Hi Scores for 2K6

James turned 20 and we had a party.


I got 230 which was pretty good but Peter got 240.


We all raced and I think James and Peter tied for first.

Photos all from Natalya Bond, Oddjob's estranged cousin, international fotograferin and canon rebel.

End of the year cheers to all my mates back in town or spread across the globe, especially those in Korea, Dubai, New York, Cali, Massachussets, Hong Kong, Portland, The Independent Commonwealth of Waldo, Allemagne and/or elsewhere. It is not known how long into 2007 this site will survive, but for now all systems are go. Blue Collar Press even made some new buttons that I would be happy to give away to anyone who wants one.

Last night in the wee hours I posted a few pieces of fictional non-fiction on my myspace page. Because many of you who regularly read lukaswetzel.blogspot.com have (wisely) chosen to stay away from th'space, I'll reproduce a couple of those below. Before I do that, however, I'd like to offer this musical salute to the year from Scott Walker.

les parking garage du mal

This short tale of woe illuminates the dark surrealistic underbelly of corporate america -- specifically beginning and ending your work day in a parking garage.

I drove through the parking garage at work today, and because there were no parking spots toward the gate, I had to swing around to the darker recesses of G4 to find a spot. On the way, I saw the building security golf-cart approaching with its lights turned off for some reason. One of the people riding on it had a big black hood pulled over his head. He looked like the grim reaper, or at best an 11th century monk.

During non-business hours, the parking garage fills with the threatening sounds of high-pitched bird screeches. The security attendants assure me these sounds originate from a speaker mounted on the side of the garage designed to keep birds from nesting and defecating on the premises. The noises are all too loud and too real, however, so I tape-recorded them and mailed the acetate to a professor of ancient natural history at a nearby online paleontological institute. He's convinced they belong to a prehistoric animal -- perhaps even a pterodactyl -- who may have survived into the digital era.

Lately I've taken to stalking the garage at night armed with a bow and arrow in hopes that I might slay the beast and serve it to my family for New Years Day Dinner. Please wish me luck, wherever you are, and I'll return the favor once I have the wishbone between my fingers.

Stevie Jones: ice-rink terrorkind

Zamboni's have been coming up a lot lately in the Wetzel household ever since James got a job driving one for a winter break job. This short and fake news brief is something I came up with back in winter of 2001, that especially trying year for our nation. I'd cut out a clipping from the New York Times Magazine (I think) about an immigrant who worked at the Rockefeller Center Ice Rink. It was about how he admired the resiliency and cheer of New Yorkers after 9/11, and how after a long day of being around them, he enjoyed the peace and stillness of driving the Zamboni around at night. It might be a touch disrespectful and politically inappropriate, but it's not intended to be entirely heartless.

Stevie Jones is a young boy who frequents the skating rink. Apparently Stevie had acquired some rather radical political beliefs in the course of researching current events for his social studies class. He started writing a lot of e-mails to Osama bin Laden to see what he could do for the cause, but Osama never wrote him back. Eventually he decided to take matters into his own hands.

Last week, during one of the afternoon resurfacing breaks, Stevie approached the Zamboni and held an ice-skate blade to the back of the employee driving it. Stevie then took over the Zamboni and proceeded to drive it around in circles until skate security made him get off. The incident was very upsetting to the boy's father, who is a former FBI officer. Stevie is also not allowed to visit the skating rink anymore, which is particularly upsetting to him because they serve his favorite generic hot chocolate in steamy little styrofoam cups.


p.s. Does anyone know if they are selling Bryan Busby weather calendars again this year at the supermarket in Brookside? I am going to go by there today and find out, so let me know if you want one.

Thursday Tracks (for real!)

As most of you know, I've done a bit of writing for official and unofficial publications including the University Daily Kansan, the Schol-Holler and even the Lawrence Journal-World. And as a semi-informed music fan and retired amateur DJ, I've naturally written about music from time to time. As fun as that can be, however, I've never quite been comfortable thinking of myself as or wanting to pursue any real position as a music writer. What could I say about a good song that would be more worthwhile than just listening to it?

