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

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