Photo from Chrissy
When he's not tearing up dance floors as one of the most formidable, charismatic and eclectic DJs, Chrissy produces his own tracks for a variety of projects. Most recently, Chrissy released an EP of disco edits called Four Slices on new Chicago label Chi-Steez. On July 15, Chrissy & Hawley (his disco and synth pop duo with musician Hawley Shoffner) drop their debut self-titled album on Nite Owl Diner.In the first installment of our new Club Horror Stories column, Chrissy shares his pot-induced stroke-like immobilization on an airplane.
Several years ago I played a show in Canada, and the next morning the promoter's girlfriend was set to pick me up and take me to the airport. (Side note: what is it with male promoters guilting their girlfriends into doing unpaid logistics work around their shitty events? Stop doing that, guys.)Anyway, I overslept and missed the hotel breakfast, and the raver girlfriend was late picking me up, so we didn't have time to get lunch. I'm VERY HUNGRY so I'm like, "Do we even have time for a drive thru or something?" and she's like, "Nope, but I baked this batch of cookies and you can have those!" She gives me about a dozen cookies.She does not tell me they are pot cookies.We get to the airport and I blithely waltz through security for my international flight with a pound or so of edibles. And then I eat the entire bag. I board my plane, I fall asleep, nbd. I wake up about an hour later and I can't move. I'm totally frozen. So my first thought (obviously) is either that I have had a stroke, or that I am dead and a ghost now. I try to wiggle my fingers (think Uma Thurman in Kill Bill) until I can wake my arms up enough to touch my face, and then I start feeling both sides of my face (to see if one side feels numb or droopy, to try and rule out a stroke). My face felt normal so this assuaged my stroke fears, but apparently my self-diagnosis looked hella sketchy, because the flight attendant comes up to me and is like, "Um, are you OKAY sir?"This question FREAKS ME OUT. I mean holy shit. I know I didn't have a stroke so I must be a ghost, but this lady came up and talked to me, so maybe I'm not a ghost, or maybe she's like Haley Joel Osment and can see dead people, and is it weird for me to ask her that? I'm losing my shit, sweating through my clothes, never once putting together that maybe those cookies had drugs in them. When we finally land, I feel sick to my stomach and I can barely walk.I go to the little bathroom after the jet bridge but before customs, and I start barfing. And sobbing. Some long haul flight lands and a whole crew of old dudes sweeps into the bathroom and I'm really monopolizing the only stall and they're all just trying to poo after holding it for eight hours and they are BANGING ON THE STALL DOOR (or maybe one guy politely knocked once and I'm just super paranoid? I mean what is perception even?) and I am LOSING IT and I don't know what to do so I call my mom."Hi, mom? Hi, um, I think I'm really sick or maybe I had a stroke or maybe I just have food poisoning because I'm throwing up a lot, but I don't know how I would have gotten food poisoning because all I ate today is a big bag of cookies that a rave promoter's girlfriend gave me--" and my mother is like "those cookies had drugs in them. Go home. Be safe. Take a taxi, not CTA." I was high for like three more days.Britt Julious is on Twitter.
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Several years ago I played a show in Canada, and the next morning the promoter's girlfriend was set to pick me up and take me to the airport. (Side note: what is it with male promoters guilting their girlfriends into doing unpaid logistics work around their shitty events? Stop doing that, guys.)Anyway, I overslept and missed the hotel breakfast, and the raver girlfriend was late picking me up, so we didn't have time to get lunch. I'm VERY HUNGRY so I'm like, "Do we even have time for a drive thru or something?" and she's like, "Nope, but I baked this batch of cookies and you can have those!" She gives me about a dozen cookies.She does not tell me they are pot cookies.We get to the airport and I blithely waltz through security for my international flight with a pound or so of edibles. And then I eat the entire bag. I board my plane, I fall asleep, nbd. I wake up about an hour later and I can't move. I'm totally frozen. So my first thought (obviously) is either that I have had a stroke, or that I am dead and a ghost now. I try to wiggle my fingers (think Uma Thurman in Kill Bill) until I can wake my arms up enough to touch my face, and then I start feeling both sides of my face (to see if one side feels numb or droopy, to try and rule out a stroke). My face felt normal so this assuaged my stroke fears, but apparently my self-diagnosis looked hella sketchy, because the flight attendant comes up to me and is like, "Um, are you OKAY sir?"This question FREAKS ME OUT. I mean holy shit. I know I didn't have a stroke so I must be a ghost, but this lady came up and talked to me, so maybe I'm not a ghost, or maybe she's like Haley Joel Osment and can see dead people, and is it weird for me to ask her that? I'm losing my shit, sweating through my clothes, never once putting together that maybe those cookies had drugs in them. When we finally land, I feel sick to my stomach and I can barely walk.I go to the little bathroom after the jet bridge but before customs, and I start barfing. And sobbing. Some long haul flight lands and a whole crew of old dudes sweeps into the bathroom and I'm really monopolizing the only stall and they're all just trying to poo after holding it for eight hours and they are BANGING ON THE STALL DOOR (or maybe one guy politely knocked once and I'm just super paranoid? I mean what is perception even?) and I am LOSING IT and I don't know what to do so I call my mom."Hi, mom? Hi, um, I think I'm really sick or maybe I had a stroke or maybe I just have food poisoning because I'm throwing up a lot, but I don't know how I would have gotten food poisoning because all I ate today is a big bag of cookies that a rave promoter's girlfriend gave me--" and my mother is like "those cookies had drugs in them. Go home. Be safe. Take a taxi, not CTA." I was high for like three more days.Britt Julious is on Twitter.