Listening to music with people, on the other hand, is one of my favorite activities. I love sitting around with friends and trading off spinning whatever tracks we've been enjoying (some might say "feeling") lately. It is with that spirit in mind that I set up a Libsyn account to host MP3s of music I've been enjoying, oddities I've discovered or been sent by friends, and original compositions as well (at some point). I'll probably lean a little toward the old and obscure so I'm not stepping on anyone's copywright toes, but the main qualification for music I post here will be that it's either good, funny and/or something I think you might like.

I can pass on the direct link to my Libsyn page if you like, but for now I'll just be posting files here. To kick things off, here's a few tracks from the first album by Idle Race, the early band of Jeff Lynne, who went on to join The Move and later formed Electric Light Orchestra.

The silly and endearing "I Like My Toys" is the first song I heard by this band. It's a good post-Christmas tune, especially for those of us who would rather play with our toys than get a job. It's from their 1968 debut album, Birthday Party.

"Morning Sunshine" also comes from the Idle Race's first album. I think it sounds like a proto-T Rex track, but Deez says it sounds to him like the Beatles could have used this as an idea for some of the vocal effects on Abbey Road. Whatever the case, both Marc Bolan and the Beatles were big fans.

"Please No More Sad Songs" is the sixth track from the band's follow-up self-titled record, released in 1969. A good tune for the new year.

paint a lady (desaturated)

LW 12/16/06

The storied afterlife of the Zambezi Zinger

One night out at the casinos, a withered old fellow named "Hombre" told my friend and I a story about how the decomissioned Worlds of Fun rollercoaster, the Zambezi Zinger, was partially buried in a nearby bend in the Missouri river.

Drunk on inexpensive cocktails and flush with our earnings from blackjack, we set out to the spot the man described and spent several hours digging through the muck of the Missouri in hopes of excavating one of the original green rollercoaster cars. I didn't know what we planned to do with it, besides maybe spiff the thing up and convert it into some kind of all-terrain go-cart, but we were determined to find something.

In the end, we found no rollercoaster cars, no curvy tracks, no towering green support beams. We did, however, succeed in unearthing a host of memories about one of the most legendary rollercoasters of all time.


If you grew up in the Kansas City area anytime between 1973 and 1997, you're almost certainly familiar with the Zambezi Zinger. The Zambezi was located in the Africa section of Worlds of Fun, and to get to the line you had to pass through an adobe hut with a painted sign out front that read, "No pygmies shorter than 4 skulls can ride without adult." The ride itself began with a slow, suspense-building spiral ascent, finally giving way to a 40mph free-fall that clicked and curved wickedly left into tunnels and tree cover.

The photos I found here do a pretty good job of illustrating the basic structure of the rollercoaster. I found them through a Web site designed by a couple who had met while working at the ride one summer and eventually got married. When I told this to my brother David, he said, "When you ride the Zambezi Zinger with someone, you might as well be married."

It's true. If you ask anyone who rode the Zambezi Zinger what it was like, the all-too-comfortable coziness of the seating arrangements is one of the first things they're likely to mention. While a favorite among couples, going pot-luck on such a ride -- especially as a kid barely 4 skulls tall -- was usually more awkward than thrilling. In fact, I'm half-convinced one of the reasons the Zambezi was banished from Worlds of Fun was due to the uncomfortable intimacy it bred between otherwise perfect strangers.


Whatever the reasons for its deactivation, the Zambezi was removed from Worlds of Fun in 1997 after nearly a quarter-century of magic. The more expansive "Mamba" and "Patriot" coasters took its place, but were hardly a replacement. In a moment of melancholy over the Zambezi's disappearance from the North Kansas City horizon, I coined a phrase that equated riding the Zambezi Zinger to journeying into the afterlife. In other words, saying "she's riding the Zambezi Zinger now" would be another way to say "she's no longer with us." It hasn't really caught on yet, but I find it rather poignant.

The only thing is, it's not really accurate. After doing a bit of research, I discovered that the Zambizi Zinger IS STILL IN OPERATION, except that now it thrills riders at the Parque National de Cafe theme park in Bogota, Colombia. (Unlike the first two paragraphs of this column -- which I'll concede might not have ever happened -- this is a documented fact.) The only difference is that it's now called the Montana Rusa, and the color scheme has been changed from all green to blue and red with yellow cars.

