January 22, 2006
Groovie: (n.) (Pron. "groo-vee") Def: The combination of groupie and groove of a music record. A person who is obsessed with the allure of DJs and follows them to various nightclubs and bars using his or her “groovie” status to get into the aforementioned venues. Someone who follows celebrities and mimics their lifestyle to ultimately become famous and/or live like the aforementioned celebrities.
So me and my girlfriends were recently having dinner at China Grill in Miami where we were discussing the usual pressing issues: Nicole's ever-shrinking physique (do people seriously think she didn't have surgery?), Lindsay's obvious drug/eating disorder habit (the girl needs help) and Mischa's gross new boyfriend (Weird Al anyone?). Like most girls our age, we seem to think that these so-called celebrities (what they're famous for is beyond me) are our friends. We discuss their lives more than our own much less dramatic (or less publicized) lives. Forgoing last names, since please, I mean is there anyone else that comes to mind when you utter the name Paris, Jessica or Ashlee (Note ridiculous spelling of the latter. So annoying). We’re totally obsessed. And the sad thing is, we're not alone. People everywhere live on consumption of celebrity, which is bad enough, but there is a particular breed (namely us) that somehow believes we are celebrities ourselves.
It’s celebrity obsession coupled with feeling of entitlement…but we have yet to be categorized and filed in the large library of cultural phenomenon. I mean we’re not fans because for the life of me I cannot name a song Jessica has sung, a movie Nicole has starred in or a thing Lindsay has done since the remake of Parent Trap. All we really care about is where they go, what they eat and what they wear. But how do we put a name to our kind and give our obsession purpose? I mean I’d hate to think we’re just wasting our time.
This brings me to the grand epiphany that is the inspiration for this blog. This realization occurred to us at the holiest of holy places - Sky Bar at the Shore Club. Or at the door.
The red velvet rope hung in front of Sky Bar's glass doors like an all-mighty divider between cool and uncool. It might as well have been made of barbed wire. No one was getting in tonight. The crowd that included plenty of hipsters who would be getting in any other night stood there like needy puppies pleading for the attention of an owner. Confident and not caring whether we’d get in or not (none of us really wanted to go out), we approached the doorman.
"My little brother's dj-ing tonight," I said.
"What's his name?" he asked, barely looking at us.
"DJ Berrie."
Click. And we were in.
It was too easy. I mean not so much as a hesitation! It dawned on us this is such an untapped resource. Why bother trying to name non-existent promoters or saying you’re on a non-existent list when you can just go to the source?
As we sat sipping our grey goose sodas with twists of lime, we reflected on this amazing phenomenon. DJs are the rock stars of our generation - AM, Cassidy, Ronson. With names like characters out of a Mortal Kombat game, they are bigger than life and immortalized behind 2 turntables and a microphone. They own the vibe of a club, they make or break a place, and they are why we go out in the first place. I mean how many photos have we seen with Paris grinding up to Cassidy in the DJ booth, Naomi trying her hands on the ones and twos, and of course Nicole and AM simultaneously spinning and snuggling. Even these girls with all eyes on them are fascinated and attracted to DJs.
But these girls are just out for a cute photo op. We’re there for the man in the booth. The slick skill of mixing songs, the signature scratch and the smooth style. If rock stars of the 80’s had bandaids, why couldn’t the rock stars of the new millennium? No longer would we have to stand on unending lines, wait for impossible reservations or wither away on eternal waiting lists. From now on we’d be with the DJ and would follow their gigs like a groupie on a road tour, but a groupie with purpose. Starting that night our incessant celebrity obsessions had credibility because we were now part of a movement.
And so the groovie generation was born.
Groovie: (n.) (Pron. "groo-vee") Def: The combination of groupie and groove of a music record. A person who is obsessed with the allure of DJs and follows them to various nightclubs and bars using his or her “groovie” status to get into the aforementioned venues. Someone who follows celebrities and mimics their lifestyle to ultimately become famous and/or live like the aforementioned celebrities.
So me and my girlfriends were recently having dinner at China Grill in Miami where we were discussing the usual pressing issues: Nicole's ever-shrinking physique (do people seriously think she didn't have surgery?), Lindsay's obvious drug/eating disorder habit (the girl needs help) and Mischa's gross new boyfriend (Weird Al anyone?). Like most girls our age, we seem to think that these so-called celebrities (what they're famous for is beyond me) are our friends. We discuss their lives more than our own much less dramatic (or less publicized) lives. Forgoing last names, since please, I mean is there anyone else that comes to mind when you utter the name Paris, Jessica or Ashlee (Note ridiculous spelling of the latter. So annoying). We’re totally obsessed. And the sad thing is, we're not alone. People everywhere live on consumption of celebrity, which is bad enough, but there is a particular breed (namely us) that somehow believes we are celebrities ourselves.
It’s celebrity obsession coupled with feeling of entitlement…but we have yet to be categorized and filed in the large library of cultural phenomenon. I mean we’re not fans because for the life of me I cannot name a song Jessica has sung, a movie Nicole has starred in or a thing Lindsay has done since the remake of Parent Trap. All we really care about is where they go, what they eat and what they wear. But how do we put a name to our kind and give our obsession purpose? I mean I’d hate to think we’re just wasting our time.
This brings me to the grand epiphany that is the inspiration for this blog. This realization occurred to us at the holiest of holy places - Sky Bar at the Shore Club. Or at the door.
The red velvet rope hung in front of Sky Bar's glass doors like an all-mighty divider between cool and uncool. It might as well have been made of barbed wire. No one was getting in tonight. The crowd that included plenty of hipsters who would be getting in any other night stood there like needy puppies pleading for the attention of an owner. Confident and not caring whether we’d get in or not (none of us really wanted to go out), we approached the doorman.
"My little brother's dj-ing tonight," I said.
"What's his name?" he asked, barely looking at us.
"DJ Berrie."
Click. And we were in.
It was too easy. I mean not so much as a hesitation! It dawned on us this is such an untapped resource. Why bother trying to name non-existent promoters or saying you’re on a non-existent list when you can just go to the source?
As we sat sipping our grey goose sodas with twists of lime, we reflected on this amazing phenomenon. DJs are the rock stars of our generation - AM, Cassidy, Ronson. With names like characters out of a Mortal Kombat game, they are bigger than life and immortalized behind 2 turntables and a microphone. They own the vibe of a club, they make or break a place, and they are why we go out in the first place. I mean how many photos have we seen with Paris grinding up to Cassidy in the DJ booth, Naomi trying her hands on the ones and twos, and of course Nicole and AM simultaneously spinning and snuggling. Even these girls with all eyes on them are fascinated and attracted to DJs.
But these girls are just out for a cute photo op. We’re there for the man in the booth. The slick skill of mixing songs, the signature scratch and the smooth style. If rock stars of the 80’s had bandaids, why couldn’t the rock stars of the new millennium? No longer would we have to stand on unending lines, wait for impossible reservations or wither away on eternal waiting lists. From now on we’d be with the DJ and would follow their gigs like a groupie on a road tour, but a groupie with purpose. Starting that night our incessant celebrity obsessions had credibility because we were now part of a movement.
And so the groovie generation was born.
posted by N-Bizzle at 6:00 PM
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