Dave Alpert: I Know Where You’re Going with That

The band and I are ready to rock for the people–every Tuesday in September!  Toad is in Porter Sq, Cambridge.  There’s no cover and it’s a great little bar.  We’ve got some new songs, a new bass player and we’ve got you all night long.  The band goes on at 10pm, but we brought in all the early bands (see below), too, so come early and stay late!

These great bands start at 7:30pm

September 2: Abbie Barrett
September 9: Steve Brodsky
September 16: La Chusma (in Spanish!)
September 23: TBA
September 30: Liz Borden Band

It’s gonna be fun!  Hope to see everyone there.  Peace!

No.  I don’t.

The other day, I was sitting in the local coffee shop trying to get some work done.  I was sitting next to the bathroom.  A woman walked up to the door, tried the door handle and started pounding on the door.  I told her I thought someone was in there, and she looked at me strangely and marched away.

It got me thinking: is there ever a reason to knock on the door of a public bathroom?  I mean, if the door is locked, there are only 3 reasons.  1. the bathroom is occupied, and you’re going to have to wait. 2. the bathroom is out of order, or 3. you need to get a bathroom key from an employee.  None of these reasons requires any interaction with the person in the bathroom.  All knocking does is instill fear–like at any moment there’s gonna be a messy bathroom invasion–or cause the person to have “stage fright” and you’re gonna have to wait even longer.  I say, let the person be!

A few months back, I attended a show that was organized by Dave Godowsky.  Dave is a singer/songwriter who also plays in the Guns-N-Roses tribute band, Mr. Brownstone.  After a particularly sentimental set, where the regulars at the bar were being shooshed by the singer’s adoring fans, he turned to me and said, “OK. We’re gonna play some rock.”  I said, “So, people can talk?”  He replied, “That’s the definition of rock.” 

I saw Dave again last night–at a folk show–and he helped add to my little list.  So… without further ado…

Top 10 Signs You’re at a Folk Show in Cambridge:

10 - Everyone on stage (and in the audience) is wearing flip-flops.

9 - No one is swearing.

8 - No one is drinking.

7 - Lots of people are wearing hats …that were popular in the first half of the last century.

6 - CDs go for $15 instead of the standard $10 …but the covers are custom printed on brown sandwich bags.

5 - The singer just sang, “I want to graze on you” and no one (except for you) seems to care.

4 - Too much talkin’, not enough rockin’!

3 - The lead singer just introduced a song with, “Well, it’s wedding season again” and no one tried to beat him up.

2 - Everyone is really excited that the guy from Rounder showed up.

1 - And one word: Sssshhhhhhh!!!!!

Dear Coach,

A little over 2 years ago, I wrote this blog post stating my concerns about the children canning for change on the streets of Boston.  As recently as today, blog readers are still weighing in on the issue.  Can you or another representative from the running association help clear up some issues? 

Despite the fact that my post is one of the top search engine results for the running club, no one with any knowledge about the organization and its fundraising practices has come forward.  A representative of South End Baseball commented, doubting the legitimacy of the team.  A few kids claiming to be team members have commented–insulting the rest of people who have commented.  A former college track athlete weighed in.  But mainly, a few dozen concerned Bostonians have expressed their real worries–and some have even tried to take action beyond commenting on this blog.

Search engines do return race results for Boston Chargers runners.  Therefore, I believe there is a good chance the organization, in fact, exists.  However, many doubt that the kids on the streets are actually on the team.  And many are concerned that the fundraising practices–if they are in fact on behalf of the team–are unsafe.  Most importantly, if these children are not attached to the team, the city should shut down this operation.  If they are with the team, the city should work with the parents and organizers to find grants and other fundraising strategies.  It’s one thing for adults, who feel they have no alternative, to panhandle.  It is another thing to exploit young children and endanger their health and their lives.

We look forward to hearing from YOU.

A few days ago, I got onto the MBTA’s #1 bus headed into Cambridge, MA.  At the Hynes stop, the usual thirty five people–of varying shapes and sizes–boarded the bus.  As we barreled toward the Mass Ave Bridge, I heard this guy singing bad R & B music replete with melisma–a singing technique I despise–and lots of sour notes.  I realized this was not going to cease, and I was not going to be able to deal with this noise pollution all the way to Harvard Square.  I raced to strap on my iPod.

As I untangled my in-ear headphones–my saviors–I heard a voice say, “You shouldn’t keep those knotted up like that.”  I looked up to find the American Idol himself staring down at me.  I turned away and stuffed the buds in my ears.  Before I was wisked away by the dulcet tones of Band of Horses, I heard him say to his neighbor, “I can’t help but be offended.” 

I thought: OFFENDED?!  YOU?????  Let’s face it.  Last time I checked, the #1 bus was not a known Boston music venue.  I didn’t board the bus to catch this concert; I got on to catch a ride.  If anyone should have been offended, it was the other 35 innocents and I.  We were essentially being held hostage by Reuben Studdard, and had no way to change the channel. 

I could have really offended the guy, but I escaped instead.  The way I look at it, making an unsolicited public appearance is an act of bravery.  You have to be thick skinned enough to accept the consequences.  After all, he was attention seeking–and probably pissed that I wasn’t obliging him with any.  In any event, the next time I see that urban terrorist, I’m going to call homeland security.  Then, maybe he’ll really learn what it is like to be offended–or assaulted.  Remember Osama Bin Studdard: you reap what you sow!

