The past weekend was quite musical, in many ways. Musical foods were ingested by many loved ones in my close proximity (if you catch my drift), and I attended two musical events: the first, on Friday, was a joint performance by a couple from Santa Fe: he plays classical guitar, she weaves silk tapestries, and together they were a collage of pomposity. They also made me a little envious, since they earn a very comfortable living just “exploring the tonal language of color” and “nurturing all parts of themselves by reflecting, contemplating life, and pursuing their whole selves through art.” Not that I want to explore the tonal language of color, but I would like a contemplative nook, koi pond, and lush, rain foresty-garden in which I can just…contemplate. (Well, I’m working on my "contemplation" garden, but I’m not sure how much contemplating I’ll be able to do mere feet from neighbors screaming things like, “Get out of the car now! You’re not supposed to be in the car all wet! I’m calling your dad. Okay, he says you’re supposed to get out of the car. I promise, I won’t do it again! GET OUT OF THE CAR!”
On Saturday we attended a wedding reception at which the DJ played a mediocre-at-best, repulsive-at-worst selection of music. Including the old polka favorite, “I don’t want her, you can have her, she’s too fat for me…she’s too fat for me (Hey!), she’s too fat for me!” I think it almost goes without saying that the DJ’s musical repertoire included the chicken dance, the hokey pokey, the Electric Slide, and that one weird stompy dance with fast hand-clapping that I never quite understood. Couples swaying to a somewhat acceptable Journey song toppled tables, chairs, and small children as they stampeded off the dance floor when the DJ gracelessly segued into Shania Twain’s “Feel Like a Woman.” I file this song under “Things that most certainly do not make me feel like a woman,” right between Hogan’s Heroes reruns and that white crap that collects in the corners of your mouth when your lips are chapped. My grandmother had a touch of the stomach bug that evening, but I suspect she was simply experiencing a visceral reaction to the auditory assault being inflicted upon us all by the DJ.
There was also a bizarre dancefloor-ritual conducted by the DJ to the Bee-Gees “Stayin’ Alive.” All of our old friends were there: the Shopping Cart, the Sprinkler, the Lawnmower, the Cabbage Patch, the “Walk Like an Egyptian,” and a few I think the DJ made up right on the spot: the Estranged Father, the Who Farted, and the Cry in the Corner.
I was sitting right next to the near-empty dance floor, trying to stifle a raging, uncomfortable case of church giggles while my brother mouthed across the table, “This is SO. Painful.”
I was really starting to feel bad for the DJ. I hadn’t seen anything that awkward since the poetry I wrote in junior high while wearing tapered, tight-rolled, acid-washed jeans and enough hairspray to shellac a thousand guitars.
Well anyway, here’s to the summer wedding season. May your DJ play music people won't run away from, and may all your salad spinners come with receipts.
You have to give the guy who wrote that personal points for sweet, sweet brutal honesty.ReplyDelete
Also, I am quietly praying that the wedding I attend in a few weekends does NOT utilize that particular DJ.
Ha ha ha!ReplyDelete
A collage of pomposity!
I've been to a wedding like that. I've been trying to wipe it from my memory and you brought it rushing back. Thanks a lot.ReplyDelete
When we talked to the DJ about our wedding he was trying to get a sense of our musical tastes, which can be kind of all over the place, so I just said, "Play what makes people dance, but don't play the Electric Slide, or the chicken song." And he said, "Oh thank God! I hate playing that stuff!" He was the greatest DJ ever.ReplyDelete
Also, we kept our salad spinner and use it all the time.
Are you my neighbour, Jess? I do believe that was me yelling at my kid.ReplyDelete
My kids use our salad spinner as a relaxing Barbie pool/washing machine.
Hey, Jess, we've all been to the same wedding! Painfully dreadful but highly entertaining!!! Your decriptions put me on my a-- every time.ReplyDelete
The only thing better than watching the chicken dance is seeing someone fall into the bride or the wedding table. Call me kooky.
