I wasn't dating Nick Rhodes, I wasn't dating Roger Taylor, I wasn't dating John Taylor, I wasn't dating Andy Taylor, I wasn't dating Simon Le Bon

One of the most eerie songs composed in the last century is Duran Duran's 'The Chauffeur'. When I caught their Toronto performance in December 2008 at the Air Canada Centre, they neglected to play it, much to my chagrin. Instead, they opted for for more upbeat, accessible, radio-friendly tunes that have brought them moderate success over the duration of their career such as 'Rio', 'Girls on Film', and of course, 'Hungry like the Wolf'. I suspect this is the case because 'the Chauffeur' is so creepy it probably gives Simon Le Bon night terrors.

The Air Canada Centre is Toronto's largest venue and is most often reserved for professional sporting events. I don't particularly like sporting events. Not because I lack a 'feel for the game' but because they bring back jarring memories of the time my father won a purple 1998 Ford Windstar minivan on live television at a Toronto Raptors game. I sat court side, watching this spectacle unfold and desperately wishing to be pummeled to death by the entourage of security guards belonging to Corey Hart of 'Sunglasses at Night' fame, who were sitting directly in the row in front of me.

Duran Duran could not even sell out half of the stadium. Make no mistake, I did not purchase my pair of tickets either. Though I'm only 22, I grew up listening to local radio 24/7, due to my father's rampant OCD and one of my favorite programs was always 'the lost 80s lunch', an all request hour, which was where I was inundated with my own personal Ongoing History of New Music [to me].

It was my father, resident contest champion, swindler, con man and the one who truly brings new meaning to the expression, 'bullshit baffles brains', who won these tickets and happily passed them along to me, on the condition that I would print off some contest release forms for him as he is 'not a techie person'.

Le Bon and the unrelated trio of Taylors were promoting their most recent release, 2007's Red Carpet Massacre which bears close resemblance to the title of Perez Hilton's first publication, Red Carpet Suicide. Duran Duran, however, have not been 'relevant' in years and probably haven't stepped foot on a red carpet in just as long so I really doubt that at this point in their washed up career they still have the ability to 'tear it up' to massacre-like proportions.

The highlight of that evening was the security guard who performed my regulatory bag check upon entering the building. I had my overpriced headphones slung around my neck and he asked me if I was a DJ. Flattered as I was, I have no DJ experience, save my exemplary tendencies to properly 'rock' an iTunes playlist.

Back in fall 2006, when I was briefly living in Montreal and manic, I was having delusions of grandeur and believed I had legitimate DJ skills. I pursued this endeavor feverishly until I landed two gigs, despite not even having 'a pot to piss in', let alone equipment of any kind. Fortunately, my mother retrieved me from MTL before my tragic debut and promptly introduced me to her Alma Mater, Lithium Carbonate. My moniker would have been DJ Manic! at the Disco.