This next blog is about the guy who works the booth at the subway station we go to every day. He's a real character. Last night we saw him at CVS and he shouted accross the store, "Don't forget to pick up my Oxycotin for me you bums!"
I) SUBWAY DAVE: Borrowing Someones Apartment for an Affair
We have had the pleasure of getting to know some of the MBTAs finest while busking down in the subway. One of the people we run into every night is Dave who does the graveyard shift at our local subway station, and he is a real character.
Every day when we go through the station he kids how he wants to use Lisa and my apartment to have an affair with his girlfriend. I keep telling him to use the booth. I mean, what is more romantic than a subway booth. Also, the MBTA workers have those mysterious numbered doors in the downtown crossing tunnel.
I lied and told him that we had a one room apartment, but said that we can put some of the Greg Brady beads up for him, like when Greg moves into the attic on the Brady Bunch.
Subway Dave seems to have a thing for Lisa. When she had a cold the other night, he said she should go home and strip and he would come over with the stethascope and check her heartbeat. He always sends her to get coffee so me and him can rag on each other.
Subway Dave really loves nature. One day we were walking to the subway, and he saw a hawk on top of Blockbuster video and we stood their admiring its beauty for about 20 minutes. He was so enamored with its beauty that he started to cry. It seemed kind of out of place in this urban setting, kind of like seeing a mall in the middle of the desert (hence, Las Vegas).
He is a man of a mysterious past. He has many tattoos, one reading Never Forgive. Me and him always give each other hell. Dave had his wisdom teeth removed last month and he loves to show them to me. He jokes that he removed them himself by eating caramels.
Subway Dave gets very emotional about some of the riders and gets into their lives. The other day he was telling me how he met this beautiful young woman in her twenties, who seemed to have this great life. She had a good job, she had her youth, and yet she seemed so unhappy. It was as if she had an invisible weight on her, she had everything and was in the prime of her life but found it hard to smile. I told him that she needed him.
He told me that he tells people like that to make a list of 10-12 of their favorite things to do, and each day do one of them. Who cares what anyone thinks. If you wanna go climb a mountain, then go climb a mountain. If you wanna go fishing, go fishing. It's your life. Sometimes I feel like Dave is a Buddhist monk of the subway variety.
So, he asks this girl why she is so upset, and she says she's been having some troubles but they seemed to him to be intangible. He said to me, she does not have kids to worry about, house payments, have to worry about supporting a family, things are going to get harder and more complex, and she has everything, but she is still unhappy.
On Christmas we gave Subway Dave a box of fudge, pumpkin bread, and cookies. He was so happy to get the stuff, and bought for us today a copy of the Boston Globe describing how it is now legal for us subway musicians to play on the streets of Boston.
When he got to the booth this morning he saw that we had given a similar box of goodies to the woman on the morning shift, and he was mad.
"I feel more special if we're friends and you just give me a gift. If you give the gift to everyone it makes it less special," he said, disappointed.
We explained to him how we only gave the gifts to our good friends in the subway. It was almost like Dave had this special club, and if we started associating with the other people, we could get blacklisted in a funny way.
Dave always lets us in the subway for free and to show our appreciation, we always buy him coffee from Dunkin Donuts. One time last year, Lisa and I were going to NYC to play a gig, and we saw him on the way, he said the only way he would let us in is if we got him a souvenir from New York. It seems like we are back in the old bartering days, before the money system, when I might trade you a chair I designed for your wagon.
Friday, December 24, 2004
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Dogs and "Deadly" Chocolate Chip cookies
Yesterday, Lisa and I went over her parents' house to cook cranberry pumpkin bread and chocolate chip cookies. Lisa's mom had all the ingredients and cooking implements out for us before we started which made everything really easy. She even had a piece of pumpkin bread for us to sample which was quite delicious.
We were making the baked goods for the people who worked in the subways and some of the stores around Porter Square. We wanted to show appreciation for all our friends who work in the underground with us and have been so kind the last few years. We also feel bad that a lot of people don't get time off around the holidays to keep the public transportation moving. We also feel bad for people who have to work on Christmas Eve and Christmas around where we live. For instance, we have friends who are cashiers and security guards at CVS who don't get time off and are paid no overtime.
While cooking the cookies, Lisa and her mom had to go to Cambridge and left me to tend to their three dogs and the cookies. Lisa's mom warned me before they left that the dogs will try to eat the cookies, and if they do, they will die, but not to worry. So anyways, I'm stuck in a kitchen with chocolate chips, trays with chocolate, cookies, in three different locations and the dogs keep walking up to the table. The image of Lisa's mom saying that if the dogs eat the chocolate they will die keeps going through my head.
I start by putting the remaining cookies and chocolate chips above the cupboards where the dogs can't get them while telling Mac, a siberian husky bigger than myself to stay away from the table. As I started making the next batch of cookies, the other dogs, Gemini and Maestro, distracted me by walking around and barking, while he did the old "Look at me. You think I'm sitting down. Now I'm up while you're not looking and walking towards the table."
