Let's talk about a pocket. This is a safe zone right? Ok, good (whew).
About a year ago, I had purchased a hoody at Nordstrom Rack in Seattle that has since become my go-to garment of choice in colder whether. It's made by a company called TRIPLE 5 SOUL based in NYC and sadly probably no doubt made by hands too young and too underpaid to do such work (consumer guilt purged). It is gray, has elbow pads, and has a tendency to smell like mildew if not sufficiently dried all the way when taken of the dryer. Like in any relationship, you learn each others tendencies over time.
The other day, wifey was making me a toasted cheese sandwich when after I noticed I was getting hot, I unzipped my hoody to find a small pocket lining the inside that I had never seen before. I laughed at it's tininess and pointed it out to her.
"What do you think this is for?" I asked.
"I don't know," she said. "It's to small to hold anything, I almost feel sorry for it."
It was easy to feel sorry for it. The unpretentious pocket looked measly when compared to it's overbearing brothers on either side of it. This pocket was the underdog obviously, and we continued to eat and chuckled off and on about the randomness of this runty pocket I had failed to notice until now.
A couple of days later I asked her again.
"Seriously," I asked. "What is this for? This is so weird."
"Maybe it's for dreams," she said. "Maybe it's for dreams, hopes, rainbows, and tears. Oh, and secrets too. Definitely for secrets."
Sarcasm in the face of desperation was not what I was looking for. This pocket wasn't for anything, but if it was for anything she was probably right about secrets. Obsessiveness was kicking.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago (maybe it was lack of sleep or too many multivitamins) when I was daydreaming in the shower before flying out to San Francisco. I do a lot of thinking in the shower and that's where I've come up with what I feel have been my hookiest songs...to the dismay of our water bill. If the money coming in from what I dream up in there one day equals the money going out on a monthly basis, then I will be making that my office. Guests can pee outside.
Getting back on track here (sorry), I was standing in the shower thinking. I was thinking about the pocket randomly when I had what some might call (and I call those people the voices) a "Eureka" moment. How could I have not realized this before? The pocket's name was Frank.
Time elapsed in shower: 10 minutes.
Frank was smaller that any of the other pockets because when he was being stitched the sewing machine broke. On a schedule and needing to get production back on track, the shift manager decided that the hoody in question would just have a smaller pocket on the inside lining instead of a normal one.
Time elapsed in shower: 22 minutes.
How about we bring unresolved childhood issues into this one as well? Well ok, the other pockets picked on him because he was smaller than the rest. A kind of "Ruldolph" for the fashion industry set if you will. With a heart of gold like that, wouldn't there be a single soul who had Frank's back? Oh yeah, that would be his girlfriend, the zipper. More on that later...
Time in shower elapsed: 35 minutes.
I also started to think that if Frank was a cartoon character he would need to have a opening theme song, I mean, right? Nothing really much to think about, just tell it like it is. What was Frank's story? This is what I came up with...
(slowly building jazz-style ride cymbal tapping)
"Born in a sweat-shop in east Mumbai,
The sewing machine broke when he was just an inch-high.
The Boss said, "I HAVE NEVER SEEN A POCKET SO SMALL!",
so he stitched 'em up quick and sent him off to the mall.
That's where I found him hanging; bought him into my life,
now he's here right at my home with me, my dog, and my wife.
He's not much bigger than a baby's nose, he's FRANK...THE POCKET!"
Time elapsed in shower: 42 minutes.
In little under 45 minutes, my psychosis had taken me from modest pocket to full-fledged cartoon merchandise empire (I can't help it, I'm my step-fathers son).
Hoping that wasn't a too scary and moving on, I ran out of the shower embarrassingly excited to tell wifey about the potential regarding our strange little find.
"Guess what?" I asked. "You remember the pocket right?"
"Yeah, what about it?" she asked.
"Well, his name is Frank and I even wrote a jingle for him".
"NO." she stated. "That is too much. You're done."
Honestly I was far from it and couldn't wait to tell KK partner Jim and our traveling companions all about it at the risk of blank stares and friendly if reserved humoring.
"You're gonna bug the shit out of everyone this weekend aren't you?" she asked convinced it was fact.
Next week? Meet Frank via the artistic vision of Laurie B!
Also, I'll be playing this Saturday night, March 14th, at the KISS CAFE in Ballard. This will be of the solo-acoustic sort but not of the "staring at the ground playing slow songs for an hour" sort...you know how we roll. Patrick Porter will be opening at 8:00 with a rare acoustic set not to be missed, and I'm looking forward to giving some love to my solo material with a few Collider and KK tunes thrown in to spice it up. What? You like Cyndi Lauper too? This night might just be for you then...:)
Click this link to get your "Wu Name" and leave me a comment telling me what it is!