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

Despite the fact that I have very vivid dreams, I rarely remember them.  So, when I woke up from this bizarre dream, I ran to the computer to record it for posterity. 

I have no idea what any of this means, but in the words of Dr. Pearl in Waiting for Guffman, “I need to entertain.”  I thought you’d find it amusing. 

So, here it goes…

I arrive home and run up the front stairs. I unlock and open the front door and enter the hallway. My door is directly on the right. I always make a point to close my door, so I am surprised to find it slightly ajar and the light on inside my room.

I’m wondering, “What the fuck?!” Just then, I see a small black kitten in the doorway. I am a little startled at first, but recognize it as the one I saw near our porch a few days before (for real).

I think, “Terrific, there’s probably a dead mouse behind the door.” I enter the room to find that there is not only no dead rodent; there’s no bed. There’s just an empty space where my bed is supposed to be—nothing there but blue rug.

I go out to see if anyone is around and call to my roommate, Lou. Suddenly, I see him in the shadows of the hallway, sitting in an old armchair, pulling a blanket off of him. (This part is unrealistic because it’s a tiny hallway.) I start to say, “What the fuck,” but my words are muffled as he hurls the comforter at me, and I catch it with my arms, chest and head.

Again, I am thinking, “What the fuck?”

As those words finally start to actually leave my mouth, however, I pause because I realize we are not alone. There are 3 or 4 little children running around, ranging in age from 2 and 5 years. They are dressed like little kids do for the beach or slumber parties— oversized t-shirts that go down to their knees and big socks bunched up at their ankles. They are all jumping around the stairs and hallway, playing, and amusing themselves. I start to think that maybe they’re his cousins or something.

Again, I begin to say, “What the fuck?”

Lou interrupts, “Daycare, dude.”

I wake up.

WHAT THE FUCK?!!!

As a kid growing up in Hull, MA, in addition to the Ice Cream trucks bringing delightful treats to us kids, there was this older Jewish man who roamed the beach with garbage bags full of cheap clothing (bringing delightful treats to all the old ladies).  Nathan got his name because a shmate is a rag or something useless in Yiddish.  Anyway, he would walk up to groups on the beach and start pulling stuff out of his bags.  The women would start to haggle.  It was like a game in which they would try to get the best deals possible.  Everyone seemed to win.

Back then, I took for granted how COOL that was.  It was like a bit of the old country in 1980.  Before e-commerce sites,  craigslist and dollar stores there was a real merchant bringing cheap goods to the people.  You could come back from the beach with a tan AND a pair of socks.  Ah, simpler times

My first band started out as an acoustic trio called Shake.  We were 2 guys and a girl. we all sang; the other guy and I played acoustic guitars.  Eventually, we morphed into a full rock band–a little folky, a little jammy.  It wasn’t my favorite band stylistically, but I wrote the songs, we had lots of fun, got people out to shows and played some of the coolest rooms in Boston at the time, including Mama Kin, the Tam, Harpers Ferry, and of course, the staples like the Middle East and TT’s.  We put out our first and only full-length CD around 2001 (right after we broke up).  I remember the excitement of hearing Birthday Song on WBCN and seeing our CD on the shelf in Newbury Comics.

I walked into Newbury Comics the other day to sell some old CDs.  Dave’s tip of the day: if you’re ever short on cash, Newbury still buys CDs, and you can still get a few bucks for CDs probably just gathering dust in storage.  In any case, I walked down one of the rock aisles and found the slot where our CDs used to be.  They stopped carrying our CD long ago, but years later, they’re keeping the slot alive for our comback!  Check this out…

Nice!!!

Despite the rainy weather, I had a fun day on the South Shore with my brother last weekend.  We grew up in Hull, MA, and we spent a good chunk of the day walking around, checking out our childhood house (which my dad is selling) and talking to people around town.  Crossing the border into Hingham, I asked Scott if he’d recently been to World’s End, a park and conservation area on a peninsula in Hingham that is part of the Boston Harbor Islands National Recreation Area.  Since we were about a quarter mile from the turn-off leading to the park, my brother turned and we started heading down there.

It had been ages since I’d been to World’s End–probably since I was in junior high school–and I was pretty excited to check it out.  On the way there, however, my brother suddenly slammed on the breaks.  He then kicked the car into reverse and started driving back about half a block.  Just as I was about to ask him what the hell he was doing, the car came to a screeching halt, and he exclaimed, “Wild turkeys, dude!”  It was true–and there were lots of them.  We spend the next 20 minutes hanging out with the turkeys.  These photos are compliments of my brother, Scott.

 
Lots-O-Turkeys

The Strutting Turkey

Bionic Turkey

Even Turkeys Got to Eat!

Scott and I never made it into the park because the next rain storm came rolling through.  But, hey, we did get to check out some wild turkeys.  My friend Abby later pointed out, “Fowl are just plain mean.”  She was right, too; those tukeys were pretty nasty.  Still, they are damn fascinating to watch.

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. 

What can I say?  I’m feeling a bit nostalgic.  The past two years have been filled with fun, friends and a lot of rock and roll.  This Dave Alpert music video salutes all my friends, bandmates, fans and the people who have made my life so worthwhile and filled with love and fond memories.  The wine photo is from a previous videoblog you should check out called The Wine Exhibit.  The song is called “Ties That Bind” from my Peace of Mind EP.  Enjoy!

