Skip to main content

Mr KC's boots

Mr. KC's boots
Over the years, I might have blown a speaker or two.  I like music loud!  You know the head-pounding, ear-ringing decibel level that concert-worthy speakers belt out.  Given that tidbit, Friday nights we regularly find ourselves at a local fish joint that has sweet blues bands gigging on the pub side.  It’s a bit of a dive bar, but in the best of ways.  There’s nothing fancy; just a comfortable, well-worn spot serving fish and chips that are off-the-charts good and cheap drinks.  Definitely not a swill-slinging bar, but not a slam-glam either.  Halibuts is a neighborhood spot where Jennifer, the gal behind the bar, remembers what we order, even if it’s been a couple of months since our last visit.

So, we’re sitting there listening to Angel Bouchet rock the blues with blasting speakers –I need to mention the place is small and has had complaints from the next door tenants about the volume and how everything was shaking and rolling on their side of the wall.  Everybody is vibing.  You can gyrate in your seat, stand and do a step or two on the way to the bathroom or power-out in front of the band for the total eardrum-bursting affect.  We are seated right there, so it’s the best of both – we don’t have to travel the half dozen steps from door to band.

Like I said, we’re just chillin’ and a guy comes up, head slightly down turned bobbing to the beat; just feeling the music like the rest of us.  Then my Boogie Cat Baby points out his boots – funky, complete with spurs.  He wants a picture.  I’m like, “no, you can’t, how rude…” feigning that we shouldn’t.  The more I watched, the more I wanted a photo.  Oh man, what a social, possible faux pas dilemma.

Not long after the band takes a short break.  Boot Man walks up to the bar right by us.  This is my chance – do I grab the sneaky shot? 

Well, something else you should know about me is that I’ve always gotten the photos that I’ve wanted.  Sometimes by hook or crook – like the Federales in Mexico complete with machine guns draped across their chests or the chees- monger in Italy who initially refused.  I’m no paparazzi, my photos are by permission.  So, I approached Boot Man and said I’d noticed his boots.  “Could I snap a photo?”

Smelling more than faintly of “herb,” he extended his hand and said “I’m Mr. KC.”  Mr. KC happily posed for a couple pics and told me he made his boots.  I discreetly smiled and thought, “of course you did.  This is Portlandia.”

A few weeks later it’s the same scenario, different even more raucous band and Mr. KC saunters in and up close to chill to the music.  Karen Lovely, after detonating a bluesy blues tune gives a total shout out to Mr. KC, touting his handcrafted footwear.  Who knew Mr. KC and his boots had such a following!  I’m just not sure...is he Mr. KC and the Sunshine Band?

Here’s to bombed-out eardrums and boots…

Missy


If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance


Comments

  1. Wildlife Art by SylOctober 16, 2014 at 7:53 PM

    Okay Mr. KC sounds okay..I took pics of brown spats in Utah, wrote a blog about them..lol..love your writing..

    ReplyDelete
  2. akitchellOctober 16, 2014 at 11:09 PM

    Hideously sweet boosts...nice narrative!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Missy AOctober 17, 2014 at 10:16 AM

      They were very sweet boots! I might need a pair...just sayin'.

      Delete
  3. sewsavyOctober 17, 2014 at 7:34 AM

    What a fun read. I got to listen to the music without bursting my eardrums. Bravery will get you everywhere.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Missy AOctober 17, 2014 at 10:17 AM

      Marlene, burst eardrums is half the fun! But, you are probably a little smarter in sparing that inner canal!

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

urban girl in the country

green in concrete For the last lot-of-years I’ve lived in urban areas.  I’ve become a city girl with hints of a flower child mixed with hipster nuances…translated I like to wear skinny jeans.  This is the total opposite of how I grew up, which was on a farm.  My paternal grandparents grew, raised, caught and hunted for everything they ate – radical organic, free-range stuff.  On my Mom’s side of the fam tree, there were green grocers and orchard growers.  Heck, I was in 4-H raising feeder calves and a small flock of wooly sheep.  Gardens, canning, freezing and preserving everything was the ordinary. I carried on the gardening-preserving, saving the spoils piece, until I found myself in fresh veggie-at-a-farmer’s-market heaven!  The foreign city I found myself in had a temperate climate where fruit and vegetables could be grown year ‘round, and … it was sold at a giant open air market every week.  Yippee!  I no longer needed to ...
8 comments
Read more

In full abandon, straining on tiptoes

A scrap of paper tucked in my journal is full of scribbled notes and words, people’s names – really it would appear to be miscellany.  One phrase is “in full abandon.”  The expression had a reference, but now reading it almost daily, it takes on new significance and worth. a.ban.don:  to leave and never return (Merriam-Webster) The word “abandon” conjures negative thinking; abandoned lot, abandoned project, abandoned people. Places and things are left for trash or individuals that have been discarded and tossed aside.  This definition certainly leaves one feeling rather desolate and, well … abandoned. On the sunny side of the street, abandon is also yielding without restraint, to give up control.  It’s bursting with exuberance. Picture being in full abandon:  there’s a child running down a hillside, arms flailing and legs barely able to keep them upright.  He is on the verge of tumbling head over heels, but somehow if that happen...
6 comments
Read more

road tripping: french glen and steens mountain

we took a stinkin' lot of dirt roads, but i wouldn't have it any other way The drive wasn’t long by west coast standards, a mere few of hours; which meant there was plenty of leisure (interpreted coffee time) before leaving on another road trip escapade.  I can’t begin to tell you how much fun it is to pack a bag, gas up the car and set out to see what can be seen. An interesting thing I’ve discovered on these exploits, is that having lived in Oregon for the majority of my life, I’ve missed “seeing” a lot of things. You know, I think we all get into the habit of going to the same places, which is a good thing, but we forget about the “other” places that are right in our own backyards. Case in point, yesterday afternoon, when my darling man and I went to Tumalo Falls. I’ve been to Skyliner Snow Park, but never gone the few more dirt road miles to see the falls. Holy cow! Is that lame, or what? a sweet little place, no frills, but plenty of yesteryear ...
8 comments
Read more