(When I am just starting out as a DJ, I work a charity event for free for a church that my friend works for. The event is supposed to end at 1:00 am. At about 1:05, when the last song is fading out, a guest approaches me.)
Guest: “Do you have [Obscure Song]?”
Me: “No.”
Guest: “What kind of DJ are you?”
Me: “One that travelled from [City five hours away] to do this event for free.”
(My friend and I are watching anime shows and tossing out silly commentary. The episode shows a scene with a birthday party, and although we’re watching the Japanese-voiced version of the show with subtitles, all the characters break out in broken English to sing the classic “Happy Birthday to You.” It should be noted that this song, until recently, has been infamously copyrighted for decades, so although it’s universally popular, every professional establishment from media to restaurants have actively avoided using it to avoid legal issues.)
Me: “Holy crap! They used the copyrighted birthday song! And I don’t know if this was before or after it went public domain! Japan is ballsy.”
Friend: “I enjoy how we live in a world where singing ‘Happy Birthday to You’ is ballsy.”
(Usually my friends and I go to our classes all together. I arrive at a class to find a friend, the only one I am with for that subject, already there.)
Me: “You gave up. You let me down. Why’d you run around and desert me?”
Friend: “I was waiting by the library and you weren’t there…”
Me: “You’re gonna make me cry; why’d you say goodbye? At least you didn’t tell a lie, because that would have really hurt me.”
(Pause.)
Friend: “I will kill your entire family. And your dog.”
On a beautiful sunny day, as I drive into the parking lot at my local supermarket, one of my all-time favourite pieces of music starts to play on the radio and so I, like most of you, crank that sucker up so that I can really enjoy it. Well, I drive around a bit, find a parking space and pull in, wait till the piece finishes then turn off my car, close the windows (handy feature of my motor; for about a minute after the engine is off the windows still work), and climb out. This is where things become fun. As I exit the car a little old lady (proper, feisty, granny mark3, iron-gray bun and all) marches up to me and proceeds to give me a proper old-fashioned haranguing. I’m talking a proper “you kids and your rock music, get orf moi lawn” raging while her inevitable companion (a noticeably more wrinkled granny with a walker) lurks behind her and smirks.
Now, anyone that knows me knows that I am, in many ways, an awful person and usually I’d have cut the old biddy off with some form of scathing comment, but I can’t. First, because it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen such a professionally delivered haranguing that I just couldn’t make myself break in; second, because both of these old ladies are clearly having such a great time railing at me that even a colossal ar*e-hole like myself can’t bear to spoil their fun, but mainly because of the huge, glaring elephant in the room…
You see, I hadn’t been blaring out Disturbed or Maiden or even a little Alestorm. The track that was playing when I rolled into that parking lot was Prokofiev’s Montagues and the Capulets, one of the most iconic and recognisable pieces of music ever danced to. Given that the piece was composed more than a century ago, ie. before either of these aged ladies HAD BEEN BORN, I was totally gobsmacked to be told off for playing my “modern rock tunes” too loudly.
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(I am a giant nerd for the Broadway musical “Hamilton” and have spent some time researching lyrics, so I have a lot of knowledge about founding fathers. To my joy, we are covering the founding fathers in my history class, and my teacher also loves “Hamilton.” We are the only two in the class who have listened to it. The class knows I’m a big fan.)
Teacher: “As a treat, I’m going to have you watch a scene from the musical Hamilton, about Yorktown.”
I gasp overdramatically and start slapping my friend’s arm.
Teacher: “[My Name] has heard of this play, if you couldn’t tell.”
(We are covering the differences between Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson.)
Teacher: “Okay, in a group of four, I want you to mark down the facts and opinion of both founding fathers.”
(My friend runs out of her chair and grabs my arm.)
Friend: “She’s joining our group!”
Classmates Around Me: “Aww.”
Teacher: “This photo is of the duel that killed Alexander Hamilton. We haven’t talked about him yet, but the man who shot him was Aaron Burr.”
Me: “Mostly ‘cause he was really salty about Hamilton.”
Teacher: “Yeah, jeez, he was a firecracker. This photo is of Alexander Hamilton’s wife Elizabeth, who, even after finding out her husband was having an affair, did not divorce him.”
Classmate: “Really? If I was her, I would have filed for divorce immediately.”
Me: “Yeah, but in the male-dominated society back then…”
I proceed to rant about how much s*** Elizabeth went through.
Teacher: “And now you know more about Hamilton’s wife than you do the actual founding father, but that’s okay because he was a jerk.”
Me: “Yeah, he was! Who wants to hear about how he wrote a 98-page pamphlet slut-shaming himself?”
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