Bardstown Road. Tuesday Night. A Bob Denk Inquiry.

Posted: June 1st, 2010 | Filed under: Community, Culture, Ruminations | 1 Comment »

“Did you see that, man? Look! It landed all the way over there. From a sitting position.”

The kid is 13, 14 maybe, covered with tats, hanging with the outcasts on the outskirts of the gaggle of teens outside the Eastern Parkway Qdoba. His eyes betray the ragweed he’s smoked. He talks like it was real reefer.

His fellow brooders pay no attention. Except the black girl. “You can’t do that. It’s just not healthy.”

The basis for his boast is a looey he’s hocked 15 feet across the patio.

It’s the first day of vacation.

School’s out for summer/ School’s out forever

A redhead walks to the table with a purpose, tells him, “We’re movin’ on, douche bag. And you’re not invited.” She stomps away with a gang, doesn’t look back.

“You can come,” the boy in a whitey on a skateboard rumbling by yells to the hocker. “We’re doing it because we’re bored. Because we can. You might see some blood.”

The kid in the black “Keep Highland Weird” t-shirt scurries after. “A fight,” he asks?

“A rumble,” answers that redhead with the acned chest.

Is that Highland as in Highland Middle f/k/a Highland Jr. High?

Let’s give a cheer for Highland Jr. High/ In every sport we’ll do our best or die

I wonder what Mr. Sanders thinks from his viewing spot? He was principal when I went there.

Hell, I know what he thinks. Why isn’t that kid wearing a belt on his pants? That’s what he’s thinks while shaking his head at an alien world out of his time zone he can’t comprehend.

Oh dear Highland High School/ We always will love you/
No matter what happens/ We’ll always be true

The guy I’d really like to talk to at the moment is Bob Denk.

He owned the beatnik coffee shop up near where Wick’s is now. Topaz Emporium. Or was it The Zapot? Or both one after another? He was Kerouacian in a post-beatnik world.

So he was out of his time too. But not like Mr. Sanders.

What would Denk make of ever changing just the same as it ever was Bardstown Road on the first night of summer vacation 2010? The skate board shops? Packs of kids all talking on cellphones to somebodies who are somewhere else?

What would Bob Denk think of the nearly empty record shop? There was a time when all those girls just freed from the imprisonment of braces and homework, the ones now purposely tattered for their first night on the strip, would have been tie-dyed, inside the store, nodding their heads in agreement at the dude carrying on about “It’s A Beautiful Day.”

Instead there’s two guys — one white, one black and stylin’ with a toothpick and pork pie hat — in the Hip Hop section. And a fellow in a suit, trying to figure out which Jimmy Buffet album to buy?

And I’m there too. Watching all the foot traffic through the windows, tracking down Janelle Monáe, who, bless her Mr. Please Please Pleas-adoring heart, may or may not be the next big R & B thing, like my man James Bickers says. Or she may get swallowed up in all the noise.

And I grab Jeff Beck. The “Live at Ronnie Scott’s” album, where he plays with such exquisite passion and clarity it’s hard to listen and breathe at the same time. My guess is Denk would approve. Beck plays some Mingus on the disc.

And the new one from The National, which sucked me into its vortex at the listening station. They are to Cincy as My Morning Jacket is to Louisville. Except they had to move to NYC to make it happen.

It’s Bardstown Road. Tuesday night.

Summer’s here/ And the time is right/ For dancing in the street

The Spanish restaurant is empty as always. Down the street the line is long for burritos. Further down there’s a pizza war brewing.

Thin slice vs. thick.

Papalino’s vs. Impellizzeri’s.

“I’m an old school guy,” I tell the girl at the nouveau yogurt shop. “Whatever happened to chocolate and vanilla?”

She doesn’t understand irony. Would I like Original Tart or Acaiberry? I want to ask when tart became a flavor?

I leave it alone, allowing her to eventually figure out I get ten cents change when I hand her three bucks, a quarter and 3 pennies for a $3.18 tab.

The coffee shops are wireless, devoid of poetry readers. Would Denk understand?

Was there as much litter in the 60s?

It’s summertime.

Tuesday night.

Bardstown Road.

Ever changing. Just the same as it ever was.

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