So I go to new york, I play the New York Decom, seven people get arrested, the anti terrorism task force shows up to bust the party, and I end up misquoted in the New York Times style section. Not bad for my first weekend ever in the big apple.

Let's start at the beginning. It was my first trip to new york. I flew out to play the New York Decom. As I waited for my luggage to bounce down the ramp, this woman, with a baby carriage, said to the guy next to me, "excuse me. Excuse me!" . The guy had just gotten off some 10 hour flight, and had been staring off into space waiting for the luggage carousel to kick on. Apparently he was in the way of this womans stroller. He moved out of the way.

As she wheeled the stroller around, she said in a loud new york accent " WHADD THA FUCK ARE YOU, DEAF?!?!" and stormed off. My friend Gabe, who I was crashing on his couch, told me that's a M.O.E. That means- Moms Of Entitlement. It seems that new york moms with strollers have this entitlement attitude, and run people down left and right on the sidewalks with the strollers.

I get outside. A guy in a business suit is yelling at a airport police man. "DONT YOU FUCKNG GIVE ME A TICKET! I HAVENT BEEN AT THE CURB BUT ONE MINUTE! THESE OTHER JACKASSES HAVE BEEN HERE FOR 10 GODDAMN YEARS!" He starts walking off. "FUCKING BULLSHIT GODDAMN SECURITY..." All I know is that if that dude mouthed off like that at LAX, he'd be in the back of a squad car in about 30 seconds with a fresh bleeding head-wound from a night stick. I shove my hands deep in my pockets. My fingertips are turning blue from the frigid air. I can see my breath in front of me.

So, from being in new york for, oh, 6 minutes, I learned two things. One-most new yorkers suffer from tourettes syndrome.
And two- they actually have winter there.

Yup. Its true. California has winter too. I mean, its november, and sometimes at night it's so cold that I consider closing my windows. I don't, because the airflow is nice, and 63 degrees is cold, but its not FREEZING, right?

I get to my friend's pad in Brooklyn. It's in a warehouse district. He has a cool brick loft. His rent is not bad by new york standards. By LA standards, he's getting sodomized. We find a restaurant in the hood, and have a great meal. I soon realize there are really three options for transportation in new york. By foot, by subway, by cab. I love that its not a car culture. I love wandering cities by foot. I love jumping on a subway, and scooting across town, and not having to hunt for parking.

We crash out, saturday we wander Manhattan. I love new york. What a city. teeming with life, history, and style. I buy a t shirt from a guy who spray paints home made artwork onto the shirts. It's a picture of the statue of liberty, with her robe open exposing her breasts, and instead of a torch, she's holding a spray-paint can.

Saturday night. We cab over to the new york decom. Its a few minutes away, also in brooklyn. I put on my Stilt beast outfit-A big wolfs head, with armor, and jump stilts disguised as crazy animal legs. It's the outfit that the New York Times Style section describes as "a gothic minotaur". More on how I ended up in the new york times later. Back to the Decom.

The party was fantastic. It was this huge building, with 3 stories of theme camps, stages, and artwork. The rooftop featured domes, fire spinners, and a skyline view of Manhattan that was breathtaking. I run into this girl who I kissed at burning man. best kiss of the whole playa. Bang, here she is, in new york. We chat for a bit, get another nice kiss and then, of course, here comes the classic burning man line. "hey, I gotta run. My boyfriend just texted me. He just showed up downstairs. See you later!"

I ended up being the only person on stilts. Now, thats cool and all, until I realize the building has no elevator. Its the stairs for me, any time I want to change floors. Man, hunching over, and scrambling up stairs in jump stilts is hard. Doing it with thousands of people streaming around you, is crazy.

I run into David Starfire, and about 15 other people from LA. I love David. He rocks. he's just this great guy, great producer, and really cares about his friends. Freq Nasty is there, we hang for a bit, and then I run into Gabriel D Vine from Monkey Bars. I'm starting to feel like its an LA crowd about half way into the night. Steve Raspa is out from San Fran. he's one of the Burning Man original ganstas- he works year round on the project. The decom team took his radio away and made him enjoy an evening for a change. It was amusing, seeing him get to be off duty at a burner party for a change.

Friar Tuck and Dragon give me the headlining slot in the main room. It's a total honor to drop tunes in that slot. As I listen throughout the night, the lineup makes sense. Each Dj rocks out the room, each one building on the last person's sound. That's rare at a burner party. Usually the music is a bit hodgepodge and chaotic. The planners did a great job of lining up the djs in the proper order, for a good flow throughout the night. It shows on the dance-floor too. Just packed to the gills. The whole place was sold out- no tickets at the door, they hit capacity on the event with pre-sale tickets alone.

I drop some sick breaks twisted together with some peak hour house tunes. It was a right proper blast. I had brought my own CDJ decks on the plane. However, in getting banged around, one of the decks only goes up in pitch on even numbers, which is really funky. I didn't know a c.d. player could break like that. Ah well, I corrected for it with lots of swipes on the dial pad. Lots of jumping around on the dance-floor, people with their hands in the air, it was beautiful.

