LOVE IS IN THE AIR

I don't know why I'm telling you this.

Because I know as soon as I tell you, you're going to be all "Why are you telling me this, U.B.?"

And then you'll probably look away from the monitor for a few seconds, think about whether you want to continue reading, debate that for a few more seconds and then finally turn back to the monitor and finish what ya started.

Yeah.

That's what you'll do alright.

Jeez.

I think I've painted myself into a corner here.

At this point I have to tell you something that's a whole lot more exciting than what I'm about to tell you.

Nothing less than exciting is going to cut it.

You're going to read what I'm about to tell you, be all jazzed up for some revelation about my penis or something and then you'll be all "Jeez. Why are you telling me this, U.B.?"

Which ... was the original reaction I was aiming for in the first place.

So here we go...

...My dad has got a girlfriend.

For those of you astute readers, my Mom passed away from a whole slew of cancers July 28th last year.

She hadn't been "sick" too long. Diagnosed with cancer in December 05, died July 06.

But before then, she was in and out of the hospital constantly due to her inability to quit smoking and the repercussions that it brought.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that Dad basically took care of her for the last two years of her life. Towards the end he had to carry her everywhere around the house because she refused to use the wheelchair.

It's now been 15 months since she passed.

And last month, Dad went back to the little town in Illinois that we're from for their annual fall festival.

While there, some old friends made it very very convenient that Dad was reintroduced to one of his classmates from high school who he hadn't seen in about 40 years.

This woman's husband died four and a half years ago.

And she now lives about two hours from Dad.

It's a small world after all.

So they exchanged phone numbers and emails and apparently BEHIND HIS OWN CHILDRENS' BACKS, Dad has been emailing this woman's panties off.

He told me all of this Friday as I recuperated from MAJOR HEART SURGERY!!!

Oksy ... minor out-patient surgery.

But I've still got a scab on my thigh and a camera lens in my heart that they left on accident!!!!

Okay ... not really.

But still ... the conversation couldn't be all about me now, could it Dad??

So this coming weekend, Dad is going to pick this woman up and they are going to drive to Gatlinburg for the weekend.

I told Dad to make sure he took a condom or two.

He said he's getting viagra so if something comes up "it stays up".

Me and my sisters are proud of him and excited for him.

The guy deserves it. He's a lovable ol' lug, very charming, in good shape (better than his son) and he's got money.

Of course, I was kinda counting on a third of that money someday. And anybody that comes between me and my money stands the chance of being bitchslapped in a lawyer's office while the will is being read.

"And to my loving girlfriend of two years ... everything."

*SLAP*

"Sir, you can't slap this elderly woman."

"The hell I can't. Who's paying off my house NOW beeyotch?!?"

I did a bridal show/fair/whatever the hell you wanna call it a few weeks ago.

It was beyond pitiful. Everything that could possibly be wrong about having a bridal fair was wrong with this one.

A bridal fair should take place on a Sunday afternoon in a comfortable setting with lots of vendors, lots of advertising, a live radio remote, tons of doorprizes and hundreds of brides.

This bridal fair was a hot Tuesday night at a cafe with a concrete floor at the local zoo next to the lion cage with 15 vendors, no advertising, no radio, a beach towel to give away and about 13 brides.

Ever smelled honking piles of lion shit in 90 degree temperatures?

Yeah. That's SO NOT the way to sell romance to young couples.

"Imagine at your wedding reception just as you're about to start your first dance as husband and wife and the guests all light sparklers and stand in a circle around you as ... holy fucking shit ... did a cow just die over there?!? What the fuck is that smell? Did Satan just ejaculate all over my table?"

Anyway, I met another DJ there.

A local guy who does weddings.

This guy ... and believe me ... I know I'm no Casey Kasem legendary DJ ... but this guy was PITIFUL.

I told him we needed to DJ in 30 minute shifts ... I'll go 30 minutes then it's his turn, etc.

He agreed.

He went first and it was all this old R&B love songs that I had never heard in my life.

I think it was just his all time favorite Chaka Khan ballads that never became singles.

That's fine. We've got nothing but young white girls and their mothers here, but I'm sure somebody's impressed.

Yeah. The DJ.

So we get 30 minutes of slow, distorted R&B from the guy.

I take over and immediately grab the mic.

"Let's take this party up a notch" I say in a clear, concise, phonetically correct manner. "Who wants to dance at their wedding reception??"

A few girls go "Whee".

Not very enthusiastically, but honestly ... we only had maybe eight brides in attendance at this point.

So I put on "Brickhouse".

I hate the song. I hate every song I play. But it still gets people on the dancefloor.

What I had ACTUALLY put on was a 30 minute disco mix full of Bee Gees, Wild Cherry, KC and the Sunshine Band, etc.

It works at packing most floors at most wedding receptions.

I see the other DJ as he's going around loading up a plate of food from the catering vendors.

Now ... this is a no-no. That food is there for brides to sample and other vendors SIMPLY DON'T EAT THE FOOD.

No.No.

There's my newest DJ buddy ... we'll call him Jack Attack.

Jack's chowing down and bopping his head to my music. He finally comes over to the table while I'm talking to a bride and her mother about why they need to hire me.

Jack stands there staring.

"Need something, Jack?" I ask.

"Yeah, but it can wait," he says.

Now ... I'm standing here, trying to sell myself to a bride ... and I'm deep into my spiel about what I do differently from other DJs, how I can assure you that you'll have the time of your life and why I'm more expensive than Jack Attack and what you get for that price.

Jack's absorbing all of this in.

Finally I stop and say "What do you need Jack? I'm kind of busy here."

He says "I want a copy of that disco mix you're playing."

Okay ... huh??

Let me draw a few parallels for you to understand what this is like.

If a caterer walked up to another caterer's table, sampled a bit of their wedding cake and said "I have to have that recipe for my own brides" ... is that kosher?

If the founder of McDonald's Ray Kroc walked into a Hardee's and said "Man, those are some good biscuits. I need you to give me a truckload so I can start selling them at my restaurants" ... is that okay?

So asking another DJ to make you a copy of a mix that the DJ worked hard to perfect and used as a major tool in his arsenal ... no. That's not cool.

He hounded me all night for that mix, offering to pay for it, give me a case of blank CDs, gift cards ... whatever it took, he wanted a copy of that CD.

Becauuuuuse ... he sucked.

He didn't know how to properly mix music, how to start a dance floor off slow and build momentum, how to understand the psychology of the DJ.

None of that.

He just played Chaka Khan's Greatest Flops and hoped it'd help him drum up business.

I explain that I'm on bedrest until Sunday and that would mean I'd have to get out of bed.

No problem. He'll pick it up on Friday at lunchtime.

YOU. DON'T. FUCKING. GET. IT. DUDE.

I figured there was no way of getting around this. DJ Jack Attack was going to get that mix if he had to break into my house and steal it.

Friday I got up, sat by the front door, waited for him to get here, he pulled up, I hobbled outside, he snatched the disc with a "thanks" and drove away.

But the oops is on him.

I gave him a blank disc.

I haven't heard from him since.