I saw the sign
And it opened up my eyes
I saw the sign
                    –Jonas Berggren (Ace of Base)

Many streets in the Boston area are poorly marked or unmarked.  This is not one of them:

The sign seems pretty clear to me:

Oddly enough, I’ve still witnessed more cases of road rage at this intersection than any other in Boston or Cambridge.  A car will be waiting for the left turn signal in the middle lane–patiently and according to the letter of the law.  Unfortunately, the straight arrow turns green first.  Inevitably, some Masshole waiting behind him/her will start laying on the horn, gesticulating wildly and swearing their head off.  I recall two cases in which the driver of the first car was actually intimidated into driving straight, effectively missing their turn.

Actually, on second glance, the city fucked up this sign, too.  Ha.  The arrows on the street itself are correct.  But on the sign, the arrow to the right appears to be saying “right turn only”.  However, it should be straight and be saying “straight only”.  There is no street to the right–no place to turn right.  Go figure.  Let the road rage continue!

Sitting in a Thai restaurant the other day, I heard a woman ask the waiter for a pair of chopsticks.  I am always amazed by the patience and understanding of the Thai people.  If I was Thai and someone asked me for a pair of chopsticks, I would go into a rant about how “all Asian people look alike to you, huh?!”  Perhaps it is just ignorance, but I consider it at least mildly incensitive.  They don’t use chopsticks in Thailand, with the exception of with some noodle soups.  Many Americans assume they do, however, because after all, they’re Asian.

Does it ever occur to these people that in Vietnamese restaurants and Japanese restaurants place settings include chopsticks while Thai place settings always have forks and spoons?  Do they think they are just scatterbrained and forget the chopsticks?  Italian restaurants serve noodles with meat and Indian restaurants serve rice with vegetables and meat.  Yet, these same people don’t ask waiters in those types of restaurants for chopsticks.  Okay.  All this talk about good food is making me hungry.  I think I’m going to run and get some Japanese food–and use chopsticks.

PS: Is the Bedknobs and Broomsticks reference too subtle??

Approximately two years ago, BigBelly solar trash compactors started popping up around Boston.  According to this Boston.com news article, it was an initiative by Mayor Menino to combat the city’s problem with overflowing garbage cans.  “They need emptying only once or twice a day, not the 15 or more sanitation worker visits required by some downtown trash cans. They don’t spill. They smell less. And, they hold some 150 gallons of trash, about five times more than a standard city receptacle.”  And the inventor of the BigBelly is even from Jamaica Plain.

The idea is environmentally sound, too.  According to the BigBelly website:

BigBelly uses solar power for 100% of its energy needs. The unit takes up as much space as the “footprint” of an ordinary receptacle—but its capacity is five times greater. Increased capacity reduces collection trips and can cut fuel use and greenhouse gas emissions by 80%.

All of this sounds great.  It made me feel proud of the forward-thinking Boston city planners and politicians.  But walking down the street the other day, I saw a BigBelly with these words written on the side: This machine stole my job.  Maybe it’s because my current work contract is ending in a few days and I have no idea what I’m doing next.  But it makes me wonder how many sanitation workers lost their jobs–workers with mouths to feed and bills to pay.  It makes me wonder if any job is ever secure.  Anyway, I have to go look for work–again.

I admit it: I hate tattoos.  I don’t have any; I don’t plan on getting any; I don’t even like looking at them.  Maybe it’s because when I was a little kid growing up in Hull, MA, the only people with tattoos were war veterans, ex-cons, bikers and bikers’ girlfriends.  In the 80s, rock stars were just starting to sport them. 

Now, it seems like everyone is sleaved up with Tony The Tiger stripes or maps of the Cambodian jungle or sayings in foreign languages they don’t even know to be accurate–and could very well say something inane like, “The wash closet is down the hall. Don’t clog the toilet.”

Maybe it’s because I was raised Jewish.  In general, Jews believe that we’re God’s creations and have no right to deface one of his/her human creations.  I’m not a religious man, however, so this is really not my reason.  It’s more that during World War II, the Nazis tattooed Jewish prisoners both out of disrespect and to keep better track of all the Jews they were killing.  In fact, they used tabulation machines created by IBM to keep accurate counts.

I guess I just think that if within 100 years, an army uses tattoos to try and break your spirit and more effectively kill you, well, “in the parlance of our times”: Too soon!

Another reason I don’t like them is because I think the human body is beautiful–one of the most beautiful works of art ever created.  And I didn’t create me.  My dad has more of a right to tattoo me than I do.  Choosing to tattoo your body is like taking a Sharpie and drawing a moustache on the Mona Lisa because you think it will look cooler.

In the US, suicide is illegal.  I assume it is part of the same “I’m not my own property” argument.  I can’t kill myself, but I can vandalize myself.  Go figure.  I’m standing firm; I remain pure as the driven snow.

Update 7/28: I may not be right about the whole “suicide is illegal” thing.  Still, no tattoos!

So, I saw Chuck last night who informed me of another hate crime during that fateful Sally O’Briens show on July 5th.  I told him that I’ve been getting some good laughs out of the story, and he replied, “Did I ever tell you about the second part?  What happened next?”  I hadn’t heard this.

Apparently, there was a couple across from him from South America.  They, in fact, did hear me say “American songs”.  But the man erruped in anger, saying, “What?!  And I am NOT an American???”  So much anger!

After a tiny bit of research, I would say that the concensus in 2008 is that “American” refers to something or someone from the United States of America.  And even in its etymology, America is named after Amerigo Vespucci, the famed Italian explorer who supposedly was one of the first to reach the “New World”.  Imagine if I had said, “I’m gonna start off by playing some ‘new world’ songs.”  The whole frigging room would have been gunning for me!  “WHAT?!  I am from a different world???? Kill!  KILL!!!”