Fast Eddie Friday....repeat.

I've got a slew of stuff going on today, so I'm not going to get to Fast Eddie Friday. I apologize in advance, but hey, shit happens. In its place I offer up a post from last Christmas. This car is still around, I see it from time to time, and it seems to have more crap packed in it each time I see it. I'll be back on Monday. Have a safe weekend.

I know I posted shots of this classic automobile a few months back, but they weren't anywhere near as good or detailed as these. This time I got interior shots. As always click them to make em bigger. Feel free to point out any hidden treasures you come across while looking at the inside of this 4 wheeled testament to hoarding. I realize these aren't traditional Christmasy type pictures. I know this is the time of year when I should be putting up more lame examples of The Plaza Lights, or snowy landscapes. Fuck that, in case you hadn't noticed there is way to much of that Peace ye merry gentlemen bullshit proliferating WWW Dot Land. So consider this the lick of salt and bite of lemon in your Holiday Tequila shot.

Shit gets worse, he actually drives this car around town.

Eat, Drink, and be Murdered.

Devin Cassidy didn't have a clue that she would'nt wake to the sun coming through her window, maybe a little hung over from a night spent in the Westport area. Like so many people who come to this city from the relatively insulated safety of the suburbs. They come to shop, party, work, or any number of reasons. People believe it cant or wont happen to them, the nightly news announcing the latest body count, just some talking head , the finality of being killed , the reality that its often random and senseless, it doesn't really sink in. I imagine most murder victims are like a lot of cancer victims, they know it happens, but it wont happen to them. Then comes the diagnosis, you have a lump, or a spot on an x ray, the doctor gives you the news and a sharp intake of breath, is followed by a stunned silence. I think the same reaction takes place right before a victim is killed. A crystalline moment, time stands still, a sharp intake of breath, the realization that you are going to cease to exist, then there is nothing.

Devin was killed a few blocks from my place. Which doesn't make her murder unique, there have been 40 or 50 homicides this year within 5 minutes of my apartment. She was from Leawood, again that's nothing new, people from the suburbs often meet their end here in the city. She was far too young to die, again most homicide victims in this city are as young or much younger. Her killers were in their teens, the news reported they needed gas money. She died on a side street, just yards from one of Kansas city's busiest roads, as did many of the other 90 plus homicide victims this year. She was white, which isn't usually the case, so her murder was unique in that regard. There was at least one other woman killed in Kansas City this weekend, sitting on her own front porch, but that wont garner as much press. Both victims, all victims deserve better.


We beckon them to come play here, spend here, we put up bright lights over the holidays, we build entertainment districts, all in hopes of attracting people to come here. And when they come, we embrace them, pander to them, and entice them. When they come, we treat them as one of our own. We fail to protect our own, we chew them up and spit them out on a daily basis, we eat our young, or they consume us. Visitors can expect the same treatment. We can give you a million reasons why you should come here, or why you should live here. What we wont be bothered with is insuring your safety, doesn't matter who you are.

So I drove the 3 or 4 blocks to the spot where Devin was killed. News cameras had panned in on it earlier this morning, so I knew the exact spot. There really isn't much evidence that something violent and final occurred. Broken auto glass is swept up along the curb, and that's it, there is nothing out of the ordinary. people walk up and down Broadway, oblivious to their surroundings. They walk right by the pile of glass on 42nd, completly unaware. Probably much the same way Devin was the night she died. Eventually the city will clean up the glass, or the rain will wash it away, and unless some friend or family members erect a small roadside memorial, all evidence will be erased. The good news in all of this, two suspects, younger than their victim, were caught shortly after. The bad news, theres plenty more just like them.

MIDTOWN NOIR presents ...Dude Wheres Your Car?

I call him the ghost. I had been tracking him for months, always seemed to miss him by a few minutes. I spotted him on Broadway more than a few times, but I wasn't packing, no way to take a shot. The guy was elusive, always just out of reach. There were times I was certain he was on to me, playing Cat and Mouse with me. Still, I knew it was only a matter of time. Midtown is small, with dirty little nooks and crannies, like a midget hooker. Yeah, I know, they want to be called little people, and as soon as one of them can beat me at a game of pick up basketball, I'll start calling them little people, until then they are midgets. Like I said, it was just a matter of time, and I had plenty to spare.