I'm sorry for your pain, but wow does it make a funny blog post :) In my "let's explore everything" days, I tried desperately to hum the color orange, convinced by some author that this would open my chakras or something and cure all that was ailing in my life. Not so much. But your post makes me wonder...perhaps if I were weaving...ReplyDelete
I told our wedding DJ if he played the chicken song I was going to take him out in a fury of bridal tulle and flowers.ReplyDelete
Jeez, don't you love Wisconsin weddings? Did any women dance together? That's big here in the land of the cheese, isn't it?ReplyDelete
As usual, you're too funny for words, hey.
I once told a DJ I would break his "CD changing hand" if he played one more crappy 80's song. He laughed like I was joking.ReplyDelete
I was at a wedding recently and asked the very young DJ if he could "play some disco."ReplyDelete
His reply: "What song did they do?"
ha! love the matchmaker ad!ReplyDelete
that DJ experience sounds like every.single.wedding I've every been too. If they just made a CD with all of those songs on it, we wouldn't even NEED DJs...lol
Wedding? Geez, that could have been my class reunion.ReplyDelete
sometimes DJ's just don't get it...man, how hard is to notice the music is NOT cutting it.ReplyDelete
- Daddy Detective
Oh, I feel sorry for you. Nothing worse than a bad DJ. I just had a post up reminiscing about my old DJ days... Good times, good times.ReplyDelete
The best you can do is drink your way through it.
Oh my..painful in deed! At our wedding, I gave the DJ a list of songs that were absolutely forbidden....the chicken dance was at the top of the list. Do you know some of our guests were miffed about that? Cheeseballs.ReplyDelete
I did the same thing as Pattie, and people were pissed that I didn't want "Achy Breaky Heart" played. Seriously pissed.ReplyDelete
Thanks for stopping by my blog today. I'm glad to have found yours as well!
Oh woe - memories of my own wedding reception, for which I told the band to never ever play "celebrate good time," so what do they do?ReplyDelete
That's right, they played it "by special request of the bride."
Never had a bride whispered such utter profanity.
OMG that was funny. I've been to weddings like that too. Thanks for the laugh.ReplyDelete
I'm assuming today you've got your head between your hands moaning "Why do I celebrate a MEXICAN holiday by getting plastered?"ReplyDelete
Okay, you had me at: "Even Zamfir Would Have Been Better".ReplyDelete
You just induced so many flashbacks that I have to go peg my jeans now.
You are SO lucky that your married and that I'm gay. 'Cause you would so be my sex-slave.
I was going to write that you and I were at the same wedding...ReplyDelete
But then I read Mr. Charnas' comment...
and really what comment could EVVVAAA be made to top that???
I cannot trump anything Kevin Charnas says. Only that I regret that he doesn't want me to be his sex slave.ReplyDelete
i ask beforehand if alcohol will be served.ReplyDelete
i'm usually in need of mind numbing substances to get through cheesy songs and poor fashion choices.
What? No Macarena? Or did I miss that?ReplyDelete
Like Mamatulip, we requested that Achy Breaky Heart not be played...but it was...and everyone (not us) danced like crazy. Ugh.ReplyDelete
My BIL is a mobile DJ, meaning this is his business, and I think he would jab himself in the eyes with hot pokers before he would play 'the chicken dance'. You know, unless the bride asks nicely.
Lordamercy, Jess. You make me laugh.ReplyDelete
You really have a way with words, you know that?ReplyDelete
And I'm with you on everything but the salad spinners. No more waterlogged leaves for me! :)
You have outdone yourself with this post. Truly hilarious and that's not just the lack of sleep talking.ReplyDelete
That stompy dance with the fast clapping is the Cha Cha Slide. It's my friend Lisa's favorite dance ever, and she taught it to all of us (our group of gals) before her wedding. *shudders* In other news, having been to so many Wisconsin weddings, I can now do the Electric Slide w/o spilling one drop of alcohol.ReplyDelete