   

Click To Play

 

 

 

Growing up one of only a few Jewish kids in Hull, I was no stranger to anti-semitism.  There was the time that I walked into the cafeteria in 7th grade with another Jewish kid and got beaned by a handful of pennies.  Then, in 9th grade, my English teacher announced a quiz.  When I reminded him it was going to be Yom Kippur, he replied, “Phfff!… You Jews and your holidays.”  And then, in eleventh grade, I visited concentration camps in Poland and wrote an essay about my experiences.  I showed a social studies teacher who commented that he was happy I talked about the 12 million who died as a result of the war (rather than singling out that 6 million of that number were Jews who where friggin’ systematically exterminated).  So, I was not surprised to read this blog post  and this Patriot Ledger article about a Randolph, MA school board member who went all David Duke on a Jewish school principal that requested 5 days of bereavement leave.

 The real money quotes are these:

“It is not the standard in industry,” Silverman quoted Kenney as saying. “Besides, don’t you Jews plant them within 24 hours?”

and…

“I don’t see any side curls on your head, so what the hell do you need five days of bereavement leave for?”

A few days ago, I called Ben, the bass player in my band, to ask him a question.  When he answered his phone, I said, “Hey!  Aren’t you in my Intro to Unemployment class?”  We both cracked up.  He is a student at the Berklee College of Music, and everyone knows how difficult it is to make a living as a musician.  This little exchange got me thinking seriously–and also humorously–about the education system in the US.

When I spoke those words, the two of us started coming up with possible subjects.  There was “how to sign up for unemployment” and “how to sneak into college cafaterias while playing on a campus”, “how to run a frialator”, “pulling great espresso shots” and more.  While we were half joking, the real truth became apparent.  School doesn’t prepare you for what life is really like.

 I recounted this story to another songwriter friend, Mike, from the band Damone.  We started talking about high school.  In high school, there was an attempt to provide practical skills: woodshop, sewing, cooking, accounting, art.  I thought back on my cooking class in 7th grade.  In 2 months we managed to make Baked Alaska.  This is baked Alaska (essentially ice cream cooked in meringue):

(photo from whatscookingamerica.net)

What was the purpose of that?!  In high school, in college and afterwards we needed JOBS.  You can learn to cook home food from your parents.  Perhaps it would have been more useful to learn to use this:

Or this…

And while we’re talking about things we should have been taught in high school, how about doing our taxes?  It seems like a no-brainer.  As a student at Brandeis University, I had to take a swimming test in order to graduate.  The reason for this requirement was that a significant donor to the university had a child die from drowning.  They gave money to the university under the stipulation that they would require that every graduate know how to swim.  The federal government provides tons of funding to schools.  You’d think they’d employ the same strategy.  If you teach kids how to do their taxes, perhaps they’ll even pay them!  Hello!

No.  Instead we made ugly lamps in wood shop and learned how to use pre-historic accounting machines.  Well done, dickheads!  Sure we all wanted to be astronauts and cowboys.  But this is real life, baby!  Would you like some fries with those life skills?!

Wal-Mart might suck, but at least their employees have a sense of humor.  Earlier tonight I saw this news story about a mother that brought home a new camcorder.  When they opened the box, there was already a tape inside the camera.  All that was on the tape was a man shoving the camera down his pants and showing his penis.  Sounds like good clean fun to me.  Channel 7, however, was hell-bent on turning this into a story about pornography and children.

My feeling is that if a guy just showed his penis, that’s not pornography.  The newscaster also referred to the woman’s son as a “teenage child”.  What is that?  Is he a teenager or a child?  My feeling is that they threw in the word “child” to make the act seem that much more despicable.  When I was a “teenage child”, we all took showers after gym in one big shower–and we all had penises.  I think the kid can take seeing another one without trauma and a lifetime of therapy. 

I’m glad our local journalists are keeping it so real out there.  I’m sure they had nothing better to do with that news crew than send it to investigate a mystery camcorder tape with a penis.  They can go online and find all the penises they want, and then they can go an a crusade to keep all the “teenage children”, “adolescent children” and “adult children” in the world from seeing them.

One of my oldest and closest friends died on Friday morning.  I won’t go into detail, but I don’t remember ever feeling so much pain in my heart.  Jennifer was one of the most special people I have ever met.  Her smile and unique nature will be part of me forever.

I don’t want to talk about who she was or what she meant to me, but I want to honor her with this one one fun fact.  When Jennifer was graduating from high school, her dad lived in Hong Kong and ran a business that exported stuff to the US.  He was shipping some of those wallet inserts that hold credit cards and photos, but somehow destroyed the photo fo the model that was to grace the cover of the packaging.  (It’s sort of like those frames you buy with a picture already in them.)  Without any better choice, he used her high school graduation picture for the art work.  Now these inserts were sold all over the US at Woolworth’s until the stores closed in the late ’90s.  I was always comforted by the fact that I could go anywhere in the US and see my good friend.  I don’t remember in which state or when I bought this one, but I just grabbed this from the glove compartment of my car…

I love you, sweetie!