Thursday, November 01, 2007


Where I work we often have Local Band Wednesdays out in one of the open areas (near the most recent very expensive "art" that honestly looks like the "artist" was taking the mickey). Some of them are quite good but even those are generally belting away (and often twitching meaningfully as the music "takes them") while the world walks by apparently unconcerned. I usually feel rather sorry for these earnest young folks - not enough to stop and actually listen mind, just enough to feel that I'm a really, really good person what with all the sensitivity and that - and I thought there was no fate worse than having your most deeply held emotions completely ignored.

Until yesterday, when I learned it can be much, much worse.

See, there's this guy. He likes to put on his headphones, crank up some 80's bubble-pop and then howl out the lyrics at top voice completely off key. He doesn't seem to panhandle or anything, he just apparently really, really likes Bananarama and prefers to share this love with the world. Ah, but yesterday's band apparently struck a deep chord with this man because he was standing maybe three feet in front of the band, very short and squat, and WAILING away on his air guitar.

Bless 'em, those band member were really trying to work that 1,000 yard stare thing, and still playing their hearts out but you could see that under the black hairspray and the slightly smudged eyeliner those boys were crying inside.

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