I felt like a soldier walking three children through a mine field. Finally, I got the chocolate covered trays from the far table to clean them while checking up on the last batch of cookies in the oven, and the dogs finally lost interest and went to take naps around the house. I couldn't find a sponge so I cleaned everything with this brush that made me feel like the same soldier of the last metaphor cleaning the Latrine with a toothbrush.
We were making the baked goods for the people who worked in the subways and some of the stores around Porter Square. We wanted to show appreciation for all our friends who work in the underground with us and have been so kind the last few years. We also feel bad that a lot of people don't get time off around the holidays to keep the public transportation moving. We also feel bad for people who have to work on Christmas Eve and Christmas around where we live. For instance, we have friends who are cashiers and security guards at CVS who don't get time off and are paid no overtime.
While cooking the cookies, Lisa and her mom had to go to Cambridge and left me to tend to their three dogs and the cookies. Lisa's mom warned me before they left that the dogs will try to eat the cookies, and if they do, they will die, but not to worry. So anyways, I'm stuck in a kitchen with chocolate chips, trays with chocolate, cookies, in three different locations and the dogs keep walking up to the table. The image of Lisa's mom saying that if the dogs eat the chocolate they will die keeps going through my head.
I start by putting the remaining cookies and chocolate chips above the cupboards where the dogs can't get them while telling Mac, a siberian husky bigger than myself to stay away from the table. As I started making the next batch of cookies, the other dogs, Gemini and Maestro, distracted me by walking around and barking, while he did the old "Look at me. You think I'm sitting down. Now I'm up while you're not looking and walking towards the table."
I felt like a soldier walking three children through a mine field. Finally, I got the chocolate covered trays from the far table to clean them while checking up on the last batch of cookies in the oven, and the dogs finally lost interest and went to take naps around the house. I couldn't find a sponge so I cleaned everything with this brush that made me feel like the same soldier of the last metaphor cleaning the Latrine with a toothbrush.
Monday, December 20, 2004
Hecklers of the Underground
Whenever Lisa and I play the subway we meet so many people who are so nice to us. But every once in a while we meet a heckler. For instance, last week when I was singing "Long December", some one started singing along with this super exagerrated Adam Duritz voice. Then this scizophrenic guy started yelling. Sometimes I change the words of the songs to fit the mood. I took poetic liscence with the second verse of the song, and said, "The smell of hospitals in winter and the feeling that people are saying weird stuff wherever you go."
This other drunk guy last week started heckling me to the tune of Leonard Cohen's "Chelsea Hotel" (Lisa had me change the first verse to "feeding me bread on the unmade bed" to make it more subway friendly. We also change the Rolling Stone's "Sweet Virginia"'s chorus to "got to scrape the dirt right off your shoes," and we changed "Dead Flowers" 2nd verse to "I'll be in my basement room with some icecream and a spoon.") So this guy is saying something like "you think you own this subway station" and then slowly seguing into some psychotic stuff all to the cadence and melody of Chelsea hotel, which caused two women clad in fur coats and Nieman Marcus bags to scramble for the other side of the subway platform.
When we were packing up the other night this guy who reeked like a 5'10" bottle of open vodka asked us to play songs. He called Lisa over and she said that we were done for the night because we had to make the last train. He asked her if she needed any money to get a hotel room. He said he was blessed in having lots of money and believed in God and Jesus and wants to help those less fortunate than him. He said that whatever Lisa wanted he would give to her. He seemed really set on this hotel room. We told him he could buy a CD but we would not take his money with out playing.
He said, "You name it, I'll give it to you." Then he took out three dollars and handed it to Lisa.
"Will this help?" he asked. He kept pushing us to take the $3 reminding us how he had so much money and was so much more fortunate than us. But there seemed something about it that made it the sketchiest three dollars I've never taken. He reminded me of Robert DeNiro's character in Taxi Driver, so we decided not to take the $3, but thanked him just the same.
I've had other scary hecklers down there. Last year, a guy told me to give him all the money in my case. When I refused, he broke his vodka bottle and waved it at me threateningly and then threw it onto the tracks. Another guy last year around the time of the subway musicians battle, demanded me to stop playing. He said, "What do you think this is your f- ing living room!" He violently pulled the chord out of my amp and started waving his fist in my face. "What is it with you long haired faggots thinking you own the f- ing subway? Get the f- out of here!"
Every one on the platform looked really frightened. Then this really tiny Asian woman with a soft voice said, "I like their music and I want them to play." Her friend standing next to her was trying to talk her out of doing this. "You are a mean man," she said. "Leave them alone." Almost everyone on the platform tipped us, and one guy went to get the station police, who escorted the guy out of the station. I was playing my parody of "Wild Horses", "Wild Reindeer" for the Christmas season, and I'm thinking that maybe this song pushed this guy over the edge. But it is nice to know that for every heckler out there, there are lots of friendly, brave people who care about us and our music.
