Thursday, July 2, 2009

Frizzle Frazzle

The water drops start to get larger. They start to get more frequent. As the band finishes their song static starts to come out of the speakers. Loud static which sounds exactly like what you expect wet amplifiers to sound like.


Luke and I are standing out on the patio of the local bar, listening to a local band. We haven’t seen each other in a few months, and it’s time to catch up. As the music is silenced by an early monsoon shower Luke chooses to stand under cover, I choose to stand in the rain. I hand him my cell phone so it doesn’t get wet.


We chat about life, work, gardening, exercise, vacations, the whole gambit. All of the conversations are meaningless in and of themselves, but the principle behind them is what’s important. The simple connection between human beings. Interaction.


The rain starts to come down harder and harder, until I have a constant stream of water running off my face. We finally decide to go inside. The storm is more stubborn than we are.


We find a table right next to the juke box. Poor timing, as somebody decides to put on a Michael Jackson song. We both laugh. We both agree that we won’t miss the King of Pop, we never really liked him anyway. Soon the jukebox goes silent and another band is setting up right in front of us.


An old man sits at our table and joins into our conversation at random intervals. We both get a kick out of it. He tells us that we’ve been cooking beef tongue all wrong. He was raised on it, and the only way to cook it is to boil it AND THEN peel it. How wrong we have been…


The new band is done with their sound check and suddenly there is an explosion of sound in the small room. A ‘fusion jazz’ band, whatever that means. The guy on lead guitar’s fingers move so fast that they begin to blur. The notes run together and sound like one continuous sound. The bass thrums to life as the drums pound out a beat. And then a piercing harmonica through it all. Bringing it all together. Conversation dies as we both revel in the cornucopia of instruments.


The song ends and we both realize that it is late. Eleven o’clock and we both have early mornings ahead. We walk out the door, promise to do it again, and say goodbye.


It was good to catch up with Luke.

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