23 January 2008

I tried to get away, but I couldn't get far

In the lead-up to my ire-fueled rant last night, I committed a rookie sms mistake, and am now trapped in a web of my own social insecurities. On Monday a friend of a friend texted me to see if I would DJ at their birthday party. I did this last year (and the year before actually) and had a laugh, but at the end of the evening a party-goer asked if I was available to play at their office christmas party (strike one), that they loved the music as they knew all the songs and could sing along (strike two), and that all their colleagues at the International Rugby Board, whose christmas party it would be, would really love my tunes (strike three, yeeeeeeer ouda-here).

A wise man (actually, my sister's fiancee, a musician and professional DJ, but borderline on the wise thing) once said to me , "You are here to entertain, not to educate", and thus when asked to play at friends' parties, weddings or corporate events I tend to prostitute myself and play whatever the organizer wants to hear - it's their party after all. My iTunes 'Just For You' recommendations is now an embarrassment of fluffy pop and mindless repetitive audio memes masquerading as music thanks to countless last minute downloads of oft-requested tracks that have no place on the shelves that house my carefully crafted collection of gold in cd form.

The wake up call that the IRB invitation presented actually made me physically unable to DJ for over nine months, and thus it was with some trepidation that I received the birthday invitation text. I therefore did what any mature, responsible adult would do in the situation, I ignored it. If you could fake the sound of a car going into a tunnel by text I would have done so.

Unfortunately yesterday I was texted by someone in the office to see if I wanted to grab a coffee (we have a big campus, and I was off-line at the time). A few minutes later I surreptitiously texted back, phone nonchalantly held under the table so no-one (including me) could see what I was doing. I thought nothing of it when no-one showed up to meet me at the designated coffee dock, these things happen all the time, we're all terribly busy. I thought nothing of it that is until 9pm last night, when I got a reply back from the birthday girl thanking me profusely, prompting a simultaneous cry of bewilderment and anguish, as I sat down to watch the destruction of the Iraqi economy in 12 easy neocon steps and realised what had become of my wayward text, not lost in the ether but simply misdirected. My cry could be heard in Baghdad. The militias sympathised with my pain.

I am now trapped by my own social awkwardness, unable to turn down an invitation that I had no part in accepting. The prospect of explaining the unfortunate series of events to the birthday girl and hoping to be let off the hook gracefully is pitifully slim, so I am doing what any mature responsible adult would do in my situation, I am blogging about it in the hope that she reads it herself, thus saving my the embarrassment of explaining myself.

We can just skip straight to the six months of stony silence.


At 12:36 pm, Blogger Kate said...

TBF and I will happily come up and co-dj. We'll bring the decks you gave us - you bring a lap top and or ipod decks and we'll rock the gaff. Consider ourselves at your disposal. You can take the glory and we'll be your smug wing-men. Oh wow - I guess that makes you Tom Cruise. You crazy space man you. ;-) x

At 1:42 am, Anonymous Anonymous said...

this is the thing so?


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