Archive for July, 2008
It’s summer time and what says summer more than condiments? That’s right, I, dj keTchUp, return tonight to lay down the retro wax and hot trax at Clockwork, 6 p.m. SL time. Okay, I know I’m wearing a jacket in that pic and it’s hot as fuck-all outside these days, but I liked it and forgot it was in my invy, and goddamn if it ain’t SecondLife, I can wear whatever I damn well please. Este’s trying to convince me that weather is some kind of jedi mind trick anyway. So I set the AC to 65 degrees in the club, cranked the sound system to 140db spinning some bleak 80s tracks, and started pouring scotch while imagining the sweet cool breezes of November.
Those of you still hooked on summer can show up in whatever you like and if you get cold, we’ll warm you up or you can party naked on the rooftop.Those of us inside can wax poetic about powder and argue skis vs boards. Ah, who am I kidding, I’ll prolly be on the roof as well, unless I can get someone to clean up that mess downstairs.
Remember, 6 p.m., Clockwork, Topgol. Hours of sonic indulgence from retro rock to indie punk electroshock. There’ll be blogrock, spitpop, and fraggle rock. Even tiptop, slopshop, and cockjock. You might even hear the latest underground daNceYC mix, Detroit trips, and psychotronicslaveraves from the desert ships. Who knows? I might even break out the grill and get the Jerseycue going for all my friends. See you there.1 comment
They were shocked I’d come back so quickly, my old fiends, and to be honest, so was I. But there I was, trying to get around Topgol to see what was still what. I managed to check out a few of my old favorite landmarks, and sure enough they still worked. That was a relief. Though I’d forgotten the command to tp home, and indeed had forgotten where home was.
The city has changed, and it hasn’t. The towering spots still jet from the Clockwork roof, backed by an eclectic digital city. The water tower still stands idly in the center of our land, waiting for someone to hatch some kind of wayward scheme within. And old friends still lurk in electric ghettos, welcoming new souls into our world. And welcoming old souls back.2 comments
We’d just returned from our vacation and my head was splitting, but he bugged me and bugged me and bugged me and so I did it. I logged on. He was Alex, and he’d gotten the urge real bad. So in he went, and then a little while later, in I went too.
I was fumbling at the keyboard. Couldn’t type as fast as I once could. Couldn’t exactly remember my dance moves, nor how to find my favorite outfits in inventory. For once I didn’t bother to change clothes. I could barely maintain the assorted IMs and local chat that commanded more of my attention than I give to paying clients on my best days.
But then I like a challenge.
I can see a lot has changed since I was last on. I don’t think I’ve spent any kind of actual time in since the early or mid-spring. And I know I’m not the only one who’s been in digital crisis. All kinds of things have been up in the air. The Mean Girls are finally packing it in. (And by the way, it seems I’ve been fired from the Mean Girls, though I only noticed it today when I went there and saw my name and link gone. But it’s just as well since, as I just mentioned, I only noticed I was ousted today, meaning I haven’t even been visiting the blog or anybody elses save this one once in awhile…) You can view the web in SL now, they tell me. Sable has a boyfriend! Romana has created a sex den with SL’s largest sex bed (link to follow). And you can make your lips move when you talk, if you know how. I mean, that’s some serious change.
But I think I’m ready.
Alex returns as DJ keTchUp this Thursday, you know where, at Clockwork. I think he said 6pm SL time, and yeah, I’ll be back with more and a reminder before then.
I’d throw you the SLURLs, but I forget how. Give me a few days, k?7 comments
Words, words, words. I am a dolphin, arching joyfully out of the sea. I write a letter to Cardinal Richelieu, warning of the conspiracy against him. I can get a bucket at the dollar store, maybe something for the kid. Everything is made of signs.
Where do they come from? Thrice-great Hermes brought hieroglyphs in his tattered suitcase. Coal comes from the mountains. Buckets come from the dollar store. Life comes from the sun. There’s no digging for words. You can’t get them at the dollar store. The sun vanishes at night. They come too fast to really choose them, right? So it’s not rational. They just “come to you”: switchblade, metropolis, caravan, jalapeño. Different ones come to you than come to me. I chiseled mine in the tombs of pharaohs. Yours come from a can of spray paint. Where would we be without them?
I would be a bluejay or a beetle on the jungle floor; without words, nothing would define us. I know this because I live in the future, where the lion lies down with the lamb. All the old words have been forgotten, and we live without metaphor because everything is possible.
