This thing came up and now I can’t make it to your techno party. I know you’ve been doing so well as a DJ—heard you’re getting gigs now that techno is finally getting appreciated for the series of computer generated sounds that it is. Man, that’s rad; I remember you were really worried about finding a full-time thing when we graduated and there was that recession. Techno DJ-ing isn’t the most lucrative art form, I guess. Art—nobody even knows when they’re listening to it. But hey, way to stand your ground. What unfortunate timing that I can’t go this weekend due to extenuating circumstances. You know those kinds of conflicting situations that cut right through your dreams with no regard for the electronic dance music and light shows that make life worth living? The worst! It sucks because I definitely wanted to hear your set. You know techno—every song’s so different. Like snowflakes! I can’t imagine what your stuff’s going to be like. Will it crescendo? Will the beats slowly fade away into obscurity after that? It kills me that I won’t ever be able to answer those questions myself.
When I remembered I had the thing that I have to do that was preventing me from attending your rave, I threw up my hands and shook my fists in the air as if to say, “Damn you, scheduling gods!! Why now? Why today of all days! Why not salt the earth so no parties can grow in this workaholic’s wasteland!” You shoulda been there. It was weird to be alone, invoking deities I’m not sure I believe in and standing in the middle of an intersection.
Oh, what is this thing I have to do? That makes sense that you would ask that. Well, to be honest, it’s not really just a simple scheduling conflict. It’s more of a medical situation that became a scheduling issue.
You see, I have this thing in my inner ear—like an infection and it gets inflamed when I listen to lyric-less music that builds super slowly and to no consequence. Yeah, it’s like a medical condition or whatever, and there are no other symptoms other than an inability to listen to music of the house and techno varieties. Why does it have to be me? Why can’t I just have Crohn’s disease! I’ve tried to fight this techno incompatibility, I really have. I’m no slave to diagnosis. I actually do have Crohn’s and I don’t even acknowledge it most days. Anyways, last time I listened to “deep house," I had this nagging feeling in my gut, which I think was actually an existential emptiness in my soul, and I was thinking about how far away house music makes me feel to my actual house, or any home at all, and how that sort of makes me feel very alone, and then I felt like my conscience was telling me to escape the noise and that maybe techno music was like the holes in the greater cultural sieve. I lost my sense of time. Couldn’t tell how long I’d been standing on the dance floor or if standing was a form of dancing, or if anything is dancing if it goes unseen on a dance floor. I started wondering if dog years were really even different than human years. So then I used my EpiPen, because I thought I was having an allergic reaction, and then I had to go to the hospital because EpiPen’s make you feel super weird if you’re not like, paralyzed by anaphylactic shock. But I dunno, my doctor said it’s like this super new disease and that while there might not be a cure, I should definitely take these antibiotics until I’m totally done with the prescription. See that’s where the scheduling conflict comes in—I can’t drink on these antibiotics! And what fun is a party if you can’t drink? Not much fun!