Funny Lou Reed story: when I was in college I had a band called Mona Gritch (I got the name from the Edward Gorey book The Loathsome Couple, which Amazon describes as "perhaps its author's most unpleasant book ever") and we were doing a sound check for a show at the Rathskeller (the CBGB's of Boston).  The stage lights were on us, and we couldn't see much of the room, and while we were running through a song, a guy in a long leather jacket showed up and listened to us next to the soundboard.  At the end he said, "that sounds pretty good."  Our bass player, an abrasive Japanese dude, shouted out "who are you?" The man yelled back, "I'm a recording artist!" We started another song, and the guy listened to most of it, and then disappeared back into the cold Boston night. At the end of the song  the sound engineer came jogging up to the stage and said,  "You guys know that was Lou Reed, right?"   I immediately ran outside to try to find him, but he was long gone, which in retrospect was a good thing; what would I have said to Lou without sounding like a jackass? 

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I love Lou, and I like how this encounter with him is emblematic of how I've always seen the guy; an unknowable and slightly menacing presence.  I really miss having him on this earth with us. 

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My friend Lizzie has some Lou stories that beat this one by miles, so the next time you see her ask about Mr. Reed's elevator etiquette.  I'll give you a hint - it sucked.