I have spent countless hours listening to songs for that perfect "next track" in the many mixes I've compiled over the years. It's only gotten easier; stupid younger me used to have to hover over a two-tape cassette player, ready to stop recording at the right moment, and now it's just drag and drop. Sometimes I think we take the mIx tape for granted, but then sometimes a friend throws on a CD that is just so perfect for the moment and the mood that my faith in the saving power of music and humanity's redemption is restored.
This week's issue deals with that special person we've all met on the dance floor -- the disc jockey. Let's face it, you kids would get nowhere near the public displays of gratuitous humping without the music those guys spin. Maybe the alcohol helps, too. Whatever the case, may the stage rise to meet them and may the steam rising from too many bodies in the chapter room always be at their backs.
