Tuesday, January 27, 2009


I saw my friend Uproot Andy DJ the other night at his party Que Bajo?!, which is normally in Brooklyn but had moved to a booshy lounge in the meat packing district for the night. The swank environs didn't hurt the vibe, though, Andy was killing it with his new original productions- Cumbia, Dubstep, Merengue, Kuduro, Bassline, you don't know what the hell you are listening to from track to track, or what continent it is from, but you do know that it is banging. He's got new wax out with Bersas Discos, the SF based Cumbia collective. Here are some tracks:
Uproot Andy- La Vida Vale la Pena
Alborosie- Kingston Town (Uproot Andy Remix)
Anyway, as always, his draw was boys and girls of every shade and nationality- Mexican guys dancing with Eastern European girls, African guys dancing with Columbian girls, white girls dancing with each other.
I was there with some friends from the cape, including Gabe, who had come weraing a furry bison hat with horns. We decided early on that his name for the rest of the night would be "Bison" and that he would be "a professional wingman" (much like Matador on the Pick-Up Artist 2 on VH1). When we got in the club, I stared whispering to girls "Don't make a big deal out of it, but.. Bison is here tonight."
"Bison is in the Building."
One girl said "Do you mean Tyson, the male model?"
"No, Bison! He wears a Bison hat."
Pretty soon Gabe was surrounded by girls on the floor, doing some kind of stomping, simulated goring dance to the Cumbia jams. Not only did he pull numbers off one of the cutest girl in the room, a dark haired Eastern-European named, like, Svetlina or something, but when we left the bouncer said "Good night, Bison".
We spilled out of the street, suddenly now joined by two black girls from L.A. This being the meat packing district, there was a gold digger/trophy wife club next door with limos waiting out front. As we went to get a cab, a limo driver came up and was like "How many you got, 9? I'll take you for 3 dollars a head." So, we ended up in the back of stretch white limo, rolling through Manhattan with "Live Your Life" by T.I. bumping on the radio. I wondered if we were the first to arrive at Lit at 2AM in a limo. Anyway much dancing to shitty hipster DJs ensued, and purposeful cigarette smoking in the back room with affluent European teenagers.
Afterwards on the street, this douchey Italian fashionisto came up wearing a jacket made of shiny black polyvinyl. He was making the mistake of talking to our L.A. girls and not engaging us, which Mystery from VH1's great show The Pick Up Artist 2 will tell you is a big no-no. Drunk, I said "What a gigolo! Hey, is that jacket made from real trash bags?" Everyone laughed and he looked as though I had just raped his mother. He grabbed my lapels and shouted "This jacket cost 900 dollars! You could never afford this jacket!" and then slunk away, probably to a chauffeured Mazarati. Then we got Shwarma.

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