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I think I’m finally getting the hang of this blogging thing. I’ve been at it for 7 months or so, and I feel I have something of a rhythm going. The hardest part has been fine-tuning the balance between “what I did today” entries and “here is something that interests me” entries. I’ve also noticed that as I’ve grown more familiar with the medium, I’ve become more comfortable with sharing personal information here. I’m slowly warming up to the fact that the internet is not the scary, stalker-laden labyrinth I once feared it to be. In the spirit of divulging information about my personal life, and because more than a few people have asked me to elaborate on my job, today I shall explain how I came to do what it is I do for a living.

So when I was a kid, like maybe 4 or 5 years old, I’d sometimes poke around my brother’s room when he wasn’t around. He had this gigantic collection of jazz records, and while I didn’t know the first thing about jazz, or music, really, I’d sift through his records, and soon decided to start my own collection. I think it was for my 8th birthday that I got a plastic, self-contained Fisher Price turntable as a gift. “Well,” I thought, “it’s about time,” and promptly began collecting records. By the time I was 10 I had a boom box too, and I was making tapes of my “radio shows.” Around that time I read about DJs in New York scratching and mixing and so forth, and started trying to figure out what they were doing. Of course, I had no one to show me what “scratching and mixing” meant, so I kind of made up what I thought such things might be, and slowly taught myself how to be a DJ.

Fast forward to high school. On the first day each freshman was assigned a senior to help him get acclimated. Mine was one of the cool seniors. He said “hi” and talked for a few minutes about his exploits on the baseball diamond, and then left me, no more informed about high school than I had been prior to his arrival. I must have mentioned DJ’ing to him, though, because around Halloween time he found me and said “my buddy’s parents are leaving town this weekend…can you DJ a Halloween party?” Now, at that point I’d never performed for a crowd, I had only messed around at home, but I figured it would be fun, so I said “sure.” Then he offered to pay me $50. I hadn’t even thought about getting paid, but I recall that I sort of played it off and said something to the effect of, “well, I usually charge more, but I’ll give you my friend discount.” On the inside I was like “Wow! $50!!” which to a 14 year-old kid from a really poor family was a fortune– I’d honestly never even seen $50 in one place before.

When the big night came, I snuck out and brought my mismatched turntables, crossfader-less mixer, and borrowed home sound system and played music for a bunch of upperclassmen. Inexplicably, they loved me, and I started doing random parties here and there– usually just house parties and such– but it was way fun, and I learned to read crowds and select music. Along the way I put together a rap band, and we performed at shows and fairs and such, and won some prizes and had fun. Too much fun, I suppose. My parents sent me away to Santa Barbara, to a low-income boarding school for Mexican-American immigrants. But even down there I’d sneak out after bed check and eventually scored a gig spinning at a night club a few blocks from the beach on State Street. I don’t think the owner knew I was 16. I told him I went to U.C. Santa Barbara. I was getting $150 a night and free drinks to spin there once a week. So much for putting a stop to my excessive fun. We even had half-days on Wednesday, so I’d ride my skateboard to the beach and surf.

Eventually I came to U.C. Berkeley. I still didn’t think of DJ’ing as much more then a fun hobby that occasionally netted me some cash. But my roommates all joined fraternities, and they started calling me to DJ their parties. It was the same thing all over. “Wanna’ DJ a frat party?” “Sure!” “Is $250 okay?” “Ummmmm…..well, normally I charge more then that, but for you…”

*puff puff* my fingers are getting tired…I’m going to finish this later…

Okay, I’m back. Where was I? Oh yes, I was in college, where it seems I was the only DJ who played more than one style of music. I mixed in a little bit of everything, which kept fans of all genres happy. One by one, fraternities and sororities started to hear about me, and within 2 years I was doing just about every single fraternity and sorority event at Cal. The dorms and co-ops were hiring me too, as were various student groups and grad schools. Even the houses at Stanford, U.C. Santa Cruz, Sonoma State, and S.F. State were calling. I had to hire 5 more DJs to cover the work. It was intense and time-consuming, but also one of the most fun periods in my life. It was also when I branched into event planning.

Before I came along, in addition to hiring a DJ, each organization’s social chair arranged the rental of a restaurant or club for the party, hired security, chartered buses to bring the guests to and from the party, and hired a photographer. I came up with the idea of doing all the work for them. They’d call me and give me a date, and I’d call back the next day with 5 or 6 options. I’d handle the buses, security, bartenders, venue rentals, photographers– all of it. The money was better, and it gave me and even stronger lock on those clients.

Business boomed. I decided that I’d found my career, so when it came time to choose a major I went with what I enjoy: English; I like to read, I like to write. I knew that my career options with that major would be limited to teaching, continuing on to more school, or panhandling, but it didn’t matter, as I had my job all lined up. I was pretty sure my boss wasn’t going to fire me, after all.