Funk Me; It’s Friday | 11 July 2008: play or right-click here to download.
Karl Hector and the Malcouns: Rush Hour
Lefties Soul Connection: Loose Change
The Meters: Funky Miracle
Run-D.M.C.: Walk This Way
Morris Day & The Time: Jungle Love
Hercules And Love Affair: Raise Me Up
C Smalls & Co: The Buzzard
Little Jackie: 28 Butts
Lester Young & the California Playboys: Funky Funky Horse
Keith Mansfield Orchestra: Soul Confusion
Asiko Rock Group: Lagos City
Black On White Affair: A Bunch of Changes
Brother Jack McDuff: Theme from Electric Surfboard
The Counts: Sacrifice
The Fame Gang: Spooky
Jimmy Smith & Kenny Burrell: Chitlins Con Carne
Toussaint McCall: Shimmy
Backyard Heavies: Expo 83
Irma Thomas: Time Is On My Side
Sticklebacks have no scales. They are bottom-dwellers. The male fashions a nest from algae and dead grasses. A quorum was called, and they voted to form their own union.
It works for fish and birds; it works for ants and ungulates. It works for us, except when it goes horribly wrong. Remember how it was, roaming over the steppe, chipping flint into arrowheads, smoothing clay into vessels? We smelled like wet dogs. There weren’t millions of us. I don’t think we had TVs. We hashed it out, voted with our grunts. Then it got bad for a long time: the big armies, crowded cities. Some of us were slaves. The rain fell on Columbus Avenue and we built pyramids and ocean liners. They told us what to do.
Then one day we figured it all out. Everyone had enough to eat. Those who were slaves were free from slavery and those who were free were free from their ridiculous freedom. Twenty kinds of dish soap! We shot our rifles into the air and threw them in the river. Fireworks cascaded down the black dome of night on every planet we had pissed on.
Funk Me; It’s Friday | 4 July 2008: play or right-click here to download.
Regal: The Mack (Club Edit)
Pacific Rhythm Combo: Honky Tonk Popcorn
The Backyard Heavies: Soul Junction
Reginald Milton & The Soul Jets: Clap Your Hands
Cyesm: Funky brother
Layo & Bushwacka!: Sleepy Language
Fuku Syndicate: Pussylovers
Hidden Cost: Bo Did It
Sebastian Williams: Get Your Point Over
The Fun Company: Zambezi
Sandy Gaye: Watch The Dog
Keisa Brown: The Dance Man
Amnesty: Mister President
The New Mastersounds: Idle Time (Lack Of Afro Remix)
James Brown: I Guess I’ll Have To Cry, Cry, Cry
Do you believe in me? I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t; sometimes I don’t believe in myself. For a while, it seemed like the logical conclusion. Do you believe in Esteban Moody? I dunno; do you believe in Barbie? Barbie? Which Barbie? Fashion model Barbie? Beach Barbie? Veterinarian Barbie? It makes a difference.
But then, you know, on the days when I didn’t believe in myself it was hard to get going in the morning. Why get going when you’re just a made-up something? I’d get all my sides together and head down to the club, but then I’d think fuck it, Esteban, why bother if you don’t even exist?
Does this ever happen to you? You just can’t believe your own atoms are impinging upon others? You move like a ghost — it’s great to be able to move through walls, i guess, but then again no one notices you and you can’t pick anything up? Kind of a double-edged sword.
So first I tried only hanging out with people who believed in me. Hey, I thought, if you think I’m just some paper cut-out, you know, some kind of token in a game, well fuck you, asshole! I don’t believe in your ass either! it felt good to be around people who believed in me, and, frankly, I was a more productive human being (if that’s what I am).
But, you know, after a time, I realized that I couldn’t ignore it forever. After all, how long before it caught up with me, you know, like someone doesn’t offer me a job because they don’t believe in me, or I can’t get a loan for a new ride? I needed to swim toward the sharks on this one. Probably, I thought, they don’t believe in you, Esteban, because they’re insecure. They don’t believe in themselves.
So this one’s going out to all of you, you unbelievers. You can’t stop me because, well, I goddamn believe in myself, but more importantly because I believe in you. I don’t care what you’ve thought or said in the past. The truth is I not only believe in you, but I believe in all your hidden fantasies of what kind of world we can build if we just believe in each other. Not everyone needs to be a Barbie, you know.6 comments