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

before

Four hours and many Guitar Hero World Tour appearances later…

after

I came home to find this lovely birthday gift from my roommates, Lou and Chris.  What sweethearts, huh?

First, a Red Sox game with my buds, Marc and John.  Now this.  What next?!

Today, my roommates took me out for a little birthday feast at Bugaboo Creek.  While I am not the biggest fan of Bugaboo Creek Steak House, it was convenient and full of meat.  Lou, Chris and I had some laughs and put our stomachs through their respective paces.  Groggy as hell, we awaited our check.

As we sat there, we heard this faint clapping from across the huge dining room.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a troop of different sized and shaped waiters and waitresses marching towards us–one tall sorority-sister-looking woman was fisting a giant stuffed moose puppet.  I had one thought and couldn’t help from letting it slip past my lips: OH, GOD!

Suddenly, we were flanked with no means of escape.  This meat-wielding Greek chorus started chanting some “Happy Birthday” cheer, which Lou speculated is sung so Mr. Bugaboo doesn’t have to pay any “Happy Birthday” royalties to ASCAP, BMI or SESAC.  The entire time I was transfixed on that moose head–for 2 reasons, really.  First, I couldn’t help but think that this was such a miserable part of the job, and I didn’t want my eyes to reveal the humiliation I felt for them.  Second, I was sitting next to a tall attractive woman with her hand up a moose’s ass.  Wouldn’t you watch?

Just when I thought that it couldn’t get any worse, the song ended, and the woman shoved the moose doll in my face and exclaimed, “Now, kiss the moose!”  Lou started yelling, “Kiss it. Kiss it!”  Chris was muttering, “I’ll kill you if you don’t kiss that moose.”  I reached around to the back of the moose’s head–visions of snotty-nosed kids licking it, herpes-riddled housewives smooching it, and the employees rubbing their junk on it in the back room–and went in for the kill.

As we drove home, my imagination took over and I started creating this futuristic sci-fi thriller that begins with the narrator saying, “In the year 2010, a Swine Flu pandemic gripped the world and changed humankind forever.  The original drug-resistant mutation was traced to a moose puppet at a Bugaboo Creek restaurant in Watertown, Massachusetts… chusetts… chusetts…”

I’d like to thank Lou and Chris in advance for any potential STD or incurable disease that comes my way–and for potentially bringing on Armageddon.  This is shaping up to be a memorable birthday week already–and the real day isn’t until Thursday!

As I have mentioned before, Espresso Royale Caffe in Boston–now separated from the original midwestern chain–is my favorite coffee destination.  In fact, I used to spend so much time at the cafe, I even once received mail there!  Since being acquired by Bagel Rising mogul Larry Margulies a few years back, and expertly managed into submission by GM Chris Dadey, the cafes have continuously improved in terms of service, atmosphere and product offerings. Their challenge, however, was to notch up the quality of their coffee.  While the expert baristas always did what they could with the coffee varieties and roasts available to them, the quality of the coffee itself was mediocre at best.  But July 2009 marked a decided move to offer the highest quality coffees available.  And who are the big winners?  We, the coffee drinking public!

The first big move occurred when Margulies bought the stores and started offering Bagel Rising bagels and signature sandwiches.  Next, they started offering both dairy and vegan pastry goodies from the Allston Cafe (which broke away from the Herrell’s chain in June) and now from Leo’s Bakery.

Then, there was the coffee, Jim’s Organic Coffee.  While Jim’s wasn’t horrible coffee, neither was it the stuff of world-class cafes.  I had suggested ERC to coffee aficionado friends in the past, all of whom gave the coffee poor marks.  Being coffee lovers themselves, I guess the ERC management agreed and severed ties with Jim’s this month (with some rumored drama which allegedly involved a physical altercation with Jim himself). 

I am happy to report that they chose their new coffee suppliers wisely.  Their espresso beans now come from Barismo of Arlington, MA and their coffees from Atomic Cafe Coffee Roasters of Beverly, MA.  So far, all the coffees and espresso drinks I have tried have been more complex, robust and consistently flavorful and not bitter.  Kudos to them (and woe is me, as I expect my caffeine intake will reach toxic levels in the coming months).

I highly recommend visiting one of their 3 convenient locations (286 Newbury St, 44 Gainsborough St near Northeastern or 736 Comm Ave near BU).

Contract writing jobs come in spurts.  Original music shows rarely pay.  So, over the past few years, I’ve had to adapt the way I live–i.e. living with roommates–and look for alternative ways to earn income like busking on the street.  Recently, I even tried applying for jobs that I haven’t worked in years.

