2005-03-04 - 11:37 a.m.

Holy cats! If I had a soundtrack for the trip I took last night it would have been a 45 minute version of Ozzy’s Crazy Train. Cue the guitar riff… last night P and I went all the way up near Columbia University to meet a DJ and the train we took was like a moving psych ward. The train wasn’t that packed but at every stop someone would yell really loud, “Getting off! Let me off! HEY! I AM GETTING OFF”. The gentleman sitting next to me was just so amused by all and sundry he spent the entire 45 minute journey sitting there giggling to himself. This woman got on at 59th street and asked if the train was going to 42nd street, I told her no it was an uptown train. Her response was, “WELL! It does turn around doesn’t it??? Hummph!” and sat down. Uh, yes then I guess you are right EVENTUALLY it will get to 42nd street. Although if you just walked to the downtown side you could be there in less than an two hours! Just to add to her craziness the following conversation happened until we got off the train,”I don’t mind helping her but I hate to miss mass. I never want to miss mass. She better appreciate that I am missing mass…”

The man we were going to meet had described himself as a guy that started DJing while at Columbia and instead of getting a real job after graduation just kept on keepin’ on. Oh and we would know him because he would be wearing a tie and a baseball hat. In my mind he was a pudgy, slightly balding 35 year old guy that still hung out with frat boys on occasion. What met us at The West End was a man in his late 50’s to early 60’s sporting a bad rug. So at least I pegged the balding.

The next hour and a half was spent with him proving himself on knowing what the kids want. He dropped this old photo album in front of me and told me to look through his resume. It was a collection of letters written on wedding invites, company stationery and scraps of paper thanking him for the experience of a lifetime. He told us that after our wedding he would want us to write a letter that he could put in his book. So clearly these were all heartfelt and solicited.

The first page was a head shot of Mary Tyler Moore from the MTM show era. He explained that while he has never met her he did do a charity event for juvenile diabetes once. It was like flipping through someone else’s vacation photos. You do it to be polite but really, you just don’t give a shit. But he was so proud of it and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings so I let him lead us down memory lane. “Oh, this couple was fantastic and this couple, they were just the best…”

He had asked that we fill out the music form on his website and bring it with us. He then proceeded to go through EACH AND EVERY SONG telling us where he would play it. I looked over at P and he had a look that said, if you don’t get us out of here I am going to kill you and him”. So we wrapped up with, “Well, we need to discuss this and we’ll call you…” The only thing is he is so cheap that we can almost overlook the fact that he told us all about when he was a speed junkie.

The entire time we are flipping through the music archives with DJ McGeritol there is a table next to us with two moms and their devil spawn. While I am not suggesting that once you have children you shouldn’t be able to leave the house, a little control needs to be exercised. These women seemed oblivious to the fact that their children’s shrieking was akin to having knitting needles shoved in my ears. They didn’t even give the obligatory “sorry” look when we glared over at them. They were your typical Upper West Side moms that don’t want to harsh their kids mellow and stunt their creativity by disciplining them so they allow them to wreak havoc on everyone else in the restaurant. You can’t negotiate with these people, there is no reasoning with a toddler, you tell them what to do and if they don’t respond you remove them from the situation.

Now, I know what you moms are thinking… clearly libbyfish does not have any children and you would be right. And I am sure that at some point in my life the constant, “mom, mom, mom, mom, MOOOOOOOOOOMMMM, hey mom, mom hey”, will fall on my deaf ears but I will always give you the “sorry I cannot control my children” look. On that you can count!

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