Sunday, August 28, 2005
So, last night, Anne and I went to Salon Daome to cut a rug. The DJ was amazing. I watched him dancing a bit behind his turntables and now I think I love him. He has inspired me to write the following open letter.
Dear DJs the World Over,
Is it clear that we all love you? It’s clear to me. The scores of adoring girls who would line up in extreme heat and bitter cold just for the chance to dance in front of your tables must inflate your egos to no end. It is hard to believe that you wouldn’t notice. It is hard to believe that you wouldn’t use your power for evil.
Equal parts kryptonite and dynamite, you disarm the urban woman. Our defenses weakened and our hearts racing we fall for you night after night after night. We are powerless when you are hunched over the wax. We hang on every beat, sway to your rhythms, and gyrate as you dictate. We wait breathlessly for our favourite tune and our sweat greets the new songs you introduce.
Your powers are positively supernatural. Of the multitudes of gods and icons, who have come to symbolize the party, you are more Nataraj than Dionysus. It is not about lechery and excess. You provoke our dancing to a cosmic level. Yours is the universe of musical pleasures and we inhabit it passionately.
You are uniquely able to reach out to me. You could break my heart, and I would forgive you. I know you are bad boys and sweet boys, play boys and lover boys. I know there are a hundred girls waiting for you to look their way and I know you are only human. But still I feel special on your dance floor. I feel that you lay down the vinyl for me alone. I see you and I am smitten. I give in. I am yours, even if it is for just one night.