Archive for January 2012

A Letter To Seal

January 28, 2012

Dear Seal,

On the Internet and in the newspaper, I noticed the headlines concerning your marriage problems. Yet, I ignored reading the articles. That type of stuff just don’t interest me.

Seal and Heidi Klum

Yesterday, at the supermarket, your problems caught my attention again.  In the checkout line, I saw two magazines demonizing you, one labeling you a bullying husband and the other labeling you a cheater.

True or not, may I give you some advice, brother? During and after the divorce, keep a low profile. No need defending yourself because some folks’ minds are already made up about you. Whatever you say, some just won’t believe you. Besides, why try impressing folks who may have never liked you in the first place?

I know what the deal is. You may know it too. You married a beautiful white woman.  Not just any white woman, a BEAUTIFUL one. Damn, bro, she’s a supermodel even.  Now, that’s game. Just like with a black President, some folks just can’t stand it.

For all we know, Heidi Klum could be a bitch. Yet, the media chose to jump on you. Why? You married that beautiful white woman. The way some folks see it, Heidi wasn’t supposed to marry you. She was supposed to marry a rock guy, one of those dudes who couldn’t get laid if he wasn’t a rock star. Yet, Heidi chose you.

Your situation reminds me of a white woman I got rid of ten years ago. As her friends demonized me as the next OJ, what they didn’t see was a manipulator who wouldn’t leave me alone. After making it known I wished for her to stay out of my life (and I even threatened to kick her ass), this woman still came to poetry readings I hosted. Plus when we dated, she kept quiet about other dudes she dated. What finally got rid of her? Catching her red-handed in a lie. And no, I never raised a hand to that woman.

Keep your head up, Seal. Some of us got your back,

Yours truly,
DJ Stone Crazy

Ladies Night: Portishead Verus Chingy

January 25, 2012

As you can see in the following pic, women predominated last night’s DJ gig at Little Fish-Huge Pond.

Every Tuesday as I spin chill music, drink specials are held for the ladies.

As I enjoyed the night, a mild conflict over music started.  In the past, I played chill music all night.  Yet, that shit got boring. I can tolerate Portishead and jazz-influenced, instrumental, funk for only about two hours.  After that, I prefer playing dance music including hip hop.  After my chill set, I did just that, began playing dance music.  As one group of young ladies requested Chingy and Dev, another woman preferred me to continue playing Porishead.


As I tried mixing  all the requests, Portishead Woman still got upset.  What finally got her goat was me fulfilling a dubstep request.

“I love you,” she started. “But please don’t play any more dubstep.”

Seeing the carrying on over  dubstep inspires me to keep playing it, just because I know it pisses some folks off. It’s like playing BG’s Bling-Bling because the song pisses off hip hop purists.  You know the type, always saying what’s real hip hop and what isn’t.

Yet, I didn’t play anymore dubstep that night. Truth be known, I can only tolerate one or two dubstep songs at a time.

As the mild music conflict happened, a Republican white woman was in our midst.  On the big, flat screen, television located behind the bar, President Obama had just finished his Union Address, one that made me glad I voted for him.

I couldn’t hear exactly what Moire, the bar’s owner, said. Yet, it rubbed Republican Woman the wrong way. Immediately she made it known what party she supported.

As I continued playing music, Republican Woman kept complimenting my music choices.  I wasn’t surprised. For some damned reason, I always attract Republican white women. And I don’t even approach them. They usually approach me.

Also, I noticed Republican Woman looked like a recently, deceased friend. A nasty chill ran over me. My deceased friend definitely wasn’t a Republican.

At another place, I witnessed a ladies night backfiring. Most of the women preferred clit over dick. As  lesbians do attend my nights, they never predominated.

I’m looking forward to next week.  Who knows.  Maybe, dudes will predominate. As long as folks are having a good time, I really don’t give a shit.

Douchebag Night

January 23, 2012

Last Thursday, I played my first DJ gig at SIP Orlando.  I ain’t going to front.  The event did not attract many people, something I blame myself for. Even when two Saturday openings were available, I still chose Thursday. Why?  Due to  past experiences, I always saw Friday and Saturday nights in Orlando as douchebag night.

