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

It seems like every one of my stories lately takes place in a public restroom.  Frankly, I’m even starting to creep myself out a tiny bit.  In any event, earlier this afternoon I walked into the Starbuck’s in Watertown Square to grab a little pick-me-up.  On leaving, I decided to visit the can and give Starbuck’s a piece of my mind, so to speak.  As I was sitting there, I looked up to see this poster:

The caption at the top reads, “Can you spot the coffee made from 3% of the world’s best coffee beans?”  I kept reading it over and over again, and, for the life of me, I still can’t figure out what it is trying to say.  Are they trying to say that their coffee is made from beans in the top 3% in terms of quality?  Are they trying to say that they use 3% of all the world’s coffee beans?  Are they trying to say they pick a random 3% of beans that are considered the best beans?  And, what percentage of all coffee beans are considered “the world’s best coffee beans”? Is it the top 49%?  Am I crazy?  WHAT THE HELL DOES THIS MEAN?

First off, I’d like to thank everyone for their contributions to yesterday’s discussion.  Here in Boston, we love to talk about driving in the city, and we take great joy in using the word “douche”.

I’m proud to say that between the post and comments, we managed to use the word “douche” 67 times at the time of writing this.  While I’m particularly happy about my own contributions to the English language–”douche lane” and “douchecraft”–there were many more uses of the word that entered my lexicon for the first time. (Thanks to Margaret Ann for teaching me the word “neologism“.)  Here were a few of my favorites:

douche zone
douchetastic
douche-curtain
douchette
douchewaffles

“Douchebaggery” is not one of my favorites, but it should get honorable mention here as it is thrown around a lot in the Dig and in many Boston-area blogs.  It seemed to have crashed into Boston’s blogosphere a few years back, and the word appears to have some legs.   

I look forward to sharing more of my rants (with you douchebags) soon.

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.

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!!!”

This 4th of July was a fun one.  My friend, and infamous TOAD bartender, Greg, had a BBQ replete with shotgunning small cans of Bud, drinking games, and lots of meat.  You know: it was very American.  After the BBQ, some of us headed over to Atwood’s to see Tim Gearan play, and after that the party resumed.  Needless to say, it was a long night. 

Now, those of you who know me know I am no stranger to long nights.  Unfortunately, I had underestimated what a toll such 4th of July activities would have on me, and I’d agreed to play a solo acoustic set the next night to help out a friend.  When I showed up at the venue, Sally O’Brien’s in Somerville, MA, I could barely play my guitar, but I was determined to entertain. 

I hit the stage around 10:00pm, and decided to play some songs in honor of the holiday weekend.  I greeted the crowd, “Hey everyone, I’m gonna start out tonight by playing some American songs.”  I started playing “Babe, It Ain’t No Lie” by Elizabeth Cotton.  For those of you who don’t know Elizabeth Cotton, she was an African American woman from North Carolina, born in 1895, who taught herself guitar and wrote songs, and had worked as a maid from the time she was 13 years old.  She was “discovered” when she became a maid for the Seeger family.  Probably her most famous song is “Freight Train”. 

Check out this video of her playing Freight Train.  You see a long close-up of her bizarre playing style; the guitar is upside down and she’s playing the melody with her thumb and the bass parts with her fingers.  But, I digress.  I was going to play Freight Train next, as a sort of Elizabeth Cotton medley.  My concentration was broken, however, when half way into the first verse, a drunk older guy in the back screamed, “YOU SUCK!”  I thought, “Wow. That’s a first.”  Just as I finished the song, the same guy staggered up to the stage, reached his hand out, apologized and disappared. 

I found out later that he was sitting next to my friend Chuck, and Chuck thought he heard, “Hey Chuck!” so he asked the guy, “What did you say?”  The guy pointed to me and said, “I said he sucks.” Chuck asked, “Why’d you say that?”  The drunk replied, “Because he said that America sucks!”  My friend corrected him, “He said: American SONGS!”  The guy told him he felt terrible and that’s when he came over and apologized.  Yup.  That gig was one for the books.

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.

