MEET BITTER BUNNY, THE TECH-CHALLENGED DJ!

THIS IS MY SECOND COLUMN WHICH APPEARS IN ODYSSEY MAGAZINE'S NEW NYC INCARNATION.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m no tech whiz. Even text messaging is beyond me. I don’t really see the point unless you can’t afford to actually call someone. I remember emailing my cell # to an internet sex hookup and he immediately texted me to say “When do you want me to call?” RIGHT BEFORE YOU SENT THAT STUPID TEXT! THAT’S WHY I GAVE YOU MY GODDAM #, YOU IDIOT!” Since then, I’ve been horrified to see people texting in a variety of unpleasant ways. Like glued to a phone at Xmas dinner—sometimes even texting another dinner guest at the same table. Say goodbye to the art of conversation!

Texting is here to stay and I guess it’s a generational thang which this tranma just doesn’t share with junior set. Last Friday while spinning at Rockit!, a guy held up a cell phone 5 feet from my face. Now club employees are accustomed to wacky behavior. So I asked him “What are you doing?”. Again, he held up his cell. By then, I knew what he wanted—for me to read the song request he’d typed on his cell. But this guy was no junior—he was at least my age (or aging poorly) and since I can’t exactly fit reading glasses over my 3 inch false eyelashes, I couldn’t have read it even if I cared what track the fool wanted to hear.

I realized that this person and his crew were probably melting down on GHB or something when another of his posse came up and requested Celebration by Madonna. I said “Listen! I’m playing it right now!” The nut then said “I dunno…Barry White?” New Madonna into Barry White would make a great segue way. Not! The whole bunch had been dancing wildly to every song, so why stop dancing to make a request anyway? Can you say ANAL CONTROL FREAK?

Most djs hate requests. But the cellphone request is symptomatic of a larger problem. The death of charm due to technology. The dj booth at Amalia is right on the dance floor and there were people chatting and talking with me all night—so I certainly didn’t seem so unapproachable that you couldn’t request something,. (Especially if you approached me with drinks, drugs, a large cock or any combination of those three.) So it really bugged me that this guy would just shove a phone in my face as if I were a jukebox who didn’t even deserve a simple greeting. Just a PLAY MY SONG NOW vibe.

It creeped me out. Was last Friday this guy’s first night out in an actual social situation since he’d been at home on a week-long meth binge, causing him to lose all of his social skills to the point where all he could do was hold up a mobile device? I imagined that all of his other communication was limited to short messages about top vs bottom or penis size. (And you know we hate anything short when it comes to the dick size!)

Nightlife has suffered nationwide because of internet hook-ups, especially in the gay clubs. I certainly have nothing against online tricking. But it’s already cost us the huge clubs like Roxy and the Palladium which were so magnificent back in the day. So all I ask is that you please try to re-learn your social skills when you step out, especially if you want something and are so clueless that you offend the person you’re asking! All clubs and bars will die if we lose our ability to interact because we’re glued to screens while punching buttons. The man of your dreams could walk right past you and you'd miss him because you were posting "I just saw Lance Bass!" on Facebook.

I do have to admit that I shouldn't let this get to me. And it has. After several Britney fans held up the three fingers to indicate that they wanted to hear Miss Spears' new song 3, I cursed out the fifth requester of this kind. Boy, was I ashamed of myself when the mortified guy turned out to be deaf! (Which is the only reason anyone could like that crappy nursery rhyme of a song!)

And as the weather turns cooler, let me remind you of one other thing dj’s despise. Do you request a song from the coat check boy? Didn’t think so. THEN DON’T ASK THE GODDAM DJ TO CHECK YOUR COAT, YOU ASSHOLE!