Unlike my Sanford gig, Orlando Friday and Saturday nights tend to attract folks who enjoy bossing the DJ around.  Then again, it may have been the spot itself attracting those types versus Orlando being the actual problem.  Also, let me point out, most Orlando people behaved nicely during my gigs. I just happened to see more douchebags in Orlando versus Sanford. Yet again, it could be Orlando being bigger than small town Sanford, meaning a higher population.  The higher the population, the more likely you’ll run across douchebags.

At SIP, I played mostly eighties RnB, music intended as opening tunes.  The folks who did show up loved it.  After about two hours, I played eighties hip hop.  That didn’t go over well.  After five songs, someone requested Let The Music Play by  Shannon, and that song lit up the place. Some folks sung the lyrics. After Shannon, I played Madonna’s Into The Groove. People sung to that also.

Impressed with my mix, the two bartenders working that night promised to help promote my next gig, February 4.  And that gig happens on a Saturday.

Here’s some pics.

Local bowling team: The Harlem Bowltrotters.

Michael: My first time meeting the guy.

He twittered his friends about my mix.  He really loved it when I played The Rain by Oran “Juice” Jones. By the way, what the fuck happened to the Juice? I hadn’t seen that guy in years.

Keith Gregson: I’ve known this Irishman since the 90s. Because he reads my blogs, I of course had to include him in this one.

Franklin Rice Ratliff: An artist I’ve also known since the 90s.  At almost every art event, you would see Franklin attending.

Speaking of art, after a scheduled appearance for this event, a local artist didn’t show up.

The guy on the right is Midtown Dave, the first DJ I witnessed successfully mixing with a laptop.  Years later, I wound up doing a night with him and another DJ.

After this night, I got an e-mail from whomever is handling SIP’s Facebook page.   The message told me the two bartenders begged for me to come back.

Like I said earlier, I was granted another night, a douchebag night I’m looking forward too.

More Wild Knock Knock Pics

January 20, 2012

Because folks loved my previous blog about Knock Knock, I decided to post more pics.

For those that don’t know, Knock Knock is an Orlando bar that no longer exists.


The Capricorn Party

January 16, 2012

Last Saturday, I drove to Downtown Sanford, Florida.

First spot I hit was Little Fish-Huge Pond.

The band Eight Stories High played.

I forgot who said this, “I guess the cold weather kept people away tonight.”

“I heard a lot of things were happening in Orlando this evening,” I said.

For non-Floridians, Orlando is a forty-five minute drive away from Sanford.

One of those things happening in Orlando was a Capricorn party.  Because I get along with most Capricorns, I wanted to attend.  Yet, for business reasons, I had to come to Downtown Sanford.

Chris, the guy in the previous third pic down, told me about a place next door.  Recently, Mother Earth closed.  If I had it right, I think Mother Earth was a Buddhist place owned by a Brazilian woman.  Some of Mother Earth’s stuff still remained.

Because belly dancers frequently performed there, you would think a person like yours truly would attend those nights.  Yet, I missed them…unfortunately.

Slated to open next month, our friend Michael owns the spot.

Chris and I headed back to Little Fish.

After another brew, I headed to Fat Rat’s, the real reason I came to Downtown Sanford.   Because of a possible future DJ gig there, I had to talk business with one of  Fat Rat’s bartenders.

A jukebox played current rock and pop hits.

At the bar counter, I sat next to a bald white guy.  I soon learned his name was Eric.

As I conversed with  Eric, yuppies were swinging on the bar’s stripper pole.  Make-believe-strippers on a drunken Saturday night, but probably boring ass office folks come Monday,

Around 11:30, the yuppies left.

Next, in walks a white  woman dressed in a long sleeved, white shirt made from long john’s fabric.   Also, she wore blue jeans and a winter hat that almost looked like this:

Except it wasn’t a knit hat.  I think the hat was a green or gray fabric.

Any way, Eric and I started talking to her.  As the conservation went on, the woman and I began talking more to each other versus talking to Eric.

