I couldn’t believe my fortune. Then again, I’d planned it, which is harder to believe, as I wasn’t planning much those days.
Jason was DJ-ing at a “Mexican” joint. The burritos were stand-alone, as in, not smothered like burritos ought to be. These burritos were for white-folks on the go. They were wrapped in fucking foil. But, 2-for-1s all night and they never carded so the joint was packed already.
Jason was the person who made the 80’s ironic. No one had thought of it before him. Synthesizers were so ‘out’. Neon was for chumps. American Apparel was for socially-conscious anti-sweatshop campaigners and wholesale retailers. Jason knew good dance beats when he heard them and he confidently tore into the wealth the 80’s provided. He spun vinyl and 80’s vinyl was abundantly cheap. Jason was practical and he loved any music that was good.
Back in music school my history prof broke it down: music that endures does so because it breaks new ground, sounds pleasant, or both. Ideally both. Jason knew music in his body without terminology or profs to simplify and categorize things for him. Pat Benatar, Michael Jackson, Joy Division, Journey, Madonna - these were quite simply listenable for all time. We, the drunkards danced without even justifying our own comedy.
I’d crushed on Jason for 5 years, a very long time to have a crush. I may have been one of few in the Mexican-themed bar to remember seeing his various bands play around town. Certainly one of few who remembered that he’d been straight edge. Less than a handful of those who found it ironic that he was paid in beer.
I knew he had this regular gig Thursday nights. Lots of kids I knew went so it was easy to dance or sit on the patio with folks talking about the kids who weren’t there, daring to judge their lives (never them directly) when we would be giving them a compassionate ear to complain to if they’d been there.
Of course I wondered what folks would say about me in my absence, which was an additional motivation to mark Thursdays on my calendar. But the point was that I was not fucking up my life as much as I thought those people, my bartime acquaintances, were fucking up their lives. Yes, that was the point. I had to give myself permission to fuck up a little bit by acquainting with and judging people who were fucking up more.
The volume at the bar reached its peak. …..