Sounds pretty sweet, huh? Yeah... not. Although last night's Brooklyn Shakers opening at Soho's Wooster Arts Space featured some beautiful art, it did not feature air conditioning. Crowds of free-wine-swilling hipsters + 100% humidity = unpleasant. And then there was the 55-year-old naked guy. In addition to his nasty gunt (or fupa, whatever you prefer), occasional semi-erection, and apparent elephantitis of the nuts, the dude was wearing black socks with brown loafers. Faux pas, my good man. That is just in poor taste.
The afterparty was held in a closet masquerading as a restaurant. Air conditioning, while ostensibly in use, was negligible. Sweating was, again, profuse and unattractive. The band, whose set preceded my "DJ set," ran over by an hour. Two additional DJs were scheduled after me. The three of us ended up with 45 minutes to split. Heavy record bag proved unnecessary, as I played a total of six records. Also played "Blue Monday" by accident. Embarassment and frustration ensued. Current shoulder pain a bitter and constant reminder of general discomfort and ultimate futility of DJ efforts.
Luckily, friend, coworker, and lifestyle consultant Patrick refused to let the night end on a low note. He advised continued drinking and possible starfucking. So, we returned to the bar at which he had earlier reported an Anton Newcombe sighting. Ended up sitting next to a very drunk, shot-pounding Anton at the bar, while treating ourselves to many $2 cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon, drink of champions. Also impressed cute bartender with extensive knowledge of The Unicorns' 7"s. Educated cute bartender on finer points of Dead Milkmen oeuvre. Left bar drunk and filled with the deep satisfaction of a mission accomplished.
Now it is September. September is Be Kind To Editors and Writers Month, International Square Dance Month, Cable TV Month, National Bed Check Month, National Chicken Month...WAIT...overpowering feeling of déjà-vu...
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