The kids out tonight at the bar I DJed were obnoxious, and it seemed like half of their dance-moves repertoire was "stomp your feet really hard on the ground." The other part was "jump up and down with your hands in the air," so my records were skipping like craziness, and it was super hard to cue shit. But they were moving, so I gave them what they wanted, which was last years indie rock hits, 1999's catchiest rap singles, and half of the Bloc Party remix record. At least they danced, at least I was getting paid, and as much as I questioned their lack of enthusiasm for any black artist after the late 80s I had to respect the way they made a muddy beer mess on the floor right off the bat to wallow in for close to four hours.
The cat's been edgy recently, but that's becoming the status quo. Like anyone whose gone from being the wallflower to being the life of the party she's going through a phase of unabashed whorishness, basking in the fact that anyone wants to touch her and letting anyone who wants to do so. I know I've been there. Maybe you have. But also the barometric pressure is up, and I know it's affecting my knees and I think it maybe was why that one dude had his shirt off at the bar, cold freaking hippie chicks like whatevs. If I've learned anything from watching people the cat will probably keep on this thing for a while and then either move into her own place to get her shit together or get a job bartending. I have to admit that I'm hoping for the latter, because bartenders make a lot of money and the fact is that the cat hasn't ever been able to chip in on rent or bills.