A funny thing happened to me on the way to the tollbooth. Let me lay the foundation … For the last two months in Boston and the surrounding boroughs, i Have worked on about a dozen disaster jobs — large commercial to small residential job sites. In that time, I have driven or ridden in countless vehicles, sometimes several a day. A truck here, a mini-van there … ooh and most recently test-driving a little Subaru Outback. Ha … once I got over the stigma that they have enlarged their little station wagon to almost resemble a crossover vehicle … I rather like the little thing. It’s a cool little car, and when I am driving it way over the speed limit, I forget that I am in a station wagon for all the world to see — 4-wheel drive or not. (I am reminded that my brother, a star of the radio sales business, was an early adopter and drove a couple of Subarus way back when they were so vocal about the hum of their rotary engines.)
I digress …
So, about the tollbooth … After so many jobs and so many rides, it is easy to lose track. I have a leather glove in one truck, a GPS unit in a little Toyota, my project clipboard in a water extraction vehicle, a laptop in the Outback, etc., etc.
I hardly know who I am, where I am going or where in the world all my stuff is at any given moment.
So, knowing my feeble, confused state, add this thought. The other day someone asked me to drive back from a project unexpectedly from Connecticut to Boston. Man … sort of wished I had paid attention on the road to Conn. I hadn’t ..
Thank goodness for my Garmin Nuvi GPS. Ha … luck was on my side and me and the mind control GPS unit were in the same vehicle for once. I say mind control because i have noticed my already limited brainpower is turning to absolute mush with the increased use of GPS. I can’t leave the parking lot of the hotel without getting the wise counsel of my Garmin copilot. This is new behavior … total dependency … from a guy who did a road trip of 17,000 miles to 47 cities with only an Atlas.
So anyway, I was doing fine with the GPS telling me my every move — using the British accent setting on the toy — I might add. Until … I hit the dreaded toll booth.
i looked up in the window to make sure the electronic toll pass was in the open/activated mode. WHAT! This car had no toll tag. I rolled forward to the booth, hopping into the cash=only line with the other dinosaurs … and pulled out the wallet, already mad that I would have to fill out an expense report for the minor fee.
Rut-roh … No coin! No cash in wallet. No nada! Ah yes, i remembered how i had bragged about my willpower the day before and then given in and bought two Dunkin Donuts from one of the two zillion locations in the Boston area.
What could I do?
Back in Texas, I once wrote a check for a buck fifty for a similar bit of absentmindedness … and invested in a toll tag the next day.
So on this day T was for Texan and WT was for without toll. I pulled forward to the attendant and exaggerated an already thick Texas drawl.
“Sir-irrrrr,” I said, milking as many syllables as I could squeeze out of the three letters to sound even more pathetic than the reality. “Sir, I am from out of state, and didn’t expect to be driving, and just now realized I have no cash.”
He sighed and looked at me and I know he was thinking, “You didn’t expect to be driving? Did you think the car was going to fly by itself?”
It got more stupid.
I wouldn’t dream of asking for a freebie, or suggest that a Texan using a Massachusetts thoroughfare should not be taxed. My intent was to suggest perhaps that I could pay with my Visa.
“Would there be any other sort of payment accepted, since I don’t have any money?”
OMG … I am pretty sure by his demeanor — which was real jumpy and fidgety — something was lost in the translation. I am pretty sure he thought I had propositioned him!
“For two bucks!?!” he fired back, disgusted …
I wondered what price would have been acceptable in his mind … ewwww.
“‘Can I pay with a credit card?’ is what I meant.”
“Listen buddy,” he said, “The next time check before you get up to the toll booth … (By this time a line of cars had filled in behind me, offering up little sweet nothings with their car horns … to express warm feelings about waiting.)
“The next time, pull over in the toll plaza and there is an ATM.”
“Oh, okay. Good to know,” I said. “Tell these people to back up and quit waving at me with one digit, and I will go get some cash, complete with a tip for you.”
He knew I was pulling his chain and he didn’t appreciate it.
“Just go on!”
I was truly grateful. It was an honest mistake, and this kind gentleman, despite the rocky start had empathized with me. With the proper charity and hospitable kindness afforded to a visitor … he let it slide.
