FRIENDS SHOULDN'T LET FRIENDS DEEJAY DRUNK

You know what I'm finding out more and more???

People take advantage of kind gestures.

For instance ... (what? You didn't think I had a "for instance"??) my old buddy Billy. I've talked about him before in this diary, but I don't expect you to remember every single person I've ever mentioned in here...

Billy and I deejayed together through most of the 1980s. While I quit the field, Billy tried but couldn't ever find another job that he wanted.

He wants OUT of deejaying...he just can't find anything that he likes. So he's still deejaying.

Billy is like 54 years old now. His hair is white and thinning.

He's old. Still youthful in mind and spirit. But his body is old.

Which means...clubs aren't so quick to hire him to come out and spin the latest Britney Spears tunes. They'd rather have some kid with a faceful of piercings, neon yellow sunglasses and pants that are baggy enough to fit 12 pork roasts comfortably.

Plus...Billy NEVER really grasped the art of deejaying. He's been doing it for 16 years now...but NEVER bothered to learn how to DO IT.

He'll play a song, people will be dancing, he'll let the song fade ALL THE WAY OUT ... have a LONG PAUSE...then start the next song.

He's NOT a mixer.

While I was a fanatic about making sure the music NEVER stopped, Billy could care less. (One time I had "dead air". I was fighting my way through the crowd from the bathroom and couldn't make it to the deejay booth in time. Had about five seconds of dead air. Hell...even the time I dislocated my knee in the deejay booth, I managed to CRAWL to the turntables and start the next record).

I've watched Billy TOTALLY DESTROY an evening, simply by having long pauses between songs. People are getting their groove on...only to have it shattered at song's end. Everyone stops dancing and those that STAY on the dancefloor just stare at the deejay booth and wait for him to start the next song. Then they have to decide if they want to dance to this song or go sit down. It's awkward and uncomfortable for everyone involved.

...Except Billy.

So Billy plays mostly private parties for older people. Reunions and stuff. Parties where the people NEED a breather after every song.

Last week, I was telling Billy about Napster and how he needs a computer simply for the purpose of getting any song he ever wanted or needed to deejay from Napster.

To make a point, I told him to "give me a list" of songs and I would make a CD of all of them.

*ahem*

Yesterday, when we get back from grocery shopping, there's a stack of 12" vinyl singles on my front porch.

I called Billy and said "You want all these??"

"Yeah, buddy...I need them all," he says.

He adds he'll gladly pay me for the discs. It's not the price of the discs I'm worried about...how about TIME SPENT, DUDE???

So last night, I downloaded every song.

Sixty-four songs all total.

Now I'm making the discs. And because they're all "extended mixes", I can only squeeze about ten songs on each disc.

The bad part is he CAN'T need all these songs.

He just CAN'T.

I mean...even in 1986 ... Janet Jackson's "Escapade" was NOT a big dance floor song. I seriously doubt that anybody's hoofin' around to it these days either.

Ah well ... I found him a buncha crap...he's a dear ol' buddy ... he's willing to pay me for the discs...

...But dayyyyy-ummmm...this is a shitload of work.

Anyway...

Called Dad yesterday to wish him a happy Pops Day.

He's JUST NOW understanding the severity of his brain aneurysm last month.

Not that he's lost any of his mental quickness...he hasn't.

But the doctor sat him down on Friday and told him that he SHOULD be dead right now and there's no explanation why he isn't dead.

The doctor also told him that he (the doctor) is extremely proud of him ... like he's a "job well done".

I guess it's like if you're an ashtray maker. And you make just the coolest ashtray. You show everybody this ashtray and you won't quit talking about it until somebody just steps up and says "HEY! KNOCK IT OFF ABOUT THE ASHTRAY, SLICK!!"

Alright...it's nothing like that. Regardless...the doctor is like a little kid, glad that he saved Dad's life.

Me too. Because I sure as HELL didn't want Mom moving in with me.

I played the "Enhanced TV" version of "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" last night.

...I shall never look at TV the same way again...

I was having such a blast, reading everything out to Susie, who was busy trying to vomit up her dinner (Baby and all...).

I'm reading all these interesting facts about the contestants ("And...he likes to write poetry!!" "His wife's name is DEE!!!") like they were revelations from God.

I did pretty good...landed in the top 14% percentile of contestants. For my first time, I thought that was pretty good.

Pretty good...huh??

You think that's pretty good???

I'm pretty good, I think.

(Sorry...just wanted to see how many times I could type "pretty good" without it being obvious. I guess I went over the limit)

HEY!! I still have that gut-busting entry ready to go that will have you in STITCHES, baby.

Y'know...the one I've been promising you for about a week???

Well, it's coming, senorita...just hang onto your bloomers.