"Where are we?" Foo asked as soon as we arrived at our hotel in Orlando, Florida.
It was a long drive from Tallahassee, Florida in a van packed with suitcases, laptops, the keytar, Subway sandwiches and the Party Rock Crew.Foo claimed that, according to doctor's orders, he was required to stretch his legs out during the ride, justifying why his head was resting on Q's shoulder and his legs were crushing mine for most of the four-hour drive.
We luckily had the day off, but it was spent working rather than lounging. The party rock crew parties hard, but works really hard, too.
Foo stayed up past midnight working on the remix of the Shwayze song, "Get U Home", while I worked on uploads and an article on the Tallahassee show. Pete ran back and forth, doing everything under the sun; Sky and Foo also worked on clips for Pepsi.
Sky had to wake Foo up to work on the Pepsi clip and while most people would be groggy, Foo immediately turned into his usual, hilarious self and it worked out flawlessly.
Meanwhile, the rest of the Party Rock Crew watched the University of Miami beat the Florida State Seminoles.
The following day, we woke up at 2:30 p.m. and got right back to work. Foo continued working on the remix (it's going to be a good one and I can't get it out of my head) while Q, DJ Air, and Ian went to soundcheck at the Roxy. I was on a mission to find some snacks, but there was no sign of civilization anywhere near our hotel. I walked to the highway then back in the other direction. I found myself roaming through a random, rundown neighborhood in a La La La dress, getting hollered at by passerbys. Eventually, I stumbled upon what appeared to be a shack in ruins, but was actually a convenience store. Foo requested blue tortilla chips and fresh salsa; all I could bring back for us was stale chips, cookies and Coronas.
We went to dinner at Hooters; there was a sign reading, "LMFAO Signing and Pre-Party 8:30 p.m.", but it was past 10 when we rolled up with our beloved driver Tommy, who we jokingly refer to as Sky's twin. With the long dark curls and glasses, there's a striking resemblance. The Hooters girls hooked us up with shots of Patron, amazing Sangria, wings, oysters, calamari, the works. With the exception of the blue mojito (DJ Air's unfortunate recommendation), everything was delicious. Q and Air had one of the Hooters girls go up to Ian Fletcher, pull up a chair, and casusally say, "you're a squasha ass foo." The girls also let us steal a Tampa Bay Bucs flag off the wall for Q.
The Hooters girls also loved our Party Rock Gear, available at http://www.partyrocklife.com.
The van ride from Hooters back to our hotel was something meant for reality TV. The boys proceeded to attack each other with the red backscratchers (seen in Q's hand in the above photo). I didn't get one because Pistol Pete felt the need to arm himself with two as he was sitting in the back with Sky, the ringleader. Those backscratchers went where few things have gone before."If I scratch my nuts with this [hand slapper...another name for the backscratcher] for five minutes, would you lick if after?" Q asked Sky with a completely serious facial expression.
After quickly freshening up, it was back into the van and off to the Roxy, a nightclub in Orlando where LMFAO was set to play that night. Reek couldn't join us because he ate too much candy. A combination of gummy bears, chocolate, and mixed nuts proved to be deadly.
Immediately after piling into the van, everyone picked up on a foul and intoxicating scent taking over. It turned out it was Ian Fletcher's cologne.
"You have no class, no taste," Ian said to Air in resposne to a comment about the unsavory odor.
"Just because you wear cheap cologne, doesn't mean I don't have taste," he responded. "That's, like, spicy."
Our driver told us he received word that there was a line wrapped around the Roxy hours prior to the performance. Sure enough, when we arrived, the club was packed as far as the eye could see. In the VIP section, we had bottles and ice cold Coronas waiting; promoters and girls joined us for a little pre-party. The Roxy had a really original set-up so that the VIP area with the tables was practically on the stage.
Fans got to socialize in the VIP area onstage, so I took the opportunity to interact with the fans and get their take on LMFAO.
"They're just so much fun. Seeing them play at a club is a hundred times better than listening to a DJ play anything else. They get the party started," one fan said.
"I don't want to be that annoying girl...you must get so many girls like that every night," another fan said to me. "I don't want you to think I'm a groupie. You know, as the only girl with them, you probably get a lot of girls sucking up to you, but I just love the music." Interestingly enough, she threw in that line from "I Am Not A Whore." I wasn't annoyed at all, I told her--in fact, I found the fans in the VIP area at this particular show to be really genuine. The fan interaction that LMFAO provides is unlike anything else. You can have a beer with the boys, do a shot--anything goes.
Ian joined the boys onstage several times to do shots and sing along to Lil' Hipster Girl. "I got to show some love to AM when he's in the place," was shouted by nearly every fan in the audience.
We brought at least 10 fans back with us; our driver Tommy was out of commission at that point, so Pistol Pete took the wheel. Of course, that didn't mean he had to stop taking photos!
The hotel afterparty spread out to at least three of our rooms. There were some altercations, but mostly a lot of laughs. We definitely got a lot of inside jokes. One lesson we learned that night: girls fight dirtier than guys.
Bedtime for the Party Rock Crew was around 6:30 or 7 a.m. We had to leave for Miami by 9 a.m., if I remember correctly. The last thing I recall from that evening was Foo sprawled in bed in his Don't Judge Me boxers singing, "I'd never thought I'd be on a boat" out-of-tune.
The only way to describe Orlando: epic. They call it Whorelando for a reason, but LMFAO doesn't know about that. I...am not...a whore. I just love the music.
Elle Galerman
www.twitter.com/usfelle
egalerma@mail.usf.edu
ellegirl@att.blackberry.net
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