Ursinister Sights at Brainblow Blvd.
A surreal last night while driving home: the gas station at 43rd and Brainblow Blvd, which shut down 3 years ago and has been boarded up since, reopened last week as a gift store selling nothing but stuffed white teddy-bears of all sizes and carnations by the dozen. It's creepy to sit there at the stoplight with all 2,000 of those bears staring at you, and I could tell that the motorist behind me was a bit weirded out as well. In a couple of days, these bears will probably be shipped back to an amusement park warehouse where they will hibernate for another year. I can't say I'll miss them.
"At Least He Wasn't Wearing Blackface"
I sang karaoke over the weekend for the first time in years. I couldn't find a suitable tune among the pop hits and ballads of the last century, so I opted instead for the old classic, "I've Been Workin' On The Railroad." My friends later told me that it went over fine and that everyone had clapped along, but from my vantage point the general reaction was very WTF? ("wasn't that fantastic?", in case you were wondering) To keep the tune interesting, karaokemeister Brodie manipulated the sound, looping the vocal into a whooshing soundswirl that gave the "Fee Fi Fiddley Eye Oh" breakdown a very trippy quality. So I didn't get booed off the stage or anything, but it might be a while before I show my face at McCoys again. Unless I go hear Paul deejay tomorrow night.
side notee: The whole thing was eerily similar to Monday's "Questionable Content." Yet another case of life imitating Web comics.
Cries In The Night
The other night at about 12:30 I stepped onto the back fire escape for a refreshing blast of cold air. I lit a cigarette and stared out into the fog, where the red lights of KU Med Center flickered like two dozen blinking beacons on a helicopter lighthouse. Everything was quiet. At least at first.
After a few moments I began to hear a faint shrieking sound. I dismissed it initially, not wishing to acknowledge a domestic spat unless it grew impossible to ignore. Pretty soon, though, the screaming got louder, originating from somewhere in the apartments a few buildings away. Just when I had resigned myself to dialing the authorities, someone turned the volume way up and I could hear not only the screams but the blast of an A chord on an electric guitar -- a jangly, cheap stratocaster by the sound of it. The screaming quickly distinguished itself as just another garage rocker caterwauling his way through the night, and before long a harmonica joined in the prerecorded fracas. I laughed and turned to head back inside, relieved to discover that what I was hearing was not a beat-down after all -- just an unexpected and much-needed blast of rock and roll on a cold February night.
Happy Valentines Day, from me and Clinton Lake.
your pal,
lkswtzl
No comments:
Post a Comment