Nowadays, most everybody DJs on laptops. But in the post-impeachment years of the Clinton administration, you needed vinyl. (You could've bought CD turntables if you were a billionaire from the future or something.) This meant cobbling together a sizable record collection. Mine mostly consisted of thrift-store garbage gems, like Jesse Ventura's heavy-metal single and that one record that's at every Salvation Army that everybody's grandfather wanked to.
You know, this one.
I also had a copy of "Strawberry Letter 23" by the Brothers Johnson that Satan hid in my Sunday school classroom to tempt me with funk, plus a few new albums. The new records cost more than $2 and weren't riddled with spider eggs or haunted by jazzmen. They were mostly by rappers who chided other rappers for not being rap enough.
I really had no clue what I was doing. I didn't know any DJs. Given that my previous hobby had been Magic: The Gathering, the only parties I'd ever attended were pizza parties. In my idiot man-cub brain, the party solely existed for the DJ's edification. One day I'd swagger down to Ibiza and drop a He-Man audiobook over Kraftwerk, and Josie and the Pussycats-era Rosario Dawson would be so agog she'd let me see her butt from a few yards away and we'd kiss with no tongue forever.
Cloud Eight Films
"Dear 2001 Me, I have sent you a gift from the future. It is a DVD copy of director Danny Boyle's Trance.
You will not own a DVD player for another three years, so hang in there champ! Yours, 2014 You."
Back then, a sliver of my record collection even nominally qualified as party music. You had one request, Mystikal's "Shake Ya Ass" (and by "you," I mean "my Labrador retriever, who didn't give a shit because music isn't hamburgers"). My heroes were producers like RZA, Prince Paul, and Dan the Automator, guys who had dismissible luxuries like "studios" and "a basic understanding of 4/4 time signatures." I, on the other hand, owned more than four Alvin and the Chipmunks records and worshiped Public Enemy during a period in human history when DMX was responsible for half of America's GDP.
"Hey guys, who wants to listen to Fear of a Black Planet?"