So if you hear someone say, "She's riding the Zambezi Zinger now," it does not mean that that person is dead -- it means they are at a theme park in South America. And even though the name, color and location have changed, I personally take great satisfaction in knowing little Colombian kids are experiencing the same thrills my friends and I enjoyed as teens and tweens in Kansas City.

Viva le Zambezi!


Post-script: For a nice look at the Zambezi's history, stats and a bunch of enthusiastic ratings of the Zinger, check out its page on ThemeParksOnline.org. Also, this entry is dedicated to Chiefs Founder Lamar Hunt, who also founded Worlds and Oceans of Fun. Mr. Hunt passed away this week at age 74.

Hamburg Haiku and Foto Journey

Upon seeing my 100 Haikus about Bonn, my friend Moritz scoffed that he could not believe I hadn't written at least 10 about Hamburg, my second town of residence in Germany. I've finally prepared a few dozen to share, though they are in some cases little more than captions to some photos from 2004-2006. Photos are by me and a few by Jenn unless otherwise noted. Thanks to Hamburg friends for the inspiration and encouragement. Please let me know of any mistakes you might see.


Boats on the harbor
take tourists between barges
and through the canals


woman is free but
everywhere she is in chains
clamped on golden calves


The beckoning blue
guides you to the U-bahn stop
at Landungsbruecken


Hopes of the squatters
are shripwrecked at the shores of
the Hafentreppe

(Hafentreppe = harbor steps)


the Hafentreppe
a gateway to the harbor
you can buy drugs here


The protestors shout
"Kein Hotel im Wasserturm!"
but to no avail



These are the green vines
that cling to the old brick walls
of the post office


bin viel geschwommen
unter die gruene Lichte
am Holthusenbad


Weinachtsmann of Wurst
slings his Christmas sausage links
to winter shoppers


the Rote Flora
rock shows and vegan dinners
for the anarchists


graffiti dreamland
an activist jungle gym
behind the theatre


Philosophenturm
"tower of philosophy"
I had class here once


Pfanner Gruener Tee
is the elixir of life
drink it by the box


altes und neues
stehen gegeneinander
Kirche und Hochaus


Koenig der Loewen
shuttles the theatergoers
to the musical


steht auf dem klingel
"auf zwei raedern bleibt man jung"
bikeride and believe


pedal past chapels
and the fields of soldier's graves
nameless in the sun


the grabengel weeps
and lingers on the headstone
of her dead husband


all the ice-skaters
skate along to the sounds of
Harry's Eisdisco


Elbetelescop
see across the galaxy
for just 50 cents


alte Elbtunnel
surrealistic frisbee
und lichtenspiele


once you've hacky-sacked
in the bowels of the earth
you can not go back


at the Hafenklang
you never go home alone
der Rhythmus kommt mit


Susannenstrasse
where the Sternschanze starlets
go to drink coffee


wall of astronauts
who have ventured into space
and brought back new sounds


back when I was young
me and Susi had fun at
the Crocodile rock


St. Pauli Fussball
Pirates drunk in the floodlights
nachts am Millerntor

(photo by Ayla Kiran)


at the Grey Havens
bid farewell and chart a course
to Undying Lands

(and a few I don't have photos up for yet)

Every weekend night
prostitutes in puffy coats
line the streets of Kiez

red retro ballroom
ascend velvet rolltreppe
to Revolver Club

Zardos is the place
to drink a cappucino
and buy some records

riding around the
Stadtpark Planetarium
on my bike at night

Auf der Reeperbahn
the spirit of Hans Albers
sings a festive tune


when it's time to leave
I board my private shuttle
to the USA

Ghosty Music Revue

One of my favorite bands of all time is playing a concert Friday at the Granada Theater. They are called Ghosty, and they hail from Lawrence, Kansas. You can hear some of their music on their official Web site, or at their MySpace page.

