“Oh, yeah, I got you, honey, we got lots of that lined up. Some Springsteen, little Linkin Park, ‘Fortunate Son,’ oldie goldies and newie twoies! Whole stadium’s got a party comin’.” “Yeah, but…” Aislyn can’t think of how to articulate her frustration. “What about, like, Wu-Tang Clan or, or RZA? They’re actually from Staten Island. And, like, Joan Baez, and—” “Baez, maybe,” the DJ says, a little dismissively. “I think I got that Dixie song she did somewhere? When things slow down a little I’ll spin that one. No Wu-Tang or RZA, tho. I don’t play that jungle music shit.” It’s a slap in the face,
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