In case you're wondering what happened... ...I got fucked over. Bitches called me while I was on the bus into town to tell me that I couldn't play in the contest. I told these assholes how I do my mixing when I first entered, I knew it was different, I knew from the sound of their voices they didn't quite understand, but they never said shit about it being a problem. No fine print in the ad saying "you have to mix our way to participate in our contest", no word about it from the people in charge during the month we spent gettin' this shit lined up... ...then BAM! 3 hours before the show, while I'm on the last bus into town, they call me and ask me which of their two acceptable methods I'm going to be using. I don't have money for turntables, with the way prices have jacked up since mixing caught on with the rich white kids. It's a shame that what was once the ghetto kid's art has become a rich man's hobby, but that's the way it is. I don't know what the fuck this computer program they were talking about is--some kind of turntable controller that memorizes all the points on the record and cuts the jams for you with soulless, robotic precision. I didn't have access to these things, and I didn't go bitin' somebody else's style, or hangin' on some established DJ beggin' them to teach me how to mix like everybody else does. I taught myself, found my own way to use what I had to make my music and express myself, just like the pioneers that first figured out how to hook two turntables together and mix the tracks into a new form of music. But down at Mother's Tavern, innovation is outlawed. First they told me not to dance when I came in to check out the other contestants one night. Those guys were layin' it down, and I couldn't let that beat go to waste on all the stiff-kneed fools standin' there motionless on the dance floor. Now I've danced on the streets, and I've danced in clubs all across this country, from the west coast to the east. Hell, I've danced on speeding trains while going to clubs all across the country--and I've never got anything but praise for my moves until the night the bouncer at Mother's came up and told me: "You need to change your style or you won't be coming back in here for a long time." I didn't let it phase me, I just left. He didn't know I was one of the Dj's, I figured "let him find out on the 20th when I come in and win this motherfucker." Then they bump my show back a week to make way for an alcoholic actress who was behind on shooting her new movie because she'd just got outta' rehab. I was pissed, but it only strengthened my resolve to come in and rock the fuck outta' that place. Then they pull this bullshit. I ain't one to sue somebody, but I know the law and what they did is flat out illegal. If there were conditions for entering the contest they had to be stated up front, and once they called me and told me I was in that constituted a legally binding verbal contract--even pushing the show back a week was against the law. So that's how it is, I got fucked out of a show, a $50 bar tab for playing, and a shot at $1,000--and you got fucked out of gettin' to see me perform. Telling people what to do isn't my thing, so I'm not gonna' ask you to boycott Mother's Tavern with me just because they fucked my ass over. If you want watered down drinks and unoriginal music in a club where breakdancing is prohibited, Mother's Tavern has it--I don't judge how people choose to spend their time... ...but I'm never settin' foot in that place again.

I hear they tell immigrants that there's no class system in the US... ...what a load of crap. Of course there's a class system, and I should know because I've been at the bottom of it since the day I was born. But that's not what I'm here to rag about today. No, today I want to talk about Lindsay Lohan. Apparently she's shooting a movie in my town this week. The headlines proudly proclaim that many members of the Cal Poly football and cheerleading teams have been picked to be extras in this movie, and that if you head downtown why, you might just catch a glimpse of the famous celebrity--oh joy! If you didn't notice the sarcasm in that last comment, you may have learning disabilities. Now, I really don't have anything special against people who have it better than me. It's just the luck of the draw, and I see no reason to hold that against them--I got tired of being bitter a long time ago. It's when a celebrity's "better than you" status directly interferes with my life and my work that I start to get annoyed. I was scheduled to compete in a DJ competition on the 20th, which was perfect because: A) The 20th is Mardi Gras, and I’ve made a thing out of protesting the local PD’s “Jackboot up the ass” approach to the holiday. And B) The 20th is my birthday, and with the $50 bar tab I get that night for participating in the contest, I was guaranteed a fun way to celebrate that was easy on my meager budget. Then I got the call telling me that the contest had to be pushed back a week to accommodate the new shooting schedule for Lohan’s movie. Now, this wouldn’t bother me so much, except that I know the reason filming was delayed: Miss Lohan was in rehab. If I couldn’t make a gig because I was in rehab, I’d be fired—same as if you didn’t show up for your job. But for Lindsay, everybody in town has to jump out of the way to accommodate her drinking habits. It doesn’t help my attitude to find out she’s the daughter of two stock brokers, who’s influence fast tracked her into a modeling career when she was three. Look, I know nothing about the woman other than what I looked up on Wikipedia today, I haven’t seen her movies or listened to her albums—maybe she’s actually talented… …but to have my job and my fucking birthday party fucked up because of this bitch’s drinking problem? That shit ‘aint right.