And now, thanks to Brett Hendrix, you can catch (and hear) a glimpse of what they are like on the stage. In this particular clip from their recent West Coast tour, they cling to the shadows, like true Ghostopolitans. However, they are generally a more animated bunch, and are worth checking out both in person and on record.

Finally -- and many of you have already seen this footage years and years ago -- there is still a video circulating the Internet of the band performing on the front porch of a dilapidated house while a young man and large bunny combat each other. You can find that on the band's page at Lawrence.com, under the videos section. But I don't necessarily recommend it. Unless you a) have never seen it before b) like to see giant bunnies fighting college students c) have 4 minutes to kill and like good pop songs.

See you tomorrow.

Covered Wagons: we'll drive them some day

Andy's convinced the world is going to end, but he doesn't remember telling me this.

It was the spring of 2004 when we had the fateful conversation. We were at Josh's house, eating ice cream -- I have no idea now what flavor or brand. Andy was back in town from his private liberal arts college in the pacific northwest, and the three of us had been enjoying a pleasant evening of companionship, frozen treats and conversation.

Just before we parted ways, however, Andy steered the conversation to more somber matters, specifically the predictions of a particular prophet/bestselling author who had it figured out to the hour when doomsday would occur. Because we'd made it so far without any real awkwardness, and because my departure was pending anyway, I went along with the conversation, saying nothing in favor or against these views. Josh, however, nodded along and chimed in with a bemused "yeah," and "really?" every so often, which only encouraged Andy's espousal of these apocalyptic views.

Finally I excused myself, bidding a warm farewell to my two friends. I held my laughter in check long enough to drive around the block, but by that point I had been keeping a straight face too long to want to even crack a smile.

Later, I mentioned the conversation to a couple of other folks, who said they'd heard of the doomsayer but couldn't think of his name. I wasn't terribly interested in researching the matter further, but at least I knew Andy wasn't the only proselyte.

I didn't see Andy for another two years, at the Ad Astra per Aspera CD release party at the Record Bar. He was in town until he could save up some more money to return to his college in the pacific northwest, and in the meantime his arm was in a sling as the result of some kind of snowboarding mishap.

When I asked what he had been up to, he said his chief interest of the last several weeks had been researching the exact history and location of the Oregon Trail. His uncle had come into some land outside of Lawrence, which Andy suspected had lain directly on the course of the Oregon Trail.

In order to research this, he'd gone to the Spencer Research Library in Lawrence and dug up some old trail maps of the area. Using these "ancient scrolls," as he called them, Andy had determined that his family's land did indeed lie where the Oregon Trail used to be.

Upon hearing the words "Oregon Trail," I immediately hearkened back to my own history on the Oregon Trail, all of which took place on the Apple IIE computers in my grade school's rudimentary computer lab.





I told Andy about my long-held wish to write a Bildungsroman about my time on the trail, which would consist of a series of flashbacks to the times when I'd needlessly killed hundres of pounds of buffalo, died of dysentery a dozen times over and always forded the river even when I couldn't afford to.

Where most people my age would chime right in with their own stories of Oregon Trail computer game mischief, Andy remained silent, patiently waiting for me to finish so he could continue talking about his research. It was then that I realized that he was serious, that his interest in the Oregon Trial was more than some ironic diversion and reflected a true historical interest in our proud state of Kansas.

It turns out Andy had even been talking to the employees of the nearby Ritz Camera store about the history of the covered wagon statue just a stone's throw from where we were standing at that very moment. Anyone who's driven by the Westport Road/Southwest Trafficway intersection has surely seen this monument to pioneer days, an authentic covered wagon mounted in gravel in the corner of the parking lot. At Christmas time, it's decorated and lighted up to look like an Old West version of Santa's sleigh.

I don't know what exactly the people in the camera store had said to Andy about the wagon, just that it was a sturdy piece of equipment that wasn't likely to go anywhere soon.

"Shucks, Andy," I said to him. "Some pre-apocalyptic weekend, you and me are gonna take that sucker for a spin. We can roll all the way down Westport Road and then swing up to Loose Park to fire the cannons one final time."

"Pre-apocalyptic," Andy repeated, a smile spreading across his face. "I like that."