DJ Bitch Slap (The Weasel part II)

The Weasel Bryce was not alone. Although weasels tend not to make a lot of friends, the Weasel Bryce formed a common bond with the residents of the 7th floor Tower's dormitory through his love of metal. Hard rock must have been frowned upon in the Weasel's home, so college became an excuse to crank it up. Metallica. Dokken. Bullet Boys. The Scorpions. You really haven't seen cheese until you've seen The Weasel adjust his Brewer's cap and say "this one's for the gipper" as he slips the latest Whitesnake CD into your stereo and turns it up to 11.

Before there was "alternative" rock or "indie" rock, there was College music. Back when I was really into classic rock and hard rock my friends and I used to marvel at the transformation that occurs to people's musical taste when they got to college. "I don't get it", my friend Mike said, "it's like you get to college and your taste turns to shit." A year later we'd be rolling in it. The Smiths. R.E.M. Husker Du. The Cure. It wasn't that your taste got worst, it's that you started to look for something a little more real. Morrissey singing about sexual identity or Michael Stipe taking on environmental issues seemed a lot more interesting that Warrant singing about Cherry Pie.

So imagine my surprise when I get to college. It's supposed to be a hotbed for this kind of music, but I'm surrounded by the hair metal bands of the 80's. Or at least their dorky listeners. True, the eighties had barely passed, but this was college, man. I thought I'd be turned on to tons of new bands, but instead the closest I got to musical commaraderie in my freshman year was the bonding I had with the deadhead at the end of the hall. Looking at his 100+ cassettes of dead shows was far more interesting than hearing the Weasel Bryce go on and on about how much he loves his baby's poundcake.

My school was pretty much a commuter college. One of the nice benefits of staying the weekend was usually that your roommate went home. This wasn't the case with the Weasel. College was liberating for him. He could finally act the way most other people acted during their sophmore year of high school. The Weasel had found his people. Maybe his high school wasn't too hip on Trixter, but those guys on the 7th floor, they loved it.

One particular Friday night rolls around and I have nothing to do. A group of people from our floor decide to go to Hardee's where a live broadcast is taking place with two disc jockey's from a Milwaukee radio station. The Weasel loved Lazer 103 because they played a lot of music he liked. And he thought the DJ was hot. They also played some decent classic rock and I was bored, so I decided to tag along.

The lines were ridiculous. You'd think we were waiting to get into some live show, but that sort of thing never happened in this town. Instead we loitered around people ordering Frisco burgers waiting to talk to Marilyn Mee and her sidekick. Or maybe she was the sidekick. I can't remember. Anyway, we finally get our turn to go up to them and shake their hands. I go up with the Weasel and his stereo cranking rival, Eric. I'm the last one of the three of us to talk to them. Marilyn seems pretty cool. I tell her I like the station. She asks if there isn't something cooler going on than this on a Friday night, to which I had to shrug my shoulders as if to say "this is Whitewater". Then she says "you seem pretty cool." I'm like, "oh, thanks." And then within ear shot of the Weasel Bryce and Stereo Crankin' Rival Eric she says "so why are you hanging around with these dorks?"

It was a minor victory. The Weasel turned bright red and headed for the door. He had been bitch slapped by Milwaukee's most well known DJ, and I felt vindicated. Of course, I couldn't help bring it up from time to time. It was a nice way to cap off the year. After enduring blown stereo speakers, stolen food, missing alcohol, three roommates and a Weasel posse, my freshman year was coming to end.

My sophmore year would be completely different. There'd be no more doing it "for the gipper". I'd lose touch with the Weasel and just about everybody else from the 7th floor. I'd get turned on to good music and interesting books, and I'd indulge in the excesses of college life. I'd find my people. And eventually the cops would find us. But that's another story.