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Also man, wtf happened to Eddie Zilker? Lol some great posts by him.
"I can hear his fingers squeezing the fuck out of the spindle to keep a transition in line. What sounds like vain attempts at scratching herald a near collapse of rhythmic structure as he weasels his way out of a pending train-wreck with an almost panicked reflex. The subsequent transition is rushed. I can hear the wheels turning, Shit! He's sweating after he fucked up the drop trying to show off for a Spanish chick eying the decks. Should not have tried that. He shakes his head, looks over at the next record. FADER SLAM!
"FUCK!" He thinks he might have said that part, aloud. He's not sure. What's real? He looks up. The Spanish girl is gone. Fucking hot and he should have had the easy lay. He's tapped on the shoulder. "WHAT!" He shouts, feigning that it's too loud. Really, he's fucking pissed. Paying too much attention to turning down the bass on one channel while neglecting the on-coming train, which is faintly playing in the back-ground.
"Time's up, mate." He looks up. The floor's halved what it used to be. ******s want trance, huh? It's only fifteen minutes into his set and the bloke who poked him in the shoulder seems to have disappeared. The crowd's not buying the fader slips during the break on the miraculously appearing "Searching for the Answers".
Some dance, pathetically, and the tune is just as anemic. Another awkward transition out. A huge lumbering oaf with crates comes into view, along with the poker, returning to the booth. "TWO MORE!", the poker shouts at him, pointing to his watch. More fader slams, fader slips, and poor reveals infest the set and, the last thing he needs - a song with a fucking break in it. Just gate the fader.
This isn't working, Jon thinks to himself. "How's it sound?" Jon asked the poking bloke. The poker looks at him as though he's crazy. He couldn't have just asked that. Jon repeats himself. Jon is crazy and the poker guy, who Jon was told the name of right before he forgot it, just wants to stop the bleeding on the dance floor.
"It was great, fucking awesome but the head-liner's early." Thank God, the poker bloke thinks. The last minute, we got someone to come in early. Jon's not paying attention. Out of record, he starts the last transition, too soon. It's almost out of record, but it could have gotten really nasty.
Headliner? Jon thinks to himself, sullenly putting his records back into their crate and buckling things up. I thought I was the fucking headliner.
Almost all All Hard House. Only 30 Minutes. All fucked up."
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