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Monday, July 03, 2006

The Case For Less Cowbell

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Exhibit A

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Exhibit B


I don't know what was going on in the 1950s, but I'm pretty sure they had chrome shower curtains. Or at the very least, chrome shower curtain covers. It there was a space that could conceivably hold a piece of chrome, a widget was invented to occupy the space, and said widget would be deemed hideous and incomplete without a chrome cover.

In the case of two 50s icons that made the trip into the 21st century, there are two parts that survived the process of natural selection. I don't know why, because they are almost universally recognized as tacky and useless. The Fender Telecaster "ashtray" bridge cover gets ripped off the guitar quicker than hubcaps in a bad neighborhood. That's because people like to actually play the guitar and occasionally put strings on it.

And nothing says quality finishing touch quite like a Harley horn cover that flops around when the motor's running, looks like it'd fall off at the slightest provocation, and forces your knee out into the wind.

And so the other night, as I was eliminating a cowbell similar to Exhibit B, the time got away from me. Or rather, I had a more flagrant disregard for the time than usual, with my sleep cycle being flipped and all. As it turned out, it was 2:30 AM.

I had tunnel vision focus. This cowbell had to go. So I didn't really pay the police car much mind when it creeped up. I didn't even bother to look up when the officer walked up and was 5-6 feet from the bike and spraying me with flashlight. I was actually kind of glad to have the additonal light to work with. But i was so not in the mood for the Bloomish Inquisition.

"Excuse me, is this your bike?"

"Yeah."

"May I ask what you're doing?"

"I'm taking this thing off"

"It's a hell of a time to be working on a bike, isn't it?"

"Well, I'm not really dismantling the motor or anything, I'm just tightening down some accessories."

"You know where I'm going with this, right?"

"Yeah, I totally understand, but look, can we get this over with, I wanna get this done. My wallet's upstairs."

"What's your name, I'll run it against the tag."

[runs name, radio chatter, walks back]

"OK Mr. Porter, as you were."

---------

AS YOU WERE? Thank you SERGEANT ROCK, what am I, the boogie-woogie bugle boy from Company B?

Anyway, cowbell free again. Hit it, Gene.

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