Yesterday afternoon, I had to get some large items from Queen Anne, so I decided to rent a Zipcar for a couple of hours.
When I got in the car, I fired up the engine, turned on the radio, then immediately turned the volume knob to zero. The previous driver had tuned the radio to some kind of dance/autotune affair, and it just wasn’t my thing. Not feeling like looking for a better station, I left the parking lot in pure silence. Sort of.
When I’m alone, be it in the shower, in the car, or in an elevator, I often sing to avoid being alone inside of my own head. Of course, I sing poorly, but when you don’t have an audience, it hardly matters.
For whatever reason, on this day, the first song that came to mind was ‘K Street’ by the Fastbacks. Even though this song is an old favorite, I’ve never attempted to sing it in any manner. It’s just too far out of my range.
This day was different, though. I decided to give it a shot. While driving down Pine Street, in my very best falsetto voice, I began warbling “I can’t believe how lonely it is here on K Street … there’s no one like me here on K Street … how lonely it is here on K Street today … today … todayayayayayaya today”.
Spotting traffic up ahead, I hung a right on Summit, at which point a pedestrian on the sidewalk caught my eye. It was a woman with a black t-shirt and jeans, and she had a haircut that looked very, very familiar.
I slowed down, squinted through the window, and sure enough, it was Kim Warnick. As in, Kim Warnick, singer of the Fastbacks, the woman who penned the lyrics “I can’t believe how lonely it is here on K Street … there’s no one like me here on K Street … how lonely it is here on K Street today … today … todayayayayayaya today”.
Imagine, if you will, trying to sing a 20 year-old song for the very first time, and then randomly encountering the artist who wrote it at the exact same moment … in a metropolitan area of 3 million people.
That’s some Twilight Zone stuff right there.
I tried to stop, but being slightly after 5:30pm, there was already a line of cars behind me. A wave had to suffice.
As I continued my journey to Queen Anne, I realized that my version of K Street didn’t sound half-bad. Perhaps Kim’s presence was a sign from God that he wanted to hear me sing it more often. After all, the guy is omnipotent, and he can hear us every time we sing to ourselves. He’s probably sick of listening to the same Lady Gaga tune butchered over and over in 200 different languages. He’s ready for some good old-fashioned Seattle pop-punk.
Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to figure out what Jessica Alba sings when she’s naked. Once I find out, I’m going to rent a Zipcar and drive around for ten or twelve hours while belting it out at the top of my lungs.
Wish me luck.