Notes From Das Boot 4

5/13/02 Providence
We played Albany or I should say just outside Albany in a strip mall. Shitty club, shitty crowd, pretty much a mind numbing show. Local openers Pleasure Crush sucked out what little life there was in the crowd by doing horrible, ponderous versions of Beastie Boys songs while leaping about the stage. “WE NEVER DO WELL IN THE NORTHEAST” became kind of a nervous mantra as most of the shows up here sucked. Our next show was at another strip mall this time “just outside of “ Manchester, New Hampshire and was more of the same. The house lighting guy was an hour late and then told me that the lights and the lighting board were fucked and he thought I could fix it. I thought he was joking until I looked into his dead uncomprehending eyes and realized that he wasn’t capable of joking and then I wanted to kill him. Cooler heads prevailed and they got a new lighting board, something along the lines of “My First Lighting Board” but fuck it, it worked. The crowd was sparse but into it, so it wasn’t a total wash.
9/7/98 Springfield Mo.
The last of four radio sponsored shows this was by far the worst. The dump (30 minutes from Branson) we played at was an abandoned drive-in, with two stages set up. Production and catering were shitty, the field was real dusty with a lot of scrub brush and every step seemed to cause a bunch of locusts to fly up. Ten or twelve B-level bands played (ie: Brother Cane, Local H, Stabbing Westward). Anyhow we played at 3pm so there was no lights and I was on stage. This girl, skinny, toothy, Midwestern, washed out looking is pressed up against the barricade with a bunch of drunken idiots. She tries to get (the singer) Dave’s eye by tugging at her black bikini top. Dave’s not noticing as he’s working the 5,000 potential fans. Halfway thru the set, the girl in a last ditch effort to get noticed gets on somebody’s shoulders to crowd surf. As she was right in front to of Dave, she took off her top and with Laurel & Hardy like timing she was immediately tossed, handed thirty feet stage right over to the barricade and security. She was covering up in a mummy like fashion, and I didn’t see her again

I Like Records 6

hitler

hitler

hibbler

hibbler

Al Hitler
Middle aged guy, he’s a regular, looks like a scrawny version of Johnny Ramone and usually asks for oldies. Today it was Vaughn Monroe and Al Hitler. “I’m looking for Unchained Melody by Al Hitler.” “Are you sure it’s Al Hitler? ‘cause there’s a guy named Al Hibbler who had a hit with Unchained Melody.” “No, no I’m sure it’s Hitler. That’s what the guy on the radio said.” “Yeah, but Al Hibbler did the same song that you say Al Hitler did, and there’s no listing for Hitler.” “I’m sure it’s Hitler, whenever they play that song I listen real slow and the D.J. always says Hitler.” “Look man, I don’t know any performer who calls themselves Hitler, you know the war and everything.” “mmmmm…I still think it’s Hitler.” “Well we’re fresh out of Hitler, sorry.” “well, you say a guy named Hibbler did it? Maybe that’ll be o.k.” aaauughh!

Notes From Das Boot 3

4/14/01 Hartford
Loaded in at 9am this morning, well more like 10am as we left late from Buffalo (the other white meat). Unfortunately the show isn’t until 9pm tonight. Today’s comedy routine is another radio station extravaganza, six bands (us, Buckcherry, Taproot, Asspearl, Skrape, and Douche) and some kind of a local business fair. Booths selling or hawking everything from cell phones and Marine recruitment to tattoos and piercings. I have no idea why we had to load in so early, the band doesn’t have to be here until 7:30 tonight. We’re left with a shit dressing room and no shower and shitty catering with really horrible coffee. On the plus side our new stereo is really loud and the hypnotic tones of Godspeed You Black Emperor is drowning out the proceedings, so it’s almost like I’m home if home was a giant empty room with shitty plumbing.
7 HOURS LATER
Yeesh, this is sucking big time. The place is rotten with knuckle draggers, ne’er do wells, and other assorted scum. Posse’s of drunken staggering mullets. The tattoo booth’s are crowded with ugly, stupid people getting bad, ugly tattoos. Backstage is no better, unknown opening bands parading around the catering area with ripe girlfriends who are wedged into tight clothing. The girlfriends are flirting with members of more well known bands trying to “trade-up” as their boyfriends swagger around cocky and oblivious. The tour is still shaky and a most of it hasn’t been sorted out yet. There’s a lot of tension between the crew and (tour mgr.) Tony or as he’s been nicknamed “Craven Morecox”. Ugh.

Shit Chef 2

Less Than Professional:
1) A restaurant where I worked got a really nice review but the bulk of the article was praising our pastry chef. This made myself and the other cooks insanely jealous. Being childish and jealous is a large part of a cooks makeup, this is usually heightened by drink. So to get back at the pastry chef who’s only crime was to be good at his job, I bent back the cardboard cake circles his cakes were resting on and stuck olives up into his cakes. Customers were more dismayed than annoyed and the pastry chef was asked not to experiment with olives in any more of his cakes.
2) I wrote “fuck you” with the small lobster legs on a ten pound stuffed lobster that was ordered five minutes before we closed. The waiter got stiffed on a tip and I gave him a steak to make up for it.
3) I substituted a breaded piece of cardboard for the veal in a veal parm that was sent back three times. Nothing was wrong with the first two and I was betting they wouldn’t touch the third one, luckily I was right.

