a young couple.

I was set up near the pool.

The good thing?

Lotsa hot bridesmaids in bikinis.

The bad thing?

96 degrees ... heat index of 102.

The really REALLY bad thing?

The looming black clouds in the horizon.

I was actually watching the clouds more than the bridesmaids as they moved closer and closer.

At one point, I got on the microphone and announced that in the case of rain, I'd like as many men to help me move my stuff to the carport. The more men that would help out, the easier it would be to get it finished quickly.

I've had to move all this equipment before like this. If I can get 8-10 guys to help, we can just carry the table with all the stuff on it and the speakers and speaker stands can be carried by two guys apiece and everything really moves quickly and efficiently.

I felt a rain drop.

"Guys," I said on the mic. "It's time to move everything to the carport."

Then ... the bottom of the clouds fell open and the rain poured.

...And all the men just sat there and stared at me.

I was all Chicken Little, dancing around the table and grabbing hot bridesmaids' beach towels to cover my stuff up with while screaming for the men to come help me move this stuff.

Finally, a few guys eased themselves out of their lawn chairs and casually strolled over to my table.

"You! Speakers!" I was shouting. "You! Grab this end of the table!"

They grudgingly grabbed whatever I told them to grab and slowly made their way to the carport while my equipment took a nice cool shower.

We get on the carport and I'm still freaking out because all my stuff got wet.

Luckily for me, everything seemed to work okay except one of the speakers was not working.

That's only $279 to replace.

I'm making $300 for the party.

Hey! I'm walking out of here with $21 profit and a severe case of heat exhaustion!

I get everything set up on the carport and they move all these folding chairs on the carport as well.

It was a big carport. Held five cars. Just so you can get an idea of what I was dealing with.

But they formed the chairs in a half circle facing me.

And then they all sat in these chairs silently and faced me with their arms folded across their chests, staring at me.

I couldn't figure out what was going on. But it was spooking the shit out of me. I felt as if they were going to cannibalize me or something.

Finally, two older couples got up and left the party once the rain subsided somewhat.

When they left, the party lit up.

Apparently, those were the grandparents or some shit and they weren't allowed to drink alcohol in front of them. So everyone was itching to get drunk and waiting for Grandma and Grandpa to leave.

The bride came over in her little string bikini and her brand new fake boobies and informed me that's what had been going on and that it wasn't me that was bumming them out.

Once the alcohol started flowing, these people loosened up considerably.

The bride did Karaoke for the first time ever and became addicted quickly.

Lemme tell you gals something ... when you're dancing around next to me in a tiny bikini and every time you mess up a lyric you lean into me, pressing your fake boobies against me and say "I'm so drunk!" naturally I'm going to start sporting some wood in the nether regions.

It's a typical reaction for any guy.

Even if I was old enough to be her dad.


Hell ... no technically about it. The first time I had sex was 24 years ago and the bride was 22.


That's depressing.

Anyway ... I learned one thing about kids below the age of 10 at these types of things ... they only have two favorite songs and they want to hear those two songs ONLY.

Those two songs being "All Star" by Smash Mouth and "Who Let The Dogs Out".

Over and over again.

I think the bride's mama got ticked with me and thought that I had only brought a few songs with me because I kept playing those songs over and over.

Well ... I played them both four times over the course of the day/night.

But still.

Hmmmm ... like you even care.

Okay, this entry has gone on long enough because it's boring the crap out of me.


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