As I drove away I heard his last kind words to me.
“‘EFF-ing’ idiot!” he muttered at just the perfect time so that I could hear, but was blocked by his booth so that I couldn’t make eye contact.
As I reached for my iPhone to jot down a note about the experience, there in my pocket was a twenty, all wadded up …
Allow me to take just one second to expound on the Gene Ween show. Apparently some readers didn’t think I knew my Ween from a hole in the ground. Perhaps they are right. But, please remember that I don’t attend shows to worship the artist, merely to describe what happened. I do luv me some Ween … When I first heard their music in the Mid ’80s, I thought it was some of the most unique ever.
Over the years, having collected several works and continuously recommending Ween to many … I have grown to love their variety, anything from Calypso to Metal to Soul to Flamenco to Experimental to Country to Folk … Did I miss any genres in there? So … I was not hatin on Ween, but rather lamenting that I craved more variety than that afforded by the Boston show. As I pointed out though, it is understandable that a two-man lineup doesn’t sound like the full Weensemble.
Also, in a one-man Pingdom, sometimes the blogs get posted quickly to keep the 20 readers at bay. And therefore, sometimes, a thought or two may be left out.
Case in point: An important thing I meant to include in the earlier Ween blog was this — Gene Ween earned my greatest respect because he obviously loves what he do. We live in a world where teachers want to strike for more money, although their employer is bankrupt … A world where professional athletes want shrines dedicated to their greatness since they play a game for a living … and then they go on strike for more money, even though they are millionaires … but Gene Ween (Aaron Freeman) got up on stage and played his heart out to a crowd of 200 for a couple of hours, even though he has been in the business for 25+ years.
Lastly, although time, the road and whateva have taken a toll on Gene, as they have on all of us … When he plays, you can still see that spark … the inner child … the kid who picked up the guitar because he loves music and he loves to perform … to entertain … after all these years.
Here’s a little taste of the digital audio of the show …
I missed the Oakland Ween concert by only a few days during my West Coast gig, so I vowed to see the band at the next opportunity. Well, I traveled across the entire country, but I am only half way there, having caught Gene Ween’s “solo” show last night at The Brighton Music Hall in Boston. (Where’s Deaner?)
I digress … last night — pretty excited … Even though it is sort of my thing, I didn’t even check to see if The Brighton has Wi-Fi. I was busy obsessing about clever/bizarre songs of “spina bifoda” and “my little pony.”* But there are so many songs in the catalog of a group or an artist who has been kickin it for 30 years or so — so you can’t always get what you want. Forget me and my needs. There were plenty of diehard Weeners at the show who knew, loved and could hold their own singing every lyric.
Gene Ween fired off dozens of semi-acoustic, stripped-down gems before the guitar slinger unleashed a 10-minute, 41-second “Spaghetti Western” encore of the legendary “Buenas Tardes Amigo” to end the show.
But from the first of the show it was apparent to me that there are two types of Ween fans — live Ween fans and studio Ween fans. I confess I am the latter, and missed the smooth vocals of all the recorded favorites I play on my i-Ween. It seemed most of the packed house at The Brighton were the jam-band, live-Ween variety. They were pleased immensely.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved the show, but the live Ween is just different you know — so much more laced with animation and perhaps vocal caricature … ranging from an impish “Gollum”-like persona to a wisecracking Adam Sandler vocal style. At times, Gene was a balladeer in the tradition of Cash, Strummer, Springsteen, Dylan, Forbert and the like. At times, a spooky storyteller. His acoustic guitar, however, left little to interpretation. It was pure goodness crossing genres from blues to near-flamenco showmanship.
So many songs! Pity. The dude beside me at the front of the stage asked a roadie for the handwritten setlist. He was rejected, so I didn’t get a chance to cheat off of his paper. Here is some of what I do know, by my own self. My buddy Markus “Carcass” got to hear his favorite “Mutilated Lips” as the crowd sang along rhythmically. Perhaps to honor the fact that Bruce Springsteen walked on stage, the night before at a Dropkick Murphys’ show in Boston … Gene also did a great rendition of Springsteen’s “The River.”
