I’m having pigeon problems. Not Pidgin problems, I’m talking actual birds here. What’s worse there seems to be a consensus among my friends that I shouldn’t just shoot them, so I’m stuck resorting to more benign tactics. Thing is, I don’t speak pigeon and – after the last week – I’m of the position that pigeons don’t respond to reason. Here’s how it went down …
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Last week my two favorite things: talking to strangers and dance music, had a baby named Winter Music Conference. Ten days of networking, sunbathing, dancing, and discussion among leaders in the dance music community, and… well, me. It’s oddly refreshing to partake in an trade event in which you hold no professional interest. While industry independance doesn’t get you any complimentary cocktails, it invites a level of candor that commeradie cannot because, unlike the up-and-comers, *I’m* not trying to sell them anything.
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Rob sent me a link to this video this morning about a real life conference call. Not only did it hit waaay too close to home, it reminded me of the real life infomercial I participated in last Friday night. My friend Tammy was in town and due to meet Josh, Shale and me at Finnegan’s Road. Josh hit happy hour pretty hard and needed some Crack Chicken so he could hang the rest of the evening, so Tammy beat us over to Lincoln Rd. After a half a cocktail and still no sign of Tammy I began to wonder, okay worry, about what she got into. My concern must have made her ears ring because not a moment later I receive a “come rescue me” text. Problem was I had no idea where this “Adore” bar was… so I called and came to learn it wasn’t a bar at all; Adore sold makeup.
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