Yesterday, I was meeting up with some friends and I heard a girl wish someone a happy holiday.  I thought, “Is it Good Friday?  Is it Secretaries Day?  Is it some other Hallmark holiday and I didn’t get the memo?”  I asked my friend; he didn’t know.  So I asked the girl what holiday it was.  She exclaimed, “It’s 420, the hippie holiday!”

Now, I’ve known for years that people designate 4:20pm as a time to smoke reefer, but I didn’t know that April 20th was also held as a holy day for toking up.  After all, as a woman pointed out to me earlier, it is Hitler’s birthday.  And what person born in the twentieth century would make that day a holiday?  I also didn’t know the origin of the connection between marijuana and 420.  But a Wikipedia search revealed this:

Although many diverse theories exist to explain the origin of the term, it is widely accepted that in 1971, a group of teenagers at San Rafael High School in San Rafael, California, calling themselves “The Waldos”, used to meet every day after school at 4:20 p.m. to smoke marijuana at the Louis Pasteur statue. The term became part of their group’s salute, “420 Louis,” and it eventually caught on more widely. Many cannabis users continue to observe 4:20 as a time to smoke communally. By extension April 20 (”4/20″ in U.S. dating shorthand) has evolved into a counterculture holiday, where people gather to celebrate and consume cannabis. 

I recounted this story to a couple of friends–neither of whom new the origin of the term either.  One of them, a lawyer, told me that he owned a baseball cap made out of hemp with 420 on it.  And there are numerous pictures of him–even with his baby in his arms–with him donning that cap.  He wore it for the past few years not knowing that he was a walking billboard for pot smoking.  Now, none of us are against smoking pot at all.  It was just eye opening to learn that some people actually celebrate 4/20 with gusto.  Good for you.  I wonder if Hallmark or American Greetings make cards?  I bet I could print a bunch up on hemp paper and sell them at colleges.  I could make a fortune!  Forget songwriting!

Holy Cow!  I think I just got a mullet.  Check this out…

 BEFORE

AFTER

Come see for yourself and give me your thoughts in person… I’m playing a  stripped down show at the Abbey Lounge (Pub Stage) on Wednesday, January 17 at 7pm.  It’s a “I had a rough day at work and I need a drink before I die at a place that has music that doesn’t make me want to puke” kind of gig.  Oh, and it’s FREE.  And hopefully this shit will have grown out a little by then…

Last night, as Saddam Hussein’s execution came near, I watched ABC World News with Charles Gibson.  He described the former Iraqi leader’s hanging as IGNOMINIOUS.  At first, I thought Charlie had swallowed a word.  I mean, even network news has gone tabloid and caters to the masses looking for stories about Nicole Richie’s DUI’s and stranded mountain climbers.  He could not have possibly used a word that I had to look up in a dictionary!  But he did.  Kudos, Charlie.  I learned something.

Saddam Hussein leaves us–not with a bang, but with an ignominious hanging.

Thanks to T.S. Eliot’s ghost for allowing me to bastardize and paraphrase his poem.

When I was a kid, we used to wear these old-school flip-flops to the beach.  I grew up in Hull, MA, and flip-flops were commonplace all over town.  Actually, we used to call them “thongs”.  That was before thongs looked like this:

But you can see the resemblance here:

In any case, sometime at the turn of the millenium, women started wearing flip-flops around town, to work, out to shows and other places that, well, aren’t the beach.  Fine.  A sexy woman’s foot looks good even while flexing a fashion faux pas (like wearing beach-wear to a 5 star restaurant).  This trend is pretty much over.  Yeah.  There are still some holdouts–usually amateurs that probably still wear UGH!…ly boots in winter.  Northeastern students… What can you do?

Here’s the thing.  If you thought women flip-flopping around town was bad enough, there is a scourge of flip-flop wearing dudes around the city.  Oftentimes, they are also wearing backwards baseball caps (indoors).  Imagine what our civilization must look like to beings from another planet?  Greek.  And I don’t mean like people from Greece.  Sadly, at least in Boston, the fraternaties and sororities have won.  The one saving grace of 9 cold months is that in the coming weeks the flip-flops will all but disappear.  Now, what can we do about the baseball caps?