Spring fever

by JACK OATMON

First thing you have to do is get the person’s attention. I’m not saying you have to find out what time they go to work in the morning and show up uninvited at their doorstep wearing a mauve zoot suit from Village des Valeurs, or a pinstriped jumper dress, carrying two strawberry milk shakes and crooning along with Albert One’s “For Your Love” on a stainless-steel boombox attached to the back of your Dutch bicycle. But it certainly can’t hurt. In fact, whether it’s a disco serenade or the classic heart-shaped-graffiti across from their laundromat, the intricate courtship ritual is not just an ostentatious plea of desperation, but a sophisticated way to weed out bland candidates with no lust for life. At least that’s what I tell myself.

Anyway, the important thing here is that once you get their attention, you already have something in mind to do. A plan. There’s nothing worse than having someone ask you out, then forcing you to pick the place because they didn’t think in advance, so you bring them to a drag show that ends up being at a trannie strip joint and you have one too many gin lemonades and the two of you end up… Well, just have something planned in advance. That’s where I come in.

They won’t know that you’ve read this and taken my advice to go out and get two tickets for the Slowdance Prom at Sala Rossa on Friday night, as well as a hipper of Cheminaud Fine Brandy, five or six condoms and a pack of real bubblegum to share—soap gum if you can find it, and make sure you don’t get mint. Too presumptuous. Once you’re at the prom, you can get your waltz on Back to the Future-style while taking reading breaks to enjoy your new zine, provided free with entry by hosts Worn Fashion Journal and Lickety Split Smut Zine.

You’re pretty much in there, but first you have to show them that you have a wild streak, that you’re not just about three-step slow dances but can really shake ’em down. So, on Saturday night, cruise on down to see local scratch thriller A-Trak at the SAT along with the gibberish house of Sinden and hyper-scenester Dim Mak dude Steve Aoki. Proceed to bust a move. Be sure to make several ironic comments about people’s attire over the course of the evening to assert your indifference about pop culture, but not too many as to seem curmudgeonly and pretentious.

Finally, the gloppy icing on your seduction cake comes on Tuesday night, when you display your fabulous taste in music over at Metropolis. That’s right, lovers and lookers, Hot Chip are back, parading their hideously fun new album, Made in the Dark, which features ample sweet, sappy melodies that build into heel-shuffling dancefloor destructors. They also put on one of the most riotous live shows in the business, so don’t be a square—be there. They’ll appear with little known NYC gem and newcomer to the Montreal scene, Free Blood.

One last thing. Make sure to get their e-mail address, because every time I try this routine on someone, they never end up calling me and their number always sends me to directory assistance. I think there might be something wrong with my phone.

AHEM! —>jack.oatmon@gmail.com