Last night a dj saved my life! Yeah, maaaaan!

I know a couple of people who “dj,” one of them quite successfully in Hollywood, but I’ve gotta say, man, what the hell is that?

Playing records. that’s what it is. To elevate a dj to anything more is borderline insanity. It’s like saying the person who hangs the paintings up in a gallery is an artist, or someone who decides which six movies HBO will show all year is a filmmaker.

Guys, gals, you’re playing records. I understand that a lot of scenesters, debutantes and crank addicts value what you do, so you certainly serve a purpose in the wide world. But stop acting like you’re doing something important.

In 20 years someone, somewhere will be listening to a Britney Spears record, but no one anywhere will be saying, “Damn, remember that group of records that Jimmy DingDong played at Club Pork in October of ’05? That really made me dance!

Anyway, apologies (sort of) to my platter-jockey boys, but they already know how I feel, and they just think I’m old and crazy, so they simply smile and nod while I go off at the mouth. I guess you can feel free to do the same. I’m just a loudmouth with a web site, after all.

There was a guy here in San Pedro who had a blackboard hanging outside his apartment window and he would write (really short) movie reviews on there. I’m sure more people saw that blackboard than read these thingies here, so there you go.

On the bright side, Carol’s show is hung, but we forgot to take pictures, so you’ll have to wait until the opening to see. While we’re on the subject, why don’t you come to the opening and buy something. What else are you going to do with your money? Pay $40 to stand in a room and watch someone play records?

I broke up a fight at an ATM today. Funny story, but I’m too tired to type it right now. Tune in later for the good, the bad and the ugly of that one.

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