I finish my set, and chat with Starfire. he's playing downstairs at 5 am. I grab my c.d. decks for him to borrow, and I head downstairs.
As I'm standing there in the room, a crazy face painted guy with a shaved head is playing some wild psy trance. It's fun. Then I see the cop. Uh oh.

Cops are here.

The uniformed bull goes up to the dj booth, and tells the psychedelic freak to turn it off. then the cop turns around, and in a perfect Queens New York accent goes " AH-LL RAAAA-IGHT, PEOPLE. PAAAAHHHTY'S OOOVAHH. "

That's all I need to hear. Partie's over. You see, I'm a total veteran of underground parties. I know they can go pear shaped at the drop of a hat. I remember the Do Lab party that got busted last year- 1500 people popped by a phalanx of 30 fire marshals and cops. I made it out a side door, right before the hammer fell. Me, my girl, and my record box was the last thing out of the warehouse before the cops went in. We literally walked by a row of fire marshals and cops in the street, that were closing in on the building.

So, earlier in the night, I had scoped out an emergency exit. It was a stairwell, leading to a back alley, and to an exit. Its the first thing I look for when I go into a party. I even have a special c.d. in my case that I don't care about. If the cops show up, I mix that c.d. in, and keep the music playing while I make my escape with my record box intact. I dash upstairs to grab my record box and stilts. Hot Tamale sends me a text message "cops are here." Gotta love her- she takes care of me.

Upstairs, the party is still raging. Friar Tuck has some twisted house tunes bumping. The dance floor is still going strong, even at 5 am.
I grab my bag, no one seems to know its copsville down at the front. I dash down the empty stairwell, past some fire spinners "Hey, you're that dj from LA right? great set man!" they shout as a haul ass past them. I give a grin and a wave. Out the fire door, suddenly I'm on a side street away from the front entrance. Up ahead, I see about 5 cop cars, a terrorism task force vehicle, people in handcuffs, cops, and all sorts of madness at the front door. I never would have made it out that way.

A couple are nearby. She's on the phone. " It just got busted. We called a cab.... Alright, see you in a bit.... Yeah...."


A cab pulls up. "you call for a cab?" I pull the classic new york move. Without a glance, I throw my bags in the back, and hop in pulling the door behind me. I see the girl, still on the cell phone, look over at me.

Yup, I just totally stole your cab.

The driver hits it. he has two speeds. 100 mile per hour, and full stop. Im not sure, but I think he may be suicidal, by the way he's driving.
The streets are pretty clear. He's speeding so fast, I can hardly look out the front window. Cars, trees, the occasional pedestrian blur by.
At one point, with a series of 3 green lights, I'm pretty sure we broke the sound barrier.

He's from ecuador. If you want to know about the city, all you gotta do is talk to a cabby. He tells me that the venue got busted the week before, and thats why all the cops showed up tonight. He knows the owner owns another party venue about 10 blocks away. He tells me he's been driving cabs in new york for 15 years.

We come down out of light speed. the wild blur of concrete and brick slows down and suddenly forms itself into a stationary object. The g forces from his breaking have driven my spine about 6 inches into the seat-belt. Outside the window, I recognize my friend's front door.

Im home safe at Gabe's. He left earlier in the evening. I pay the man, and there I am on the streets in brooklyn, stilt beast outfit, record box, and my trusty copper staff. I call Gabe. No answer. Ohhhhh noooooo...

I look around. I call again. Voicemail. I leave a message. I call again, nothing. Im really screwed now. I call Gabe again.
"Hey, since you've totally boned me by falling asleep, I figure I'm just going to push your $10,000 BMW Bike out into traffic here. When the next cab comes along and explodes on it, I figure the fireball should wake you up. If it's a problem, buzz me in, otherwise, just wait for the crash. "

Just then the buzzer goes off. "sorry man," he says. "I was in the shower." He has a good laugh at my expense the next day, listening to my desperate voice messages.

turns out one of the burning man artists used a bunch of gun powder to create blown apart metal sculptures. After 9-11, some of his neighbors dropped a dime on him for all the loud noises coming from his place, and the Anti Terrorism task force busted him and put him on probation for having too much gun powder.

Add to the fact that the venue itself had recently been busted for illegal parties, and all of a sudden you have the cops pouring in to the unsuspecting decom for having done nothing wrong but choose a bad venue.

Most of the arrests were non burner related- people who ran the venue. But the anti terror task force was watching this guy, and they popped him too for having this crazy exploded art.

Now, mind you this is all from the grape vine.

Oh, and the new york times? I ended up talking to some woman, for a half hour at the LA decom. Turns out she's a reporter for the new york times. We had a good conversation. But at the end of it, she pulls out one total misquote, and drops me in the style section in a big burning man article. half hour of talking about the scene, how expressed it is, how cool the costumes are, and all she hears is "blah blah BOOBIES! blah blah..." Ah well, the only bad press is no press. Add it to a long list of my misquotes. Anyway, so the article drops right after my new york trip. At least the timing was good, if not the content of the article.

All I know is that I'm back safe and sound in Los Angeles now.