Can't Please Anyone

Tomorrow night I will be DJ-ing at a pub where I have repeatedly come off as weak sauce.

There is a weird mix of olds, youngs and ladies who just want to dance in a small group to a Beyonce song.

No matter what I play, someone gets disgusted, someone rocks out at the bar but won't go on the dance floor and someone dances alone while others roll their eyes and I just want to go home.

I can never seem to get a group dancing and it hurts my wickle fee fees.

If you play 70s hits the young people stare down their drinking glasses and look uncomfortable.

If you play anything with "the rap" or "the hip hop" in it the olds start to complain.

Loudly.

Right in front of me.

You guys know I can hear you and you know I know it.

Sometimes there are Irishmen in the pub and they are always sparkly eyed and optimistic. One of them discovered Tom Petty for the first time when I played Learning to Fly and he was super pumped about it. Then he went home and I was left with a less enthusiastic crowd.

There was a guy dressed in women's lingerie who performed a series of sultry dance moves for his mates while a group of passing police officers glanced through the open pub windows and laughed.

Apparently, bachelor parties are a time for your best friends to humiliate you in public as much as possible.

His friends wanted him to sing karaoke to something so I put on "Don't Stop Belivin'" thinking that was always a crowd pleaser.

He didn't know the words and the buzz died quickly.

Another guy seemed to have some pretty hard feelings towards Shania Twain and was not impressed much by my playing one of her songs.

I really miss the good times when me and the four other guys from my grad school would each take an hour to play our favorite music at the local night spot. We'd trade tracks and compliment each other and show each other new tricks we had learned on the mixer. I got paid in chai and naan.

People would listen to the music and dance and tell me I was awesome. And then I felt awesome.

Anyway, I'm currently trying to make a playlist that will keep most people happy for four-and-a-half hours even thought I know it will never work.

I don't want to do this anymore. It's no fun. 

Song of the Week: Peking Duk - Take Me Over Ft. SAFIA

Patriotic Washing Machine

Tonight I discovered that my Fischer and Paykel washing machine can rinse, spin and play the New Zealand national anthem.

Birthday Cake

I made a cake for Nick's birthday and it was pretty tasty. 

I used Betty Crocker cake mixes this time but in the future I'll try to make one from scratch.

As I poured the melted butter into the mix I kept hearing Kristen Wiig's voice when she does her impression of Paula Deen; "buttuh and aawl!" (butter and oil are apparently Deen's go-to ingredients)

I baked a vanilla and strawberry cake and used the packet icing to stick the two of them together.

Nick's mom (my kitchen mentor) made up the icing for the top of the cake and I decorated with the words and the pointy bits.

I added the silver sugar pearls to give it a hint of sparkle.

I also tried to make Mint Juleps but they didn't taste right and I don't want to talk about it.

Weird Times

When I was growing up it was repeatedly impressed on me that I would never find a good Christian husband if I couldn't learn to cook.

Naturally, I stayed out of the kitchen entirely and willfully remained ignorant to the secrets of boiling water and turning on the oven thingy.

Now that I have been removed from the insufferable environment of the Southern Baptist patriarchy for more than a decade, I have a taken an interest in the operation of the oven thingy and the boiling of water- among other necessary kitchen maneuvers.

Today I made these:

Tomorrow, I will make a double layered cake with strawberry and vanilla.

I bought a used cookbook for $1 from the library and it has the recipes for Mint Juleps and Apple Butter.

I'm looking forward to making them.

This is aided by the fact that my partner also likes to cook and doesn't expect me to "make him a sandwich" and let him do all the thinking for both of us.

This may be a very gratifying confession to the three women who tried to teach me to cook.

Mom, Donna and Shankari, thanks for your time and patience!

Fun With Home Haircuts

The NPR decided she wanted to get a pixie cut and Nick's mum suggested she donate her long hair to charity.

Before we sent the locks off we decided to try out a few creative hairstyles on the baby.

Here are the results:

The Emo

The Beat Poet

The Sumo Wrestler/Blue Steel Combo

The Cheerleader From 1985

The Beyond Thunderdome

Pukeko Painting

Here is a painting of a Pukeko I did for Nick's brother and sister-in-law.

Another Bird Painting

I painted this Australian magpie as a Christmas present for my uncle. There are four of these birds living near his home.

The Beginning of 2015

I did a DJ gig at a Christchurch pub not too long ago and with the exception of being hit on by two clueless guys, it went pretty well.

One of them kept complaining about the music I was playing but strangely enough, he stayed until closing time and danced to it.

His friend said I must have been hired for my looks and later, while staring at my chest, said my boobs looked very "poke-able."

I'm sure when you're several beers in that sort of comment seems awesome.

It isn't.

Nick was furious when I told him and asked why I didn't tell both of them where they could stick themselves.

I guess it's that old habit I have of trying to be nice to someone until they make it impossible to continue.

I was getting to that point but then the pub closed.

On New Year's Eve I went back again.

I completely failed to read the crowd and play the right sort of music until the very end.

I should have known that a room full of the olds would prefer rock and roll to the more dancey stuff I was playing.

What did I learn from this? Calvin Harris does not cure all ills.

Finally, hoi polloi elected one of their number to approach me and gently suggest that I play some AC/DC.

Like a true Kiwi, the representative appeared to struggle under the burden of having to express discontent and possibly hurt my feelings.

He looked incredibly relieved when I nodded at the feedback and told him I would cue up his suggested songs. He shook my hand and thanked me.

Things got a lot better after that. People came out to dance.

I was even able to get over my fear of using a microphone for long enough to do the New Year's countdown and cue up a peppy version of Auld Lang Syne.

The last hour was a lot of fun and I was only sorry that Nick wasn't there to give me a smooch.

He had decided to stay home because, in his words, he didn't want to have to fight anyone who might feel the need to comment on my boobs. As it turned out, there was no need to worry. I was left alone.

Pubs can be a great place to DJ because you get to know the regulars and the kind of music they like so you can keep them happy.

That's what I want most when I'm at the mixer.