It was Friday afternoon, the usual suspects were standing along 39th street and Broadway. An old man, probably 70, was shouting that Jayzus was coming. He was shouting really loud, yet people sitting at the bus stop , close enough to touch him, pretended he wasn't even there. He was waving a book in the air, I figured it was a bible, it wasn't. As I sat at the light the crazy guy walked closer, what had first looked like a bible, turned out to be a Readers Digest condensed novel. I guess if you're bat shit crazy, one book works as good as the next. While I was sitting at the light I decided to drive by a house I had seen the Ghost at in the past. It was my lucky day.

I found him. Call it dumb luck, chock it up to fate, blame it on a gut feeling, whatever the reason, the hunt was over. I had him in my sights. I clicked off three shots, and sped away. I had to do it, I needed proof. Nobody in their right mind would have believed me other wise.

Sorry for getting all Sam Spade on you. Truth is, Ive been trying to get pictures of this car for months. I never seemed to have my camera when I'd see it. If you frequent or live around here, then you have probably seen this car. An old guy that looks like Santa Claus drives it around midtown. He has so much stuff piled inside that the only open space is in the drivers seat. The ass end of the car squats under the wieght. It's a beautiful thing, it's why I live here.

2:30 A.M. somewhere in Midtown........................

About once or twice a week I just cant seem to get to sleep. I could smoke xanax through a bong filled with warm milk, and still I probably couldn't get to sleep. Tonight was different, I just felt restless, not content to sit and watch TV until I got tired. So I did something I haven't done in a while, I took a ride.



So , while it's all fresh in my mind, I'm going to take you for a ride through midtown at 2 O'clock on a Wednesday morning. I drove south down main from Armour. The usual suspects were loitering outside the Shell station where a guy was shot and killed last week. Three black guys and a white woman, all painfully thin, huddled in a circle deep in conversation. A conversation that no doubt revolved around procuring some more crack.



I kept going south on main, cutting over to Wornall. I got as far as the stoplight on the south end of loose park. That's when I saw act 2 of this late night variety show. I was sitting at the light waiting to turn left, when I see him. He walks out of Loose park and crosses the road. A middle aged white guy in a normal brooksider uniform, khakis and Polo shirt. Whats odd is that he has walked out of the middle of the park, in the middle of the night, he stands in the middle of the street and looks around like he doesn't know how the fuck he got here, or where here is. He makes me ten times more nervous than the 4 crack heads.



I turn around and head back through the plaza. I turn up Broadway heading for home, and it's like all of the late night street dwellers have converged along Broadway. A bus stop shelter to my left is a makeshift motel room for some homeless person. I cant tell if it is a man or a woman, just a lump of clothes and what look like trash bags, poor mans Samsonite luggage. Two middle aged black guys are sitting in the bus stop shelter directly across from the lump of clothes person. They are laughing and bullshitting, it's almost like looking in to someones living room, and in a way I guess it is exactly that.



A block or two before turning off of Broadway for home, near the Uptown Theater, I see the last player in the final act of this story. A black guy in a wheelchair is flying down the sidewalk. His wheelchair is really hauling ass for a wheelchair. And it's not one of those fancy racing type wheelchairs. This guy is in a shitty old wheelchair, one front wheel is flapping back and forth like a bad grocery cart wheel. The guy has long arms, and he is pumping away at full sped. he has a do rag on and the long material on the back is lifting a little from the wind. I see him in the rear view mirror as I turn for home, still flailing away at his wheels.



That's it, I don't know how all of this translates, maybe you just had to be there. As strange as it sounds , it's a little comforting to take a late night ride, find that you aren't the only person who cant sleep, and take guilty solace in knowing they are a whole lot worse off than you are.

Zombies invade Midtown!!!!

I saw one of the first signs of spring here in Midtown yesterday. It wasn't a Robin, fat from wintering in the South. There aren't any new buds on the tree branches, at least not that I noticed. No the true harbinger of warmer weather isn't marked by the traditional signs of Spring, at least in my mind. Somebody stole some tools I had sitting alongside the garage in back of my building. Huh, what does that have to do with Spring, you ask. Well I'll tell you.