DJ’ing college parties was very good to me– it paid my way through school, and provided me with some fun times, but all good things come to an end. I graduated and had less time to devote to the Berkeley clientele. Besides, the connections I’d made with all the venues in San Francisco led me into the world of corporate event management and wedding planning, which not only involves far less work, it pays significantly more. That was a trade-off I had to take. In a way, I miss the reckless, overworked days of college when everyone knew who I was, but fame like that is fleeting, and sort of overrated. I much prefer well-paid, secure anonymity. And okay, maybe I miss late night phone calls from infatuated, anonymous Kappa Kappa Gamma girls, but only just a teensy bit.

So now that you know what I do for a living, let me ask Today’s (Two-Part) Question: What did you think you would be when you grew up? Are you one?

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I had to be at Canterbury Press before 5:00 today (actually by now it’s yesterday) to pick up some postcards I had printed up. Adverts for the business they are, but that’s not terribly pertinent. The point is that they close at 5:00, and I needed to be there before then.

I had some things to do at the apartment, but I left with ample time to get there. I walked the 3 blocks to my car, which naturally wouldn’t start. In a pinch I can *make* it start, but it involves wiring some stuff under the hood, and I didn’t feel like going through the trouble.

I had, as I said, ample time, so I started making the pleasant walk to MLK & University. For those that know Berkeley, my car was parked at Haste and Bowditch, so it’s about 15 blocks. But I had 30 minutes, which gave me about 10 to spare. I was nearly there– I’d made it to Shattuck and Allston. That’s about 5 blocks away. I passed a really, really old man in a wheelchair and he grunted at me. He’d been grunting at everyone else, and I probably should have ignored him as everyone else was doing, but I couldn’t bring myself to do so.

I thought he had said “gimme a buck,” but it sounded like “gimmeee umph” and just to be sure he was okay I went back and said “what?” to which he repeated “gimmmeee umpheghdh” which I eventually translated into “give me a push.”

“Well,” I said, “I can certainly do that.” So I pushed, but to no avail. He wasn’t budging. “Taggiff braaagh” he told me, which meant “take off the brakes.” Some more grunting allowed him to indicate where the brakes were, and off they came and I began to push. But how far was I to push? I was not quite sure what he wanted in terms of a push. And he certainly was not nice about it. He was grunting and swearing and berating me as I moved him down the sidewalk.

“Leeeeggooo” he said after about half a block. “Let go?” I inquired “yeegggh” he replied, which I took for “yes,” but I guess it wasn’t because when I let go he just drifted off in the direction of a signpost. I sort of stopped him, but he gave it a little bump, which prompted a whole new string of oaths from him. I couldn’t make it all out but “you almost killed me” was in there someplace. The gist of it was that he wanted me to push him for another block. 5:00 was drawing nearer, but what’s one block to help out this poor man, I thought, so I pressed on. One block later he stopped me. I thought we were “there” but he just wanted me to get him a cigarette from his bag. He lit it up, and we began moving anew.

Halfway down the next block he grunted some more, telling me to “stpppp ya basstuhhdd.” I stopped and asked if we had reached our destination, but no, he showed me that the sidewalk ahead looked a bit grimy, so I should be sure to steer around the dirty parts.

Soon we’d made 3 blocks, but he was ready for more. He told me to “cccrrosggsgsgs shuckk,” which I could now easily translate as “cross Shattuck.” But the light was red, so I waited. This prompted another string of curses that would make a drunken sailor blush. I told him the cars would hit us if we went against the light, but he just called me an asshole. I finally had to ask him, “do you accost strangers to give you rides on a daily basis, or do you have some alternate means of getting around?” That sent him on another flurry of cursing at me. He began adding “gimmmeee ouuddada sinnnn” to his orders, which meant I needed to make sure to stand so as to provide him with shade when we were waiting for signals to change.

At long last we made it to Haste an Shattuck, a solid six blocks from where I’d met him, not to mention six blocks in the direction opposite that which I was going.. Now he began the fun game of having me stop at every gate and try his key, just in case he lived there. Each time a gate wouldn’t open he’d curse at me and complain about the sun. On the third try, we found his gate and I got him in. I managed to get him to tell me his apartment number, and I pushed him home. Except, he was no longer sure he wanted to be home, for when I opened the door, turned on his light, put some bags on the counter, all per his instructions, he informed me he wanted me to take him for a walk.

By this time it was 4:56. As politely as I could I reminded him that I had a 5:00 appointment and I had to go. “Gwann ouddahere ya sumbitch” was his sweet goodbye, as I dashed away.

Naturally, I wasn’t able to make it by 5:00. And there you have the the story of my life, shrunk down into one afternoon’s adventure.

Today’s Question: Have you ever had a good deed for a stranger go awry?

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Today I joined a Blogring. I’m not sure what that will mean in the greater scheme of my life, but here I am. It’s a Cal alumni ring, on account of I’m a Cal alumnus. Maybe I’m going to make tons of new blog friends now? I can hardly wait. Hi new Blogring friends. Are any of you reading this? Go Bears!

Remember in a previous post when I stated that I like things both cute and silly? Here is something that meets both criteria:

Nurse Kitty
You love to help people and you work very hard to
do so. Your friends call on you for support and
you’re cool in a crisis.

What kind of Hello Kitty are you?

That will be all for today.