Apples (honorary I Hate Me)

George "the Animal" Steele

George "the Animal" Steele

Curly Joe Derita

Curly Joe Derita

There’s a farm market called Delicious Orchards near where I live. They have good produce but it’s expensive and shopping there is annoying. Every now and again I’ll go and pick up a bunch of good fruit and vegetables, more than we would normally eat. It’s a weird theory based on osmosis that through the very act of buying the good food I’ll get the benefits of it, even if I don’t eat it.
I got there in the afternoon and it was rotten with people. I was picking out some apples when this big goon who looked like a cross between George “the animal” Steele and Curly Joe Derita (the last Curly) pushed my cart out of the way and spit out a pit or a core of whatever piece of fruit he just stole and ate. I gave him my best “Whatthefuck” look and he stared at me like a retarded child and stumbled off. A minute later I saw him at the free sample apple cider table and he filled up the tiny paper cup about 10 times and drank like a man at an oasis. I picked out the rest of my food and navigated through doddering oldsters and annoying children with parents. I got to a register that looked like it had the shortest line. Well, the line was short but the annoyance was long. The only customer in front of me was checking each item for accuracy, “Did you get that, they’re Gala apples, a dollar forty nine a pound.” She was a hippie-ish earth mother type with an older woman who had a wheel chair but preferred to stand and they were arguing over pretty much everything, “Where are the pears? I don’t see the pears.” “We have pears at home.” “Those pears are mealy and not fit to eat.” Add to this a toddler who was going through the already packed groceries, throwing them around and a teenage girl who was useless in controlling the baby “…stop,…stop…don’t go through the bag…stop…”. As I was waiting and trying not to lose my mind I saw this guy standing at the front of the store. A tall slack jawed type, the kind of guy who would always need a shave. He was staring off into space chewing on a toothpick and he had a bright red shirt that had two pictures. The first said “scratch” and was a picture of a monkey scratching his ass, the second said “sniff” and had the monkey smelling his finger. Then I noticed he was smelling his finger. I finally got out of there and as I was heading back to my car I almost got hit by a speeding car going the wrong way through the parking lot. As I was cursing the old people in the car I noticed they were serene and oblivious like the car knew where they were going and they were just along for the ride.

I Like Records 5

Wheelchair Guy
I got a call from somebody selling records, “Yeah, I got 10, no 12, no no 20 crates of records. All good stuff, well not all great but some great, pretty great, yeah great. Do you want ‘em, do you wanna check ’em out?”
“Sure bring them down, I’ll look at them.” Now about half the time these people don’t come down to the store, I was guessing this was one of them. It was not.
About an hour later while I was outside talking to my wife on the phone this old, smallish, crazy looking crippled guy whizzed by on a motorized wheelchair. I told Carrie I was glad he wasn’t going into Jacks. About ten minutes later, the guy whizzes into the store and asks for me. “yeah, I called about the records.” I don’t see 20 crates of records, I don’t see any records. All I see is a crazy nightmare in a wheelchair. “Alright there young rocker, where are these records you called about. Are they in a van or something?” “Look in the bag behind my seat. “O.K. what am I looking for.” “You’ll see it.” I don’t see anything except a couple of raggedy LP’s , a Moody Blues, Meatloaf, and Jimi Hendrix-Smash Hits. “These beat up records? I thought you had 12 crates” “You see that Hendrix, I bet you never seen that.”  “Yeah, I see it kind of a lot and it’s usually in better shape.” “That record? That Hendrix record? You never seen that one, that’s worth, umm… five thousand dollars.”  I look closer at it, just to make sure I didn’t miss anything. It was scratchy and the cover was split. “Yeah, it’s not worth five grand.” “I want four thousand dollars for it, it’s worth five thousand.” “I’ll give you a dollar for it.” “I’ll take two thousand dollars.” “Look man, I’m wanted back on planet earth so good luck with the Hendrix record.” The “I’m wanted back on planet earth” line is from Annie Hall and I try to work it into any applicable situations. Wheelchair guy stayed by the front counter and kept saying to anyone who would listen, “They offered me a buck for a five thousand dollar record, FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS.” It was a dicey situation. I didn’t want to throw a crazy wheelchair guy out of the store but the customers were giving him a wide berth and he was completely in the way. I had to do something, I was hoping he would vanish or explode or go elsewhere, anywhere as long as it was far, far away. As I was hiding in the back being gutless, he bought a copy of John Lennon’s Walls and Bridges on CD, “You never see this anywhere.” And he was off.

Notes From Das Boot 2

12/4/03 London

A short two show, six day (including flight days) trek to England. A lot of tension. For me it’ll be over when the show starts Sunday night and hopefully all my shit will work. The band although playing well hasn’t gelled into an actual band yet, right now it’s just five guys playing songs instead of one band. Oh well, so far so good (I’m knocking on wood).

I found a candy today by Nestle and it’s called “Drifter” which is a somewhat dark name for a candy bar. What’s next? “Stalker!, the snack that stays with you all day…even if you don’t want it to.”

6/20/04 Weisbaden

Drunk german guy ogling Phil’s girlfriend, Tara. Ed told the german that she was dating someone from the band. His reply, “Oh well, she is cute but she belongs to the team”

4/19/01 Springfield (home of the Simpsons)

We’ve been on tour for a little more than a week and the bus has become a plague ship.  A few days ago Arnold (aka: Goggles Piasano) got deathly ill, some kind of cold augmented with some horrible swollen gland thing.  He was appropriately treated like a leper and everyone was scared they’d be next, even though we were assured that is was viral in nature and no-one would catch it.  Three days ago Jon and Dave both got the cold.  Jon has been coughing on everyone on purpose and Dave his face red and puffy is communicating in a series of grunts.  This morning I woke up coughing as did Ian or as Dan calls him E-Dog or Ian Pee’n (Ian’s childhood taunting name). We’re all doomed.