Toronto Island rocks. Thanks to all concerned for a lovely fucking day out there; amazing how running around after a soccer ball and a frisbee in the sunshine can help with mind-boggling sexual frustration. So beautiful.
Last night I went to El Amigo where the evening's DJ was a music critic for a local free newspaper. The music was awful. It really seemed as though the DJ was trying his best to keep the dancefloor empty; the place wasn't exactly packed but you could tell the people there wanted to be dancing . . . he wouldn't let them . . . It's not as though the songs he was playing were horrid, but they too often weren't dancey; when he managed to get people up with the occasional dancey song (like "Heatwave" by Martha & the Vandellas, which ordinarily I'd be happy to hear but was sort of pissed about last night because that's the closest he said he could get to "The Love you Save" from the Jackson Five) he'd follow it up with some non-dancey crap. What the fuck? My involvement with pop music is superficial at best and I could have done a way fucking better job - how could a professional music critic be so fucking inept? And it's not like he was playing underappreciated gems, either; I don't think he was making an effort to 'educate' us. Just music no-one in the world would want to dance to interspersing a few songs they would want to dance to so clumsily no-one ended up wanting to dance to the songs they'd ordinarily want to dance to.
Miss B. grew weary of the situation thirteen minutes before last call and proposed running up the road to Stone's Place. Fuck, am I ever glad I said yes! In five minutes I went from planning the fastest route home to bed to wondering where this place had been all my life. The couple of DJs, who coincidentally Miss B. knew from highschool - oh, they were lovely! It was lovely! Lovely! Delfonics and Donovan and dirty Velvet Underground and Jefferson Airplane and early Stones, lovely! It was like they were auditioning to DJ my wedding or something. I'd so, so get them to DJ my wedding, except I could probably make my iPod do it for less money.