I was moseying down 8th Ave last night ignoring people and being invisible as Faster Pussycat’s Babylon churned through my earbuds. I hadn’t heard that song in a few decades and had to pull it up on YouTube. The last time I heard that song YouTube didn’t even exist. The internet did, but you had to access it with something like this:
As I walked and searched that tune out it dawned on me how weird it was that I could do that. Want to hear a song? No need to go to the record store and recite what few lyrics you could remember to the clerk hoping that he or she could identify it for you and take you to the shelf it’s stocked in. Just type it into your magic pocket computer and within seconds there it is. I love technology but sure do miss record stores. And records.
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Just as the horrible sounding reverb drenched Faster Pussycat snare drum (which was played only on the 2 and the 4, of course) started to get on my nerves I saw a boy walking toward me about a block up who was probably 9 or 10. He was alone and he had a cardboard box on his head with two tiny eye holes poked into it. As we walked closer to one another I saw there was writing on it. I couldn’t read it because I was too distracted by the fact that a lone boy with a cardboard box on his head was walking toward me. And he was walking flawlessly, too. The eye holes seemed a little too far apart to be of any use but apparently he could see just fine. He stopped at the corner, looked for cars, and crossed the street.
I never acknowledge people when I’m out walking with the earbuds in. I look right through them. I walk to give my inner space cadet some stage time. I couldn’t help but acknowledge Cardboard Box Head though. When we were about 10 feet apart I gave him a thumbs up. He thumbs-upped me back. Although I couldn’t see his eyes through those little holes I could feel that eye contact had been made. The writing on his otherwise blank cardboard face looked very intentional, almost as if it was out of protest. You don’t just go walking around Park Slope with a cardboard box on your head for nothing. I couldn’t focus on it enough to read it because I was too busy peering into his two dot eyes. Before I knew it Cardboard Box Head and I were getting further and further apart. I stopped and thought Okay.. what the fuck was that? I felt that I’d just crossed paths with a little genius. There were other people on the sidewalk but they didn’t even give him a glance or the time of day.
Was I the only one to appreciate the sheer awesomeness and originality of Cardboard Box Head? I’m sure he could have just as easily stayed back in the comfort of his home playing video games or screwing around on the computer, but nope. He opted to wander the streets of Brooklyn with a box on his head. Perhaps his recreational technology was confiscated as punishment and that’s why he was doing what he was. Perhaps the writing on his box-face said MY SHITHEAD DAD TOOK AWAY MY PLAYSTATION BECAUSE I DIDN’T CLEAN MY ROOM. Or, glass half full – maybe it said HAVE A NICE DAY. Or MIKE KRENNER WILL NOT BE ABLE TO READ THIS. I’ll never know. I don’t put dates on my drawings (it’s easy enough to figure that out via Instagram) but felt the need to date this one. Dear Cardboard Box Head: If you happen upon this journal entry, please send me an email and let me know what your face said on 6.29.2013. Please and thank you.
Perhaps some day Cardboard Box Head will be interviewed on a television show and talk about how when he was a kid he used to walk around his neighborhood alone with a cardboard box on his head. Who knows, maybe that will be his thing. Maybe he’s the son or a distant relative of Buckethead. I don’t know. I went home and drew him. Without further ado, I present you with today’s droring, “Cardboard Box Head”… thanks for making me smile and wonder, duderino.
