First and foremost-
I apologize to the two people who read my blog enough to realize it's been four days since I've updated...but what an epic four days it has been. I've spent a lot of time with the J.J.K. frolicking about Lakewood and causing general mayhem all over northeastern Ohio. I've also spent a lot of time with people I never thought I could waste my sleepless hours with. Call it irony or foreshadowing or whatever you want, but that includes Al. Tonight was Misdirected Aggression's last show as a band and of course as soon as I saw the event on Facebook, I hit "attending" and memorized the date. I figured at most, it would just be a great house show and an awesome way to end an era...but it was something more. Now I've always known that the house on Kling had some sort of magical ability- weather it was to bring people together at the right time or to act as a catalyst I'll never really know. But something about seeing that house for the last time brought back a wave of nostalgia that nearly knocked me over. I had been absent from the Kling house since May...maybe early June. I struggled to remember the last band practice I had attended and my mind came up blank...how could I have stayed away from Kling for so long? I ran up the steps, saw Mandi, and quite nearly knocked her off her feet. I hugged her and waved at Jeff until my eyes found Al. We observed each other for a moment, waved, and then I proceeded to walk outside and smoke a cigarette with the "K" of the J.J.K.- Allison. Misdirected continued to play their last set, and as something inside of me died, something else was reborn from the ashes. I felt...proud. Proud of the boys I'd known for so little time. The house had worked it's magic on me, and it was time to let it do the same for someone else. Misdirected Aggression is no more and the closure that came with their end is an utter relief. I will always miss the Kling house- all the memories associated with my time spent there are some of the best ever. There will always be pictionary, ciabatta bread, house shows, first kisses, and "come back" notes to revisit in my mind...and I will always have some Misdirected Agression for the rest of my life.
The moral of this story: the world is not waiting for three boys and a broken down van.
Until next time, stay classy kids.
Short Story: Diner
3 years ago