An American in Ibiza 2008

Olly said:
was up till 4 last night reading this

it's too good to be true - gotta be a spoof surely? it's next-level high-intensity reading

I'll bet the writer's never even been to Ibiza :D
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Nah he has to have been with all those over-specifics! :)

Would love to see photos as proof though!

Excellent review , I don't think theres any been written on here quite like it! :lol:
 
neilly303 said:
... Would love to see photos as proof though! ...
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Ol,

It was a two week trip with a friend imported from the states for the second week.

I'll go back but in smaller doses or with better connections for a longer period of time.

Too many dry periods and sometimes the party died as a victem of desperate purchases rather than choice.

My friend G was supposed to post the pictures since he was the camera holder but for some reason the hard drive I sent him imploded.

Plus he's not returning my Emails either.

something up there.
 
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Ten O’Clock, Tick-Tock.

Thursday night anywhere else in the world is full of places with crowds that are ready for the weekend but not quite willing to commit due to work the next day. The island will have none of that but there is still a calm that doesn’t seem quite right. I have no previous September to compare it to but walking in Playa D’en Bossa on a Thursday night at 11PM should have some pretty big crowds. That’s about the time that the old Boring-Boring crowd decides to take over Space or go elsewhere. I think I should have been fighting the flow of traffic but there is only a smattering of people.

Opposite of the ocean is a smattering of businesses but mostly open fields. Separated from the ocean by a solid block of hotel property is a boardwalk/sidewalk that has cheesy bars every few feet. Some actually have music but most of it is an unplanned poporage of compromising beats. Some video broadcast by Spanish TV and some CD generated. The Po-Po Boys video (I have no idea what the hell they are and I was in a vegetated state to boot) was trying to out-blast the bar next to its CD of a reggae version of an Elvis impersonator’s version of Led Zeppelins “The song Remains the Same.” Being the magnet for all things ironic, I insist we stop for a drink and listen to “Dread Zeppelin.”

Of course if might have had something to do with the girl wearing a mini-skirt in 50 degree weather. We order our 15 Euros drinks and the girl’s boyfriend shows up much to my dismay. It’s another intentional display of affection designed to say “Fuk off, I’m with him.” The drinks are slowly sipped as watching the two of them nearly make it on a plastic chair is the closest thing to sex so far this evening. The two are impervious to stares but when a homeless looking gentleman stops at the entrance and beats himself off in his pants, the waitress starts yelling at him to go away in Spanish and the couple take a break.

Speaking of sex…when did it become cool for the younger generation to do something else. When I was a boy and was not busy walking uphill in the snow both ways to school, sex was a big driver for going out. It was mostly about the sex. Ibiza for some reason seemed more like a giant mental masturbatory experience rather than a quest for coupling. It used to be that the drugs were just an introductory emotive and physical de-inhibitor. Instead of that bit of happiness and loose personage, Ibiza was more of a perpetual mind-Fuk. People would get high just to feel themselves in a high state. What has the world become when petting a puppy dog in the sun becomes more important than screwing?

Anyhow,

We’re still popping and bother to use the bathroom to make a further adjustment as the game plan is to go to Pacha and make a scene. The one we are in is getting tired and it’s after 11PM. It’s time to go somewhere and boogie and get there before the magic 45 minute anticipatory build up is mounting. We’re walking toward the cab stand outside of Boring-Boring and a large buss pulls up. Being adventurous and what the hell else is happening on a Thursday night, I convince G that the best time is the one unplanned and we are instead headed to Thursday nights half hearted-half house full Privilege experience.
 
Ibiza for some reason seemed more like a giant mental masturbatory experience rather than a quest for coupling. It used to be that the drugs were just an introductory emotive and physical de-inhibitor. Instead of that bit of happiness and loose personage, Ibiza was more of a perpetual mind-Fuk. People would get high just to feel themselves in a high state. What has the world become when petting a puppy dog in the sun becomes more important than screwing?
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total genius :lol::lol::lol:

you should write a blog. This stuff deserves a wider audience
 
Despite throughly enjoying this account, its validity is quesitonable. How many things can happen to one person in two weeks ?! And
homeless looking gentleman stops at the entrance and beats himself off in his pants,
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just tipped the mental scale a bit too far in the way of lies...
 
