I wrote and published this post in June, but since the encounter with DJ Starr happened approximately two years ago today, I thought I had to republish it for a Frost Week Story Time Wednesday.
It was a Wednesday in January during what is known to university students as Frost Week. Nearly everyone from my residence went out to the same bar to create the kind of chaos that goes along with that time of year. (To hear the stories from London Hall goes to Tap House, please ask the appropriate parties.) As the night was coming to an end, my friend Mark asked me if I wanted to walk back to the residence. It was a nice night, and I’m always game to walk home rather than take a cab. As we were about to leave, someone called out, “WAIT! I’M COMING WITH YOU!” It was my good friend Ali. Ali is one of my favourite people, an all around great guy. In fact, there’s only one thing I can say against him: he is the slowest walker I have ever met. He leapt out of the cab, and at 1:30 AM we began our journey.
We had gone less than a block when Ali said, “Let’s stop for pizza!” We stopped at the kind of pizza place that you would only want to go to on a night that involved heavy drinking. We picked up a Hot ‘n Ready pizza, and we getting ready to leave when a man stopped us. He looked around the pizza place with narrowed eyes, leaned towards us and asked, “Do any of you know if there are still fraternities and sororities around?” We responded that they were, in fact, still around. He nodded and said, “I’m going to let you in on a secret.” He leaned in again. “I am a world famous DJ. My name is DJ Starr.”
My first thought, naturally, was This man is as crazy as a bag of hammers. But I let him proceed.
“I was big back in the eighties and nineties. I broke the Beastie Boys in Canada! I would go from a club to a frat party to a…”
The man continued. I looked at Mark and Ali to see if they too were preparing for a speedy exit. On the contrary, they were enthralled.
“Things are different now,” stated the wise DJ. “Everyone looks the same, dresses the same. We need to say no to generic. We need to stand up and say, ‘Fuck generic!’ You gotta say fuck generic, man, fuck generic. Stand up and say fuck g-e-n… Just say fuck generic!”
At this point I looked at Mark and we took a step towards the exit. We were ready to make a move. But then Ali asked the man who called himself DJ Starr is he could have his business card. I wasn’t convinced he could spell record, let alone play one, but Ali was confident that DJ Starr really was world class.
After a forty minute conversation that ended with the three of us repeating DJ Starr’s famous words about twelve times until he was convinced we would carry on his legacy, we escaped into the night. The walk home that should have taken a half hour took at least twice as long. As I said, I was with the slowest walker I’ve ever met. Midway though, Ali exclaimed, “I think I lost the business card!”
We got home at three in the morning. Ali never did find that business card.
Song of the Day: No Sleep Till Brooklyn by Beastie Boys