For example, a few weeks ago, I took a look at jobs available at local Whole Foods markets.  I know a number of former employees–all of whom had great work experiences there and highly encouraged the move.  Having worked on a farm, owned an ice cream truck, worked in commercial kitchens at summer camps and as a short order cook for 4 years, I figured I was a shoe-in for the “prepared foods” retail position posted for the Brighton store.  I sent in a resume, filled out an application and even shared my philosophy on exemplary customer service.

Now, like I said, writing work comes in spurts and last week brought a flurry of interviews, proposals and work meetings.  Yesterday, I started working on two new projects and all but forgot my applicant status in Brighton.  That is, until I returned home and found this in my inbox:

 

Dear Dave:

 

Thank you for your interest in the Prepared Foods Retail position at Whole Foods Market in 15 Washington St Brighton, MA 02135 US. We have reviewed your submission and application, carefully considered your qualifications, and have decided to continue to pursue other applicants for this position who more closely match the needs of the position…

 

Thank you again for your interest in Whole Foods Market and best of luck in your career search.

 

Sincerely,

 

Whole Foods Market Recruiting Team (North Atlantic Region)

I’m not particularly disappointed about not being hired.  I don’t think that my resume clearly demonstrates a desire to cling to a prepared food counter job with dear life.  But I was completely horrified by the sentence, “We have…decided to continue to pursue other applicants for this position who more closely match the needs of the position.”  Pursue applicants for the position who more closely match the needs of the position?  Really? REALLY??!!!

While I may not be right for slinging couscous at the Whole Foods  deli counter, I’m pretty sure that I can sling some less awkward sentences.  So, if someone from the North Atlantic Region Recruiting Team sees this post, please be advised that I will be available for contract writing work on or before September 1st.

A few weeks ago, I was driving through Watertown with my roommate, drummer, and man-about-town–Chris Anzalone.  The car in front of us had a vanity license plate that just said “PASHI”.  So, as we drove, we let our imaginations run wild.  In our heads, Pashi was some sort of anti-Fonzie.  You know.  The Fonz from Happy Days…

While The Fonz was cool, got all the girls, helped his friends out of any situation, Pashi is the exact opposite.  Pashi can’t get laid to save his life, tries to be smooth but comes off as smarmy, and he’s entirely oblivious to the people around him.  “Ayyyy.  It’s Pashi!” I guess in my head, Pashi also kind of looks like Beni, the wimpy thief from the 1999 version of The Mummy.

So, you may be wondering why I’m sharing this tale of 2 juvenile musicians concocting stories about some fictitious character named Pashi.  Well, as opposed to Fonzie, who rode a motorcycle, Pashi drives a station wagon.  And just today, I spied Pashi again–this time turning into the 7-11 in Watertown.

Ay, It’s Pashi!

So, who is this man of mystery?

Yesterday, I was speaking with a friend and old colleague who asked me how I felt about the anniversary of the day POPstick died (February 14th, 2005)–or at least the day most of the employees in Boston’s Fenway office were laid off in one felled swoop.  Funny how Valentine’s Day will never have the same meaning again.  I wrote this post recounting the fantastic story of the layoff a few years back.

Great to know that almost all of us have moved on to do great things with our creativity (even if some of us are a whole lot poorer).  And many of us are still close friends.  So, happy anniversary everyone!

Let’s face(book) it: MySpace is a dying online civilization.  And it’s not just because of the advent of facebook, a social netowrking site that is so far ahead in terms of features–especially ones that have revolutionized networking, socializing and even promoting.  It’s because MySpace has ceased to be an actual community.

 I have been thinking about this a lot recently as I have been getting more and more friend requests from bands–even fairly local bands–that don’t even put up any pretense of being interested in my music or actually networking with me.  I joined MySpace almost 4 years ago to join a community that was supportive of music, promote my music and to socialize.  This is no longer part of MySpace culture.

In the beginning, it was fun to find other bands I knew and connect online.  It was also useful to have an easy way to let people hear my music.  Even then, many bands had very aggresive ways of promoting.  While this was not my style, I only frowned on it for certain transgressions.  For example, I never got used to having another band–even a friend’s band–hijack my comments section with an annoying banner promoting their show.  It is MY comments section; you’re supposed to leave comments about me, not about you.  Still, at first, even random band friend requests were often accompanied by a separate message saying something like, “I checked out your music because I found you [insert how] and it would be fun to play together sometime.”  I used to find bands and do the same.  And, when I would receive requests, I almost always  listened to the other bands’ songs.  That’s what being part of a music community is all about. 