When the weather is cold they stay indoors. I think they must hibernate, like anorexic bears. They only start to venture out when the weather turns warm. They, who the hell is They? I fondly refer to them as Zombies, most people call them Crack Heads. As the season changes and the weather turns warm, shit starts to come up missing. I park off the street, so I have thus far managed to keep all of the windows intact in my car. People in other buildings on this street aren't so lucky, they are forced to park on the street. Once or twice a week I will walk past a pile of glittering glass laying in the street, glass that in an earlier life was a car window. Often times there will be some newly arrived to the neighborhood hipster or Art school student, looking pissed and bewildered, looking from the pile of glass to the hole in their car that once held it. Unable to refrain from stating the obvious I will usually ask " Car get broken in to ?" And this will generally get me an icy look followed by an admission to leaving a phone or briefcase in the back seat.

Another sure sign of Spring in the city will be an increased body count. In fact one just turned up a few blocks away. Something about warmer weather that brings out the worst in people. Now back to the Zombies. If you think I am exaggerating , if you believe I might be taking literary liberties , (making shit up), then just take a drive along Armour road, or Linwood, or any of the major roads from 39th street north to Independence Avenue, in the evening, around dusk. And you will see them. They are easy to spot. Always painfully thin, always moving at a frantic pace, head constantly moving in all directions, scanning their surroundings, looking for and at things , real and imagined, that most of us cant see.

I know what you are thinking, why in the world would anyone live in the city if that's how it is? Why not just move? I've tried moving, lived in the burbs, even moved to the sticks once, but I always come back here. Dating as far back as the mid 70's when I took my first apartment on Warner Plaza off of Main street, right behind Milton's Jazz and Juice, a long gone dive bar, I keep coming back.

There's a scene in the movie "A River Runs Through It", where the successful brother offers the troubled brother a chance to move to Chicago with him, to leave his troubled past and Montana behind. The troubled brother responds " Oh, I'll never leave Montana, brother" The point is, he cant imagine leaving the good parts of his past and present life behind. I get that, and I feel the same way. For all it's flaws, this is home and I can't imagine living anywhere else.

Do you know where your charitable contributions go? I damn sure do.

I was heading over to Mama's on South West trafficway for some breakfast. Ive been meaning to check them out since the re-opened in the same location that was once Kansas City's biggest freak show, Nichols Diner. The food must be pretty good because the place was packed. I took a pass due to my dislike of large crowds of hipsters and suburban adventurers. However, all was not lost and my trip wasn't for naught. Standing under the awning was the most honest man in this city. I slipped him a dime spot and promised to make him famous. In return he was kind enough to pose for this picture. The easy thing to do is tsk tsk and look down your nose at a guy who has clearly lost sight of what most of us consider leading a good and productive life. On the other hand he had a pretty good sense of humor and offered to pose naked for the ten spot. I passed on that offer, although a wino holding a sign while his beans and frank flapped in the breeze would have been a hoot. So if you happen to be sitting waiting for the light at 39th and Southwest trafficway, and you see my new BFF on the job, float him a buck or three, you'll feel better knowing where your money went. Tell em the miscreant sent ya.

Mormons come to Midtown

I was just outside walking the dogs when I was approached by a couple of Mormon fellas. Ive got to hand it to them , they must have some real faith in their convictions to walk up on someone in this part of town. Normally I would have spent some time breaking their balls just for grins, but its cold outside, so I just gave them the old "I'm not interested" line and kept walking. They followed me.

While I still remain firm in my conviction that Mormon's are just a little wacky, Ive got to say I had an inkling of respect for them just based on tenacity alone. I know it may be hard for my readers to believe, but I'm not the most approachable person you ever met. Ive got a pretty good size scar on my face, a permanent scowl and to be honest I look pissed off, even though I'm not. So when Opie and Howdy Doody failed to take my lack of interest and look of disdain seriously, it kind of tickled my funny bone.