Super Polack said:
Despite throughly enjoying this account, its validity is quesitonable. How many things can happen to one person in two weeks ?! And just tipped the mental scale a bit too far in the way of lies...
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it's more about sitting back and enjoying the ride and suspending any questions/disbelief- if this is in fact 100% genuine, 2 weeks in ibiza can inflict significant memory loss/lapse, so it really isn't fair to nitpick - it's also being written three months later, in a war zone :eek:
i'm enjoying the read so far, i can't wait until he discovers san an/west end! keep up the good work
 
Mr. Super Pollock,
The only place I have been to in the world with more misfits is Taos, New Mexico.
They do have both kinds of music there...Country and Western. Obviously that's not a great place to be.
The old smelly guy was standing there and whacking himself in his pants. He didn't pull his ****r out as apparently even he had standards. Picture a guy in dark clothes with stringy hair. Dirty pock-marked face and he's hunched over with very loose clothing. The pants were almost like woven tweed of some kind. The shirt looked like it could have been flannel but was covered by several layers of miss-matched blanket material. I don’t think he was any kind of stranger to the people live there.
As far as believability goes:
I've lived a Forest Gump life. I've met several presidents, coined two national phrases, and even been a celebrity for 15 minutes as part of one of them.
It never surprises me when I espouse a past event and someone says Bullsht. I sometimes have trouble believing the things around me are actually happening. After riding a ski lift with an ex-president I stopped questioning my life and actually just started embracing the irony.
I am a magnet for interesting events but you most likely are too. Most people simply do not stop to look at what is happening around them and miss the beauty of the world. You might have just passed the girl by, or not stared or tried to introduce yourself. This wouldn't have made the girl try to prove she was with the guy that started the make out session. The bum would have just asked for money at our table and moved on instead of staring and stopping. Think of my life like the beginning of a Superman movie. Of course it's not like that always but most of the time you could follow me around with a movie camera and declare Shenanigans’ every couple of days.
God's greatest gift it sounds like is something you will never receive. Stop, breathe, interact with your environment, and look in places others don't.
I'ld gladly buy you dinner and get you a ticket to the Jarre concert in Amsterdam in May when I’m back in Europe. If you would like to meet me and judge for yourself. Don’t expect a goodnight kiss unless you have a twat (not are one).
Either that or meet me in the Philippines in February and I'll buy you a wife for the week. That should cure your cynicism.
R.

 
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THIS STRING HAS BEEN RE-POSTED ON A DJ WEBSITE AND SOME DEUCE ON THE UN DOESN'T THINK IT'S ME.

F.U. DOUCHE.


To quote a the old lady on the bech sitting next to Forrest, "It's such a lovely story, and you told it so well."
 
perfect (combination)

perfect summary of the unique high culture of Ibiza (western) clubbing, as it was before the big finance/economic crisis...and before the flame of civilization went further....;)
too good to be true...;)...but I enjoy your statments ...
your writing is like a perfect combination of (Friedrich) Nietsche & Tarantino...
that`s the deep philosophical side of clubbing/life...
greets from Germ(any) to Baghdad ...;)

ps: but you missed the best...DC10 in full swing was the essence of it....:lol:
 
You should have been at the kingfish in Lafayette Louisiana in the big 80's. Wow what a party. I never fit in with the "in" crowd though. Still, quite the spectacle to watch.
 
I've been Trying to complete reading this Incredible Journey of yours for three days now, And I was convinced you being from NOLA and liking to grind your jaw alot ect. , That you were a fellow old skool patron of The State Palace around late 90's to 2000 era. Trance is life changing, Amen.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wNzA8ZH_8qg
 
Pretty sure we hit it in the same decade!

LGDADB, Enjoying your story and writing, but I mostly like the references to the sweet 80's and the wonders of house music that came from that decade. I am originally from the Chicago area, and grew up on the likes of Frankie Knuckles, Mr. Lee, Scrappy, and many other house originators. I experienced the rise of the America Rave during the 90's and its eventual demise. Doc Martin, the DubTribe, DJ Dan, Mark Farina and Derrick Carter (two Chicago boys), were the big hits of my AO during that time. Hope you are staying safe, keep your head down and your flint and powder dry. Not hard to do in the middle of the sandbox...but you know what I mean.
 
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