I must say, I was really depressed today, leaving home with just a Walkman (Toshiba KT-S1). I wanted nothing more than to hear my music wafting onto the concrete and into the ears of pedestrians. It's just really visceral hearing it over speakers, and I never want to go a waking minute without. Alas, the sky was cracked open too wide even for my small Pioneer SK-200. As I pined for a box, I got to thinking about other members and how they use their boomboxes. I get the impression most of us just leave them in the home or office, taking them out for the occasional barbeque. But, I know at least some of us bring them out from time to time, braving throngs of people, grass stains, errant cups of coffee, and the fumbling grabs of those who wish to see how heavy a box is. I want to hear some stories of downtown and otherwise hairy adventures, including near-saves and embaressing malfunctions. But first, I think I'll share yesterday's boombox adventure.
I guess I should admit I'm not that upstanding. I ended up drinking on a Thursday at four, behind a dumpster in a church parking lot, an 80's gothic rock mix wafting out. Feels like being sixteen, but it's cheaper than the bar, and the company is more charming. Drunk, I stumble out into the park, EPMD blaring on my CEC, 5" woofers struggling to reproduce the beats as I clutch the box like it were made of gold. I run into some folks, black-clad crustie kids, and they quickly spot my box. One asks for a smoke, and another asks if I have any punk on me. I put on a Harum Scarum dub, and we find our way into town, meandering around from the burrito joint to the liquor store, caustic sounds trailing, until we hit a train trestle tucked behind a night club. The tape ends, I flip it to the Le Tigre side, and I get terrible warble. The distortion level rises. I hit the battery meter, only to get a full bar. Not trusting, I end up walking a good fifteen minutes each way, dropping cash at CVS on two packs of "D" cells. I arrive to an increasingly swilly crowd, and pop in Prince's 1999. Boom! DMSR comes on, and everyone starts dancing up on the plateau. An iPod gets plugged in, we listen to crust, Thin Lizzy and folk. Hours pass, and much merriment is had as people push their natural bedtimes to the breaking point. I thought we would all quietly part ways, but that was not to be. I play DMSR again on the way down from the tracks, and set down the box on the pavement of the parking lot. I start dancing a bit, then others do. Soon, we have twelve or so people, all arranged in a circle. Folks are moving wildly, and I'm running all 5 or so watts per channel to make the box scream. We make it through a few songs - perhaps 'till 1:00 AM, then a cruiser rolls by. I turn down the volume and the magic dies a bit. Half the crowd drives off in an old SUV, while I walk with the other half back downtown, people skipping and clapping to the tunes. I wind up at City Hall, on the steps, listening to tapes 'till 3:00 AM while chatting with fellow insomniac townies and consoling a drunken friend.
No, I don't live like this every night.
I guess I should admit I'm not that upstanding. I ended up drinking on a Thursday at four, behind a dumpster in a church parking lot, an 80's gothic rock mix wafting out. Feels like being sixteen, but it's cheaper than the bar, and the company is more charming. Drunk, I stumble out into the park, EPMD blaring on my CEC, 5" woofers struggling to reproduce the beats as I clutch the box like it were made of gold. I run into some folks, black-clad crustie kids, and they quickly spot my box. One asks for a smoke, and another asks if I have any punk on me. I put on a Harum Scarum dub, and we find our way into town, meandering around from the burrito joint to the liquor store, caustic sounds trailing, until we hit a train trestle tucked behind a night club. The tape ends, I flip it to the Le Tigre side, and I get terrible warble. The distortion level rises. I hit the battery meter, only to get a full bar. Not trusting, I end up walking a good fifteen minutes each way, dropping cash at CVS on two packs of "D" cells. I arrive to an increasingly swilly crowd, and pop in Prince's 1999. Boom! DMSR comes on, and everyone starts dancing up on the plateau. An iPod gets plugged in, we listen to crust, Thin Lizzy and folk. Hours pass, and much merriment is had as people push their natural bedtimes to the breaking point. I thought we would all quietly part ways, but that was not to be. I play DMSR again on the way down from the tracks, and set down the box on the pavement of the parking lot. I start dancing a bit, then others do. Soon, we have twelve or so people, all arranged in a circle. Folks are moving wildly, and I'm running all 5 or so watts per channel to make the box scream. We make it through a few songs - perhaps 'till 1:00 AM, then a cruiser rolls by. I turn down the volume and the magic dies a bit. Half the crowd drives off in an old SUV, while I walk with the other half back downtown, people skipping and clapping to the tunes. I wind up at City Hall, on the steps, listening to tapes 'till 3:00 AM while chatting with fellow insomniac townies and consoling a drunken friend.
No, I don't live like this every night.