My favorite of the night — in addition to the encore — Gene tackled one of the more difficult vocal selections in his collection — the falsetto “Freedom of 76.” But where was the “boogie-oogie-oogie” of “Voodoo Lady?” No doubt, doin that Voodoo that Ween do would have been difficult with only G-Ween and bassist Dave Dreiwitz on stage. I would have volunteered my buddy/percussionist Markus for the gig ‘faster than you can shake a stick.” But it was not to be. And to my chagrin, little country Ween, except “I Don’t Want To Leave You On The Farm.”
But there was plenty of catharsis to go around — drinking sing-a-longs about disgruntled love gone wrong. But, where were the sweet love notes of “Stay Forever?”
But like I was sayin … great show. Also … very cool … met lots of potential new PingWi-Fi followers. If I smoked and if Boston clubs allowed you to do so, I would probably have carried in an old-school lighter and given an old-school concert salute to the Boston crowd and this veteran songsmith … this Gene Ween … but alas, I still can’t say I have seen Ween after all the years that’ve been.
Know what I sayin?
*And yes, I know those are not actual lyrics … I jest …
The Dirty Gig continues in the Boston area, with day trips throughout the state and over into Connecticut counteracting the effects of flooding.
With little time for Wi-Fi … but here are a few notes and some random photos.
First off, just let me say, Boston DID NOT get the memo that smoking is so last year … everywhere people hacking and smoking, blocking the entrances to businesses. Ha .. As one rude smoker passed me on the street and blew smoke in my face, I reared my head back just as I would do to dodge a punch. He was offended by that and cursed me as I walked on down the street amused. Already I digress …
On a recent visit back home in Texas I attended a Social Media Club gathering, at which I picked up a few Twitter followers and new friends, and also networked the old school way — traded business cards.
But the best old school moment of the night there at a place called Embargo … I heard one of my favorite all time songs on the sound system. The song is in several movies and soundtracks, but I NEVER NEVER hear it outside of my CD collection.
WARNING: This blog contains explicit subject matter that may travel beyond the boundaries of good taste … And it is like really, really long! Engage at your own risk.
I have never been the sort to announce my own birthday — especially in the workplace. I mean … you never know what someone might do with the information. My partners in a PR firm years ago blindfolded me and took me to Hooters. Who wants to go to Hooters blindfolded? Anyway … you never know what humiliating things people might do, attempting to make you feel special.
But, after the other night — my birthday spent on the night shift of yet another Dirty Gig — I will probably make darned certain EVERYONE knows it is my birthday in the future — well in advance. From now on, bring on the special treatment.
The PingThing Wi-Fi travel blog dates back to almost 2003, known by a couple of names … but the song remains the same. In addition to covering some 70-odd cities, in many of the cities we are now on our second or third go around.
Such is the case with Boston. The first time I pinged about the place, I stayed at the Fairmont Copley Plaza and their PR team gave me a tour of the “Presidential Suite” where Ted Kennedy among others have stayed while in the city. I even go to see the “porcelain throne,” where Teddy probably made his most impactful contributions. (That was awful! I apologize, RIP.)
There may be better ways to soak up the New England history and culture, but it was cold at 6 a.m., the roads were more like tunnels through the plowed snow … and the only thing I found open was Dunkin Donuts.
Today the PingWF team headed north for an assignment in Boston. It is one of those “Dirty Gig” things I do on the side, to fund this ongoing search for all things Wi-Fi.
My first Wi-Fi sojourn took me to Boston in 2004 and I was not disappointed. I can only imagine how many hotspots there must be in this great city now … ha … unless they are all frozen. Already 10 inches of snow on the ground there, as we take off from Dallas … but who’s counting? (I was scheduled to make a quick connection in St. Paul-Minneapolis and then on to Boston.)
I heard a definition of Folk Art once that explained it as an attempt, by someone who is not formally trained in art, to create art — regardless. Ha! Guilty as charged. I have been known to muck around with some art, yet no one has ever accused me of being very educated. My creed: “Uh, I like it.”