I figured they would give up if I just kept walking so I set out around the block. I think I could have lost them but the dogs had to stop every 10 feet to sniff or piss. They weren't really pushy and mostly made small talk. What religion was I, etc. When we rounded the last turn and started down my street, I noticed one of them craning his neck and looking at the building on the far end of the block. A worried look came over their faces and they broke away from me at a pretty fucking brisk pace. They didn't say a word, not a goodbye or god bless, they just took off.

When I got to the end of the block they were standing at the curb looking up and down Armour road, for their bikes, that someone just made off with.

Soap and Suds Surrealism

Saturday I made a trip to the local laundry mat due to the washing machine in my building being out of order. I could have gone to one of the local hipster places that serve beer and have big screen tv, instead, I opted to go to the Wacky mat on 39th street west of Southwest Trafficway.

On first arriving I figured I had picked the right place. There was only one other person there, a late 20's early 30's something woman. She didn't seem crazy, and didn't omit any noxious odors. In fact she was a really good looking woman, coffee with cream colored skin, almond shaped eyes, the right bumps in all the right places and a v neck sweater that was so revealing I could see all the way to ........., well, you get the picture. So I'm thinking its not going to be so bad.

Across the street there is one of those tax places, a short pudgy guy is doing the Statue of Liberty bit, waving at cars as they pass by. After awhile he is joined by another Statue of Liberty, this one a woman. A guy in an Uncle Sam outfit is with her and carrying a chair. When they get out to the curb Uncle Sam puts the chair down and Miss Liberty takes a seat. WTF, since when does the symbol of Liberty and Tax preparation sit? Are they using handicapped or injured workers in the hope of flagging down some sympathetic person who just happens to be looking for someone to do his taxes? Maybe its a metaphorical take on the whole immigration debate since most of the customers coming in and out of the tax place seem to be of Hispanic dissent. Perhaps the people who own the tax place are members of the Minute Men and this is their way of saying, " enough already with your tired, your poor, Your huddle masses yearning to breath free, I need a break".

As I am sitting in one of those hard plastic Laundry mat chairs, looking at the twin Liberty's and glancing over at the Nubian laundry princesses twins hoping to see them liberated, in walks character number 3. A woman in her late 40's to early fifties with a price chopper grocery cart parked outside. She steps through the door with 2 pillow cases stuffed full of dirty clothes. She dumps both loads in to a single washer, crams them in so full that the lid barely shuts. She feeds the machine some quarters, and no soap. She the proceeds over to the television bolted to the wall and begins to carry on a lengthy conversation in fluent gibberish. This goes on for a few minutes while Foxy Brown and I exchange knowing glances that we are clearly in the presence of someone whose elevator is stuck between floors.

I make my way outside to have a smoke and to be close to my car in case the shopping cart lady goes crazy, pulls a meat cleaver from under one of the 4 sweaters she is wearing, and hacks Ms. Brown to pieces. Someone has to remain alive to call the cops and an ambulance, and I figure it may as well be me. Besides things are starting to pick up across the street at the tax place. Apparently in the world of big time advertisement and instant tax returns, the more people you can dress up like caricatures of patriotic symbolism the better. In the 5 minutes it took me to smoke, 2 more uncle Sam's and yet another Statue of Liberty appeared at the curb across the street. It was a giant bobble head mascot like Statue of Liberty. Just as things were picking up across the street, the crazy lady came out of the Laundry mat and went next door to the second hand children's store, talking to her imaginary friend all the way .

I went back inside and threw my stuff in to several dryers. After about 10 minutes or so the crazy lady came back with a newly acquired duckling. It was a stuffed toy and much to my dismay not a real duck. I guess she was in need of a well worn ,stained, stuffed duck, and really, who isn't? The crazy lady picked up her conversation with the duck, where she had left off from her earlier exchange with the television.

So there I sat, at 10 o'clock on a Saturday morning in a Laundry mat in midtown. To my left were waving Statues of Liberty, Uncle Sam's and one freakish looking ,wobble headed ,mascot like ,Statue of Liberty. Directly in front of me was a really nice display of cleavage, and to my right a crazy woman was talking to a toy duck. It was surreal, and the reason why I love living here. You just don't see this kind of shit in the burbs.