Night of Champions had to happen in Long Beach, mostly because Ronny couldn’t handle the pressure of another week without laying down his claim to dominance in Bashing.
My first encounter with Ronny was in the backyard, where his recent tedium in activities led to the creation of a menacing gun he was trying to perfect.
Blasting rounds off into the sky rowdily isn’t a problem when neighbors lack existence. I stood back at a distance, since archaic creations may fail due to human error, could have an unwanted malfunction and explode, blow your cheek off.
I got there late, so I saw Nikki and Sasha for a hot second.
I managed to sneak in a dance with them before they headed to bars, told them to come back later. They never did. I was stoked to see Nikki, but before I knew, her and her cohort were gone, ready to meet up with some other females while I faked that it didn’t really matter to me. Nikki knows that.
The night was cold enough to make for an unprecedented sausage Jacuzzi fest. For once I stayed out, deciding to sit back and watch the spectacle take place, something the world has never seen, my eyes lucky enough to lay claim on actual memory.
Then, after a dip, Ronny strongly helmed the DJ position, going from one record to the next with precision timing. He favors big beats in a rave sort of way, techno that hits hard. The no neighbor fact means the pulsating rhythms can be heard until dawn.
Mitch was at the Bash as well, seen here chatting up the premier DJs of the night.
One of the girls was getting down and dirty with her moves, a sign of good DJing.
Walking into Ronny’s room is something of an experiment in outer psychoanalysis. It penetrates your skull and grabs hold, the cushioned floor and required bare feet evoking memories of times past, the feeling of being at home.
The Hoff had already passed out, which didn’t stop me from bothering him and running some smack.
By having The Hoff out of play, Lenard is almost always the first to take over DJing if Ronny is pursuing other opportunities. At least he has good taste in music.
I told Lenard to play some Duran Duran, and he knew why.
Returning to Long Beach feels like the first time every time, fresh and fun. The Fire Spinning Goddess was A.W.O.L., caught in some vortex unleashed to keep water from boiling and collars from heating. I still think about her sometimes.
It also reminded me of the late night solo photo from their Christmas Party of the strangest man I’ve ever met in my life.
Predictably, he wouldn’t stop his assault about all the Metallica concerts he’d been to, and he was very drunk. His eyes would fix on you so hard that breaking away seemed impossible, like those conversations you get sucked into but can’t get away from, mentally grabbing for rope. Your desperation pleads for a saving, a rescue needed from a trustworthy source or a belligerent enemy. This time I got stuck in a conversation with Boater Guy.
He was talking about his boat, the address, the length and the width, the power of the engine, even the stock in the bar, which interested me the most. I began to wonder what it’s like being adrift with only bar stock to live on. Then I knew I had to exit the conversation, so I said, “Sorry bro, I really gotta go to the bathroom, I’ll be back.” I bumped into Tomahawk and Space Ghost on the way in.
Others started looking all cracked out.
After having the flashback, I contemplated differing options, maybe meeting Nikki and Sasha out on town or ending it regretless. Regardless, I needed to think about how to make my stacks Bashing until sun up. Ericka certainly crossed my mind the most.
I’ve been on a crazy Pete Rock tangent of late, my soundtrack of life right now, his library all I’ve been listening to courtesy of motivation from Moistworks. A bit odd considering my disenchantment with the state of rap, but now I go back full force, albeit cheating with the classics. His work is exemplary on turntables, like you can always spot the Pete Rock sound, I mean, he is
The Creator. This will force me to make a Top Twenty All-Time Favorite Rap Albums List.
Leaving Long Beach always saddens me before breakfast.
No comments:
Post a Comment