My Erstwhile Friend Is A Deejay: Part Five
By Steven Acevedo
Into The start of 1997 and I am depressed.
My friend a disc jockey named BJ has left
without even telling me where he has gone.
Not that I didn't expect to get an answer
from him. His pride won't let him admit
he made a mistake in judgement. He
really felt the ratings of his show made
him popular. Popularity as I have learned
is not having riches beyond your wildest
dream but showing common courtesy
when it's needed. I've seen and heard
of people who lose their senses when
money is mentioned. All sincerity gets
thrown out of the window when a Lincoln
on a fiver gets you a seat that's meant for
someone else. A ten will assure you the best seat
in the house and a thousand or more will buy you
wine, women and drugs.
I decide one more time to send him a short post card
I got from Disney's The Magic Kingdom on
Saturday. If I fail in commuting with him this
time, then I'll consider our friendship or lack
thereof a Child's Game of chance. The card
is a picture postcard of my favorite attraction
at Disney; The Haunted Mansion. I wrote in
the back of the short note "YOU GOTTA
GET ON THIS RIDE SOMETIME. IT'S SO
Months before I sent him a whole bunch of
material on the spooky abode. Interesting
tidbits he might find interesting such as
the fact that the busts in the library are
inverted images and that a shadow of
a piano player can be seen under the
Well, a few weeks later BJ sends me
back a scaving angry letter filled with
venom. He really was upset with me
for telling him how he should manage
his career. I wasn't so much
attacking him as I was attacking the
validity of our friendship. He had a
right to chew me out in spades and
for that I felt lower than a slug caught
in mud. It's one thing to feel sorry
for yourself, it's another to reap
sympathies from anyone who
won't do what they are suppose to.
It took that moment to make me
see his old life was gone forever.
Mine was too in a way. Only he'd
never have to feel as hurt as I do now.
I always make the mistake of expecting
my idols to do no wrong to anyone. Especially
to the fans who want them to live the dream
for them. It's far better for me to follow my
own example than somebody else's. But then
it used to be I could depend on my heros to
set the example for me.
Well, From here on out I'm not going to
depend on dreams, deities or manufactured
images of happiness to sway me anymore.
Paradise or lack thereof is harder to keep
than it is win. Awww, hell! Who am I kidding?
Then I hear the doorbell ring.
In the mood I was feeling I didn't
want to talk to anyone at all.
But reluctantly I went to answer it.
Taking a deep breath as I sighed I opened
the front door to my house in the main
Outside was a man about my height,
slighty thin wearing a leathered brown
jacket with a sad look on his face.
To be continued...
Created on 31-Aug-1999 at 12:21:56