For today's Sunday stroll, I was on the alternate McKinley Park walk. I like to change up my walks between both Capitol and McKinley parks, as the perimeters of both are great places for a brisk walking (or if you prefer, running) workout.
The walk to McKinley Park from my place is roughly about eight blocks more distance than the edge of Capitol Park, and the shaded areas between home and McKinley tend to be less, which is not to say that there isn't plenty of tree covering; at least there is much of it in the Midtown area of the trip. And on top of that, walking down J Street is so much more noticeably pleasant when it's not packed with drunk suburbans and merch tables like it was just the night before for the monthly Second Saturday fiasco.
Gosh darn it, I just like the simple pleasure of walking around McKinley. There are so many memories here for me which are packed into this relatively small parcel.
Just days after moving to Sacramento from Boston with my first wife in 1984, I saw my first local show outdoors right here in this park. Let's see if I can run it clear from memory: I believe that the line up of bands that day were Danny Poo & the Roto Doggies, Sacriledge, the Groovie Ghoulies, The Lamos, and the Hot Spit Dancers. I met so many people at this show who I would befriend, play music with and swill down generous amounts of drugs and alcohol with (much of it nearby next to the tennis courts at night.) On top of that, an old band I sang with, Industrial Hate, played at the Clunie Clubhouse next to the library building. And I married my second wife in the rose garden.
None of the bands, not to mention neither of the marriages, exist any longer, but the thing that stands constant is all those things happening in that one small piece of Sacramento. The question that remains: In the story of my life, does McKinley Park represent a mysterious center of change and influential force or is it just a place where things go to simply occur and then die? The question, I'm afraid, will never be answered, but my experiences with this place over the years would probably make one Hell of a screenplay.
(IMPORTANT NOTE OF GUIDANCE: This post is but one in a series called THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™. For those of you who are scratching your head right now and saying to yourselves, "What the fuck is he trying to prove?", Click Here, Pilgrim)
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