This other drunk guy last week started heckling me to the tune of Leonard Cohen's "Chelsea Hotel" (Lisa had me change the first verse to "feeding me bread on the unmade bed" to make it more subway friendly. We also change the Rolling Stone's "Sweet Virginia"'s chorus to "got to scrape the dirt right off your shoes," and we changed "Dead Flowers" 2nd verse to "I'll be in my basement room with some icecream and a spoon.") So this guy is saying something like "you think you own this subway station" and then slowly seguing into some psychotic stuff all to the cadence and melody of Chelsea hotel, which caused two women clad in fur coats and Nieman Marcus bags to scramble for the other side of the subway platform.
When we were packing up the other night this guy who reeked like a 5'10" bottle of open vodka asked us to play songs. He called Lisa over and she said that we were done for the night because we had to make the last train. He asked her if she needed any money to get a hotel room. He said he was blessed in having lots of money and believed in God and Jesus and wants to help those less fortunate than him. He said that whatever Lisa wanted he would give to her. He seemed really set on this hotel room. We told him he could buy a CD but we would not take his money with out playing.
He said, "You name it, I'll give it to you." Then he took out three dollars and handed it to Lisa.
"Will this help?" he asked. He kept pushing us to take the $3 reminding us how he had so much money and was so much more fortunate than us. But there seemed something about it that made it the sketchiest three dollars I've never taken. He reminded me of Robert DeNiro's character in Taxi Driver, so we decided not to take the $3, but thanked him just the same.
I've had other scary hecklers down there. Last year, a guy told me to give him all the money in my case. When I refused, he broke his vodka bottle and waved it at me threateningly and then threw it onto the tracks. Another guy last year around the time of the subway musicians battle, demanded me to stop playing. He said, "What do you think this is your f- ing living room!" He violently pulled the chord out of my amp and started waving his fist in my face. "What is it with you long haired faggots thinking you own the f- ing subway? Get the f- out of here!"
Every one on the platform looked really frightened. Then this really tiny Asian woman with a soft voice said, "I like their music and I want them to play." Her friend standing next to her was trying to talk her out of doing this. "You are a mean man," she said. "Leave them alone." Almost everyone on the platform tipped us, and one guy went to get the station police, who escorted the guy out of the station. I was playing my parody of "Wild Horses", "Wild Reindeer" for the Christmas season, and I'm thinking that maybe this song pushed this guy over the edge. But it is nice to know that for every heckler out there, there are lots of friendly, brave people who care about us and our music.
Saturday, December 18, 2004
Bizzarre Tips
Playing in the subway we have gotten some really cool tips. Once an artist gave us paintbrushes that he had just bought to keep our case open when it kept getting blown shut by the wind. During the Democratic convention, a man gave me a five dollar bill, and took a couple ones out of the case. He listened to a song and said, "You're so good you deserve a $50 tip. Do you want some weed or cocaine?"
I told the guy I was all set and he proceeded to take the $5 bill out of the case and filled it with cocaine. After the train left he took a hit and asked me if I'd like a hit. I said no thankyou. "You don't want to take a hit in front of your girlfriend. I get it," he said pointing to some random girl in front of us. He left the coke on the 5 dollar bill in the case and I scooped it from the case and handed it back to him.
"Trying to kick the habit," I told him.
"All right, maybe next time," he said.
I missed the $5 tip, but during the convention, people were having their bags searched and I saw police dogs multiple times go by me that day. Even if I could have thrown the cocaine out, what if the dogs could smell the cocaine from the $5 bill. So I think I made the right decision. Better to spend the day $5 short than to spend the night in jail.
Other cool tips we've gotten include a crystal doorknob, a tropical plant, a cool Joan of Arc coin, a fake $2000 bill with George Bush on it, poems written by commuters
I told the guy I was all set and he proceeded to take the $5 bill out of the case and filled it with cocaine. After the train left he took a hit and asked me if I'd like a hit. I said no thankyou. "You don't want to take a hit in front of your girlfriend. I get it," he said pointing to some random girl in front of us. He left the coke on the 5 dollar bill in the case and I scooped it from the case and handed it back to him.
"Trying to kick the habit," I told him.
"All right, maybe next time," he said.
I missed the $5 tip, but during the convention, people were having their bags searched and I saw police dogs multiple times go by me that day. Even if I could have thrown the cocaine out, what if the dogs could smell the cocaine from the $5 bill. So I think I made the right decision. Better to spend the day $5 short than to spend the night in jail.
Other cool tips we've gotten include a crystal doorknob, a tropical plant, a cool Joan of Arc coin, a fake $2000 bill with George Bush on it, poems written by commuters
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