The First Post: the DJ's rant

Hello world, welcome to the first and soon to be buried archives blog post at A Scattered Approach. As I am starting slow, I wanted to talk about a pet peeve near and dear to my heart: bad professional DJs. Imagine if you will, a wedding; a nice Minnesota Norwegian Lutheran wedding. All of the family is there from little cousins and grandchildren running about, to the elderly aunts and uncles and grandparents. You're having a nice time, dancing to ABBA or YMCA, like you do at a family event. The songs are simple, fun, and everybody can dance to them. That's the point of a wedding dance; for everyone to have a good time. Eventually, the DJ is feeling a little frisky and decides, "what the hell?, I'm gonna spice it up a little bit!" and plays "Bust a Move" by Young MC. You know what, the crowd busts a move, there having a great time dancing to good old school g-rated hip hop. The are copious amounts of Norwegian blooded Lutherans shaking their booties like Polaroid pictures to songs written back when people still had Polaroid pictures to shake. The DJ plays some more 1980's hip hop: Sugar Hill Gang, MC Hammer (early 90's maybe but still.)

Now, at this point, a reasonable person might assume that the crowd just loves 80s novelty hip hop, and that's as far as we should go. Reasonable people would be wrong. The next song up: "DIRRTY" by Christina Aguilera and Redman. Nothing engages the Lutheran embarrassment mechanism quite like getting caught dancing to a song about getting wild and naked and drunk with strangers in a club with your 12 year-old cousin, youth pastor aunt and grandma all out on the dance floor at the same time. We've now gone from "come on fatso, and just bust a move" to "sweat until my clothes come off" A fun family party now feels a little creepy.

Ok, you say, but it's just one song, surely the DJ got the hint when he shamed everyone off the dancefloor? WRONG!!! Not only did he play the whole song, he followed it with 50 Cent's "In Da Club" that's right, grandma and grandson listening to "I'm in to havin' sex, I ain't in to making love, so come give me a hug." At this point we probably should have just shot the DJ and called it a night, because something broke in his brain and he continued to play more and more gangsta rap until everyone decided they'd rather go home and bathe instead of drinking with family members while listening to the next song about freaky meaningless sex.

The lesson in today's post is simply this: while I love a funky crunk jam as much as the next guy, the fun of gettin' crazy to Lil' Jon is inversely proportional to the numbers of close family members dancing with you. All I'm sayin' is keep the club jams in the club at least until Grandma takes the kids home. thanks for reading and I'll try to do better next time