Wrist Band
Beginning May 1991, there was a specific mark of pride in my elementary school. It came in the form of a waxy but florescent paper bracelet, the word: Kennywood tagged in its familiar & coveted font. It was a mark that something great had happened, that a story was to be told.
We'd all been to the amusement park before, but still the wearer was questioned. Were there any new rides? Were the lines long? What did you eat? How long did you stay? Did you win any prizes on the Midway? Did you get the waterfall on the Raging Rapids? Did you brave the Steel Phantom? What was your favorite ride, how many times did you go on it? What was your first/last ride of the night? Our stories combined created the happy legend of the park. It felt far away, mysterious yet promising. We vicariously planned our own excursions while our augur friend generously poured his details out like thick caramel descending on an apple. If two kids wore the same color bracelet, they were bound.
We would wear our Kennywood bands for almost a week after we'd gone; the paper turning grey & soggy, the edges worn & tattered. When the bracelet would smell or impede some activity (like getting caught in the jumprope its hand was turning) then it would be reluctantly cut off. The park opened on Memorial Day but we were still in classes until late June. Those bracelets brought a little bit of summer, the excitement of freedom into our hot barring classrooms. They snuck into daily life to whisper,'soon...'
Today i woke with a neon orange & white striped paper cuff on my right wrist. It too marked an epic happening. I'm bound with everyone else who wore one last night, whether i wanted to be or not. Older, we keep things like T-shirts & vinyls, but the excited details are still there, chattering on the lips of praised mouths. There isn't enough room on this little bracelet to write "Human The Death Dance" but i guess that would have been the title of my yesterday playground.
Buddy Wakefield has made helped me cry every time i've seen him. I bought his CD, but i'm so taken by his presence. He's a big, solid guy: the kind you wouldn't want to get punched by or the kind you'd want to run straight into, headfirst. I think about a strong kid with DS who sits easily in his chair, playing quietly, but who could erupt at any moment & become fearsome, unstoppable.
Alias raps about being a white boy from Maine. He was cute. I couldn't stop staring at the tattoos on his forearms: the colors & the way they were positioned: like Wing Dings, like the clues they used to give in Highlights Magazine, pictures when sounded out made words. On his left forearm was a green clover on the inside of his arm, a black tree on the outside.
Buck 65 is a handsome askew maniac. I wanted to put him between two hamburger buns & take a bite. If i could pick an ideal body shape that i would like to have, i think he had it. His Canadian Country/Experimental/Hip-hop music... well, its genre really describes itself. I couldn't imagine listening to it at home, but he was a crazy good time to see live.
Sage Francis brought it like a rock star. His bassist also played a saw with a violin bow. Amazing sound. Sage came out to deliver two songs after a roaring crowd chanted his name for an encore. Magical Buddy Wakefield closed the night, left me wobbly.
Epic.
We'd all been to the amusement park before, but still the wearer was questioned. Were there any new rides? Were the lines long? What did you eat? How long did you stay? Did you win any prizes on the Midway? Did you get the waterfall on the Raging Rapids? Did you brave the Steel Phantom? What was your favorite ride, how many times did you go on it? What was your first/last ride of the night? Our stories combined created the happy legend of the park. It felt far away, mysterious yet promising. We vicariously planned our own excursions while our augur friend generously poured his details out like thick caramel descending on an apple. If two kids wore the same color bracelet, they were bound.
We would wear our Kennywood bands for almost a week after we'd gone; the paper turning grey & soggy, the edges worn & tattered. When the bracelet would smell or impede some activity (like getting caught in the jumprope its hand was turning) then it would be reluctantly cut off. The park opened on Memorial Day but we were still in classes until late June. Those bracelets brought a little bit of summer, the excitement of freedom into our hot barring classrooms. They snuck into daily life to whisper,'soon...'
Today i woke with a neon orange & white striped paper cuff on my right wrist. It too marked an epic happening. I'm bound with everyone else who wore one last night, whether i wanted to be or not. Older, we keep things like T-shirts & vinyls, but the excited details are still there, chattering on the lips of praised mouths. There isn't enough room on this little bracelet to write "Human The Death Dance" but i guess that would have been the title of my yesterday playground.
Buddy Wakefield has made helped me cry every time i've seen him. I bought his CD, but i'm so taken by his presence. He's a big, solid guy: the kind you wouldn't want to get punched by or the kind you'd want to run straight into, headfirst. I think about a strong kid with DS who sits easily in his chair, playing quietly, but who could erupt at any moment & become fearsome, unstoppable.
Alias raps about being a white boy from Maine. He was cute. I couldn't stop staring at the tattoos on his forearms: the colors & the way they were positioned: like Wing Dings, like the clues they used to give in Highlights Magazine, pictures when sounded out made words. On his left forearm was a green clover on the inside of his arm, a black tree on the outside.
Buck 65 is a handsome askew maniac. I wanted to put him between two hamburger buns & take a bite. If i could pick an ideal body shape that i would like to have, i think he had it. His Canadian Country/Experimental/Hip-hop music... well, its genre really describes itself. I couldn't imagine listening to it at home, but he was a crazy good time to see live.
Sage Francis brought it like a rock star. His bassist also played a saw with a violin bow. Amazing sound. Sage came out to deliver two songs after a roaring crowd chanted his name for an encore. Magical Buddy Wakefield closed the night, left me wobbly.
Epic.