Fast forward to today…  This week, I received two friend requests on MySpace that included personal messages (a fairly new feature) that said something like, “We are a band from Lynn.  Check out our new live recordings from The Burger Shack in 2008.”  Again, what about me?  Fine. Use MySpace to promote.  But if you’re going to friend request me, why not make even a small attempt to become a friend and show interest in someone other than yourselves.  What they did was the equivalent of walking up to a stranger on the street and asking for a dollar.  Sadly, just like when I’m confronted with a ton of people begging for money, it also makes me resentful and unresponsive. 

So now, I am part of this crumbling MySpace society.  I will accept the requests because there is a small chance that someone will discover my band through their page.  However, I am going out of my way to NOT click the link and listen to their music.  Now, I have become a self-serving, dishonest, disingenuous member of the community, too.

MySpace is still a useful tool.  It is still the primary site I use to promote my music–and especially where I send people to hear my music.  It is still where I send booking agents to go to check out the band.  Still, I no longer use it for actual networking, socializing or finding community.  When I am on MySpace, I feel like those villagers being led through that large Mayan city–infested with disease, selfish hoards, conmen–and I am disgusted with that that society has devolved into.  I just see a dying social network that is nothing more than my electronic press kit.

I was buying a little multi-grain roll the other day, and I was reminded of a trip I took to the bakery with my good friend Allison many years ago.  What prompted this recollection was the fact that I was using a piece of wax paper to remove the roll from the bin at the store.  I was at a crossroads: discard the wax paper or toss it in the bag with the roll.

Now let’s rewind.  Probably 10 years ago, Allison and I were at a bagel bakery.  We were watching the guy behind the counter conscientiously use a piece of wax paper to gently toss the bagels into the bag.  You see, at bakeries, wax paper is the first line of defense against the spread of disease–protecting the bagels from all the nose picking, butt scratching, sweat wiping, door knob touching and everything else we do that is human.  But when the 13th bagel (baker’s dozen) went in the bag, so, too, did that piece of wax paper.  I saw the horror on Allison’s face, her flailing arms out in front of her.  NOooooooo!!!!!

Those bagels were now swimming in the very sea of germs the wax paper was meant to protect them from.  That wax paper was crowd surfing across all the bagels; every bagel wanted to touch the rock-n-roll wax paper punk as it floated by.  Allison looked on, disgusted and broken.  We discussed the wax paper in depth.  While we did eat the bagels–toasted–she did mention something to the guy.  And I think of this visit to the bakery every time I watch the wax paper go into the bag.  It’s sort of like correctly and skillfully using a condom, and then, after sex, leaving it inside.  But I digress.

This was a world Allison took very seriously, and more than a pet peeve.  In fact, her father had opened the first bagel bakery in Greensboro, NC.  For years, the bakery was one of the most celebrated in the South.  That all ended when Einstein Brothers, Bruegger’s and other chains all decended on Greensboro.  Of course, the final nail in the coffin was when Dunkin Donuts and other coffee chains started pushing bagels as well.  Her dad probably woke up in cold sweats hearing the announcer from Mortal Kombat command “Finish him!” as Fred, the Dunkin Donuts baker, dealt a crushing death blow by blinding him with a scalding cup of coffee and cracking his skull with a chocolate glazed.

Oh, and what did I do in the end with my own piece of wax paper?  I threw it out, of course.  Who the hell knows where my hands have been?!

Correction 8/31/08: Finagle-a-Bagel was not among the bagel chains crushing the little guys down South, only around here.  Long live Bagel Rising! And my main point was that in the past 10-20 years, large bagel chains started springing up across the US, forcing traditional bagel bakeries–unable to compete with their buying power, marketing dollars and automated conveyor belt, buzz saw bagel cutters–to close their doors. 

Last week, two of Boston’s most talented musicians and positive forces in the music community lost their home to fire.  Fortunately, John and Scott Aruda made it out alive–but with just their horns and the clothes on their backs.  Last night, a host of talented friends came together at Atwood’s in Somerville, MA for an impromptu fundraiser.  There is a larger one planned for next month, but friends wanted to help out with a little immediate relief.  Here are some highlights of the show:

John and Scott

Tim Gearan, Christian McNeil, Sean Staples, Lou Ulrich, and Billy Conway (of Morphine) in back

Christian McNeil & Jimmy Ryan

And there was more than just great music…

Vanessa… Where is This Going?

I See…

Yup…

Me, Barely Paying Attention

It was also a night about great friends of the music community…

Sean and Maggie

Me and Abby

Friends and Fans

Still, mainly it was about the music–and the amazing Boston/Cambridge/Somerville music community…

The Band

The real benefit is scheduled for September 24th at Johnny D’s in Somerville, so mark it down and spread the word!