I found out more about her than she did about me.  Hell, I don’t talk much.   Her name was “Nancy”.  Born in Illinois , she moved backwards and forwards from Florida.   Recently, she turned 36…which makes her a Capricorn.  Also, she has three kids.  As a dude with no kids of his own, women with kids are sometimes a turn off.  Yet, because I enjoyed talking to her, I kept quiet about it.

Somewhere during the conservation, I told her about me being a DJ.  I wasn’t bragging.  I said it as a matter of fact.

“I like to dance,” she said.

After telling her I DJed locally, she told me she wanted to see the place I gigged at.

By this time Eric had already left.

Soon, Nancy and I left.

Okay, this is the moment where the picture-taking stopped.  What the reader sees next are past photos of the places Nancy and I visited.  In other words, I didn’t take these the same night I was with Nancy.

First place we stopped was Jason’s Martini Club.

The same people who own Fat Rat’s also own Jason’s.

For some reason, Jason’s was damned near dead.  As current dance music thumped away, two women grooved on the dance floor.  About four other people sat at the bar counter.

“It’s been like this for awhile,” said Nancy.  “What do you think the problem is?”

“The DJ,” I said.

Next thing I knew, Nancy went to the DJ room.  After a few moments, she called me over.

Because of who I usually see with the gigs, I expected the DJ to be a white guy aged late-twenties to mid-thirties.   Yet, I saw a Hispanic kid who looked early twenty-something.

“Tell him,” Nancy said to me.

Oh shit, I thought.

“Don’t pay her no attention,” I told the guy.

Nancy left.

I started noticing the guy’s software.  He used Virtual DJ like me.  Yet, he didn’t have the notes and beats per minute displayed like I usually do.  As for equipment, I noticed he had a controller, something I currently wish for.  Yet, my ass is always too broke.

I left the room and found Nancy on the dance floor.

We headed towards the exit.

“It might not be him,” I said.  Actually, it could be everything but him.  My blaming the DJ was ego talking…as if I could have done a better job.  For all I know, shitty customer service could have ran people off.

Next, we went to Little Fish, my DJ spot.

There I bought us a brew and talked some more with Nancy.  As they read these words, I imagine the questions going through some folks’ mind.  What is he doing hanging with a woman with three kids?  And shouldn’t she be  home instead of barhopping?

I’ll you why I was having a good time.  When Nancy talked, she wasn’t running off at the mouth about nothing, something that crawls my skin.  I hate folks who talk and talk all the fuckin’ time.  Most of the times, it’s always about them too. Because of my quiet nature, Nancy wanted me to talk more.

Another reason why I was having a good time?  Being a DJ was all Nancy knew about me.  She didn’t know anything about me and poetry  When some women learn about my poetry, they act different.  All of a sudden, it’s a man of my intellect shouldn’t behave like this or that.  Also, it’s a man of my talent shouldn’t write booty poetry.  Because I get sick of hearing shit like that, I keep quiet about my poetry.

Also, I cringe when women tell me they saw me reading poetry.  If I wasn’t a locally popular poet, would they still like my ass?   Don’t get me wrong.  I don’t think all relationships start on a bad foot this way.  Let’s just say, I’ve had too many shitty situations in which it did.  One woman  wound up being a mild stalker, mild because she only stalked me after breaking up with her boyfriends.

Compared to all that bullshit, Nancy was a godsend I didn’t mind spending money on.

Next, we went to the Wet Spot.

It kind of sucked.  So, we went next door to the Alley.

And sat at the bar counter.

Friends talked to us for a few moments and left.

Next, Nancy and I talked some more…until closing time.

We walked to my car.  Nope, nothing happened.  Besides, she threw up.  At least, she took the common courtesy to throw up outside my car.

After driving her to her car, Nancy and I went our separate ways.  I don’t expect to see Mrs. Going-Through-A-Divorce again.  No problem.  Still, after I thought I missed it, the Capricorn party came to me instead.

School of Hard Knocks

January 14, 2012

Ten years ago, I walked into Knock Knock, a Downtown Orlando bar.   An event involving folks wearing catholic school clothing took place, an event named School of Hard Knocks.  I just happened to have my camera that night.  Being a perverted heterosexual, I of course focused on the women.

Knock Knock was owned by a  guy named Carlos Gomes.

School of Hard Knocks was hosted by Shine Salon.  In the next pic, the guy licking the armpit is Shine Salon’s owner, Tony Woodley.

Almost every month the event happened.  On some nights, Tony dressed as a headmaster.

Other times, Tony dressed in drag.  No, he ain’t gay…even though, he’s a hair dresser.  He’s just a crazy Brit.

With Long Island Iced Tea in my system, I tried photographing every ounce of fun catching my eye.

Dude in the yellow shirt is Jay Marley, a DJ that later moved to Tampa.

Knock Knock changed hands in 2005 (I think).  After it’s closing, very few spots hosted the fun this joint had.  Downtown Orlando is now littered with bars containing annoying folks, the uppity kind who would look down on the School of Hard Knocks people.

Yet, I have hope.  Things work in cycles.  When the fun returns to Downtown Orlando, my camera and I will be there.

Grooveshark Saves 80s Night

January 7, 2012

After setting up the laptop and sound system for my DJ gig, I connected the external hard drive to the laptop.  Then Windows Vista told me it didn’t recognize my USB device, the same device containing Virtual DJ and all my damned music.  Even after rebooting, the same thing showed up.

I pointed this out to Ed, our local computer expert.  Because he rode his bike to the bar, I drove him to his house for another USB chord.

And what happened?  The same ol’ crap.

The Online Site I Resisted!!!

In frustration, I resorted to the DJ practice I hate the most.  I went online to Grooveshark.

For those unfamiliar with the site, Grooveshark offers free online streaming.  After members upload their favorite music, others can search for it and play it.

Recently, through artist Andrew Spear, I met one of Grooveshark’s founders at The Peacock Room, a local Orlando bar.

Tonight’s theme was Devo, a band mostly known for their 80s hit “Whip It.”   With so much on my mind, I only played two Devo songs on Grooveshark, “Whip It” and “Jocko Homo”.  Mostly, I played other 80s tunes.

At first, things didn’t work out.  Mistakenly I interrupted the current playing song with the next song.  Billy Squier’s “Rock Me Tonight” got interrupted by Peter Schilling’s “Major Tom”.  Because Billy Squier was a request, I made it up with his “The Stroke”.

Billy Squire

After awhile, I got the hang of it.  As most people seemed to enjoy themselves, one thing annoyed the hell out of me.  With Virtual DJ, I start the next song near the ending fade of the currently playing song.  As the current song quickly moves into the next, it keeps people dancing.  Using Grooveshark prevents this.  Before you get to the next song, you are forced to experience a too long silence.  Not hearing music saps the energy out of the place.  Still, most folks seemed to have a good time.

I didn’t just stick with rock and pop songs.  I also played hip-hop, Sugar Hill Gang’s “Rappers Delight” .  Also I played classic soul, Vanity 6’s “Nasty Girl” and Janet Jackson’s “Nasty”.

The last song of the evening?  Culture Club’s “Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?”  It was funny watching biker guys sing this.  Incidentally, these three gentlemen knew me from another gig.  Just like tonight, they had a good time their too.

Do I recommend using Grooveshark for DJ gigs?  Hell no!  Once folks learn you go online for music, they

Vanity 6

attempt treating you like a jukebox, the reason I kept quiet about using Grooveshark. Also, some places don’t have WiFi.  In some bars, you may get away with silence in between songs.  In a club, you may be shown the door.

When I got home and fired up the laptop,  the damned thing recognized my USB device.  Maybe, I didn’t reboot like I thought I did.

Knocked out of my comfort zone, tonight I was forced trusting my instincts.  True enough, some songs definitely didn’t mix well.  Yet, I have this same problem when I use Virtual DJ.  It just didn’t happen as much.

Life reinforced what I always knew.  No matter what equipment you use, nothing beats knowing the appropriate songs for the evening.  Whether it be vinyl or the laptop, no equipment in the world can cover crappy DJ skills.

I hate admitting this.  Yet, after my resisting Grooveshark, this same program saved our 80s night.