Dear Jen,
I wish I did not say hello last night and just let you walk past like a ghost.
I wish I had said these things to you last night.
No I don't. That would have ruined my evening.
At one point your boyfriend shook my hand and apologetically stated, "She's drunk." I find solace and comfort in that, then and now.
To be honest, your boyfriend, as cool as he was, could kick my ass with ease at any given moment, which is the truest reason I held my tongue.
You don't like my beard. You were repetitive and loud about it. I shrugged it off last night. There are many things about your appearance I'm not into. I don't feel the need to tell you about them. I still don't.
More important was your notion that I don't play punk music. Again, you were loud and repetitive about it. The clearest contradiction is that you had said moments earlier that we had not seen each other in years. You have no idea what type of music I play.
That's it. I was drunk. You were drunk. You were mean. You're mean.
-Joe
Thursday, August 13, 2015
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
Mr. Fox on Tour
Intro: What Time Is It, Mr. Fox?
Brian King and Nathan Cohen have performed as the band What Time Is It, Mr. Fox for years. There have been many mutations of the band in those years. I had seen Brian perform solo and I have seen the band with drums and backup singers, cellists and aerialists. Brian's compositions, Nathan's virtuosic playing, and their accompanying circus always captured my attention.
Renee and I met Brian through his brother Dan and Bandit Kings. Renee and Brian had worked together with Dan in the 80s cover band Safety. I worked as Nathan's teaching assistant in the elementary school strings program the past two school years. Brian and I had played as a duo. Brian, Nathan and I had played as a trio. We had played together as a seven piece group but never this particular quartet. We did not rehearse before we left for the tour.
I am not sure whose idea this tour was. I think Nathan was supposed to pick up baby things from a family member in Memphis, but nothing like that ever happened, and good thing too because there was not the smallest amount of space to spare in the truck. Time and Space are slippery beings, but Nathan and his wife Eileen are having a baby and that somehow relates to a band touring.
One: Brooklyn
The drive from Gloucester to Brooklyn was two hundred fifty miles. I was driving and Renee was my co-pilot. Nathan and Brian were in the back of my Ford Escape with a teetering wall of instruments and bags between them. The drive took five hours. We had no trouble finding parking right around the corner from the gig. My worries about the truck were a recurring theme throughout the tour. I have made five payments out of seventy-two on this truck, but for some reason volunteered the vehicle for the tour.
Our host Richard was a handsome man with a handsome brownstone that he graciously opened to twenty-five friends and fans of the band who were essentially strangers to him. The band performed a set of six songs, Renee & I played two of our originals as a duo, and then the band did another eight songs. The crowd sat attentively in rows of chairs and couches. The band responded with energy. The crowd sang along. Everything felt good, the real good you can't fake that you see in someone's eyes when they tell you about it. After the set I was on the back porch overlooking the back yard and the neighbors back yard and erasing my assumption that you didn’t have a backyard in Brooklyn. I bummed a cigarette from a stranger named Mikala in a black wig who said, "I hope you don't mind Virginia Slim 120s." I did not. Strangers were being friendly and tour was off to a great start. Strangers were also a recurring theme throughout the tour.
A treacherous drive to Raleigh, North Carolina lay ahead so we opted to tackle it head on. We left Brooklyn around midnight and arrived in Washington, D.C. at 530 a.m. Along the way I composed three haiku:
Thirty eight miles
to Baltimore. And then some.
Three sixteen a.m.
Exit 12 Greektown
Our arms press together.
He sweats thru my shirt.
Morning birds sing.
We did not see the sun rise
but it was close.
Brian King and Nathan Cohen have performed as the band What Time Is It, Mr. Fox for years. There have been many mutations of the band in those years. I had seen Brian perform solo and I have seen the band with drums and backup singers, cellists and aerialists. Brian's compositions, Nathan's virtuosic playing, and their accompanying circus always captured my attention.
Renee and I met Brian through his brother Dan and Bandit Kings. Renee and Brian had worked together with Dan in the 80s cover band Safety. I worked as Nathan's teaching assistant in the elementary school strings program the past two school years. Brian and I had played as a duo. Brian, Nathan and I had played as a trio. We had played together as a seven piece group but never this particular quartet. We did not rehearse before we left for the tour.
I am not sure whose idea this tour was. I think Nathan was supposed to pick up baby things from a family member in Memphis, but nothing like that ever happened, and good thing too because there was not the smallest amount of space to spare in the truck. Time and Space are slippery beings, but Nathan and his wife Eileen are having a baby and that somehow relates to a band touring.
One: Brooklyn
The drive from Gloucester to Brooklyn was two hundred fifty miles. I was driving and Renee was my co-pilot. Nathan and Brian were in the back of my Ford Escape with a teetering wall of instruments and bags between them. The drive took five hours. We had no trouble finding parking right around the corner from the gig. My worries about the truck were a recurring theme throughout the tour. I have made five payments out of seventy-two on this truck, but for some reason volunteered the vehicle for the tour.
Our host Richard was a handsome man with a handsome brownstone that he graciously opened to twenty-five friends and fans of the band who were essentially strangers to him. The band performed a set of six songs, Renee & I played two of our originals as a duo, and then the band did another eight songs. The crowd sat attentively in rows of chairs and couches. The band responded with energy. The crowd sang along. Everything felt good, the real good you can't fake that you see in someone's eyes when they tell you about it. After the set I was on the back porch overlooking the back yard and the neighbors back yard and erasing my assumption that you didn’t have a backyard in Brooklyn. I bummed a cigarette from a stranger named Mikala in a black wig who said, "I hope you don't mind Virginia Slim 120s." I did not. Strangers were being friendly and tour was off to a great start. Strangers were also a recurring theme throughout the tour.
A treacherous drive to Raleigh, North Carolina lay ahead so we opted to tackle it head on. We left Brooklyn around midnight and arrived in Washington, D.C. at 530 a.m. Along the way I composed three haiku:
Thirty eight miles
to Baltimore. And then some.
Three sixteen a.m.
Exit 12 Greektown
Our arms press together.
He sweats thru my shirt.
Morning birds sing.
We did not see the sun rise
but it was close.
Monday, January 5, 2015
Eulogy: 2001 Escape
I'm trying to eulogize my truck. I keep coming up with more negative memories than positive ones.
The truck got terrible gas mileage. She had dents and scratches and did not look slick. Her unquenchable desire for constant repair is the closest thing to perpetual motion that the field of science has ever witnessed.
Uncle Jim had her on his lift in the beginning. I remember he shook his head sadly because I had not brought her to his garage within the limits of the lemon laws. I had bought my ticket and was forced to take the ride. Blown bulbs, snapped cables and leaky seals. She demanded constant attention and I obeyed.
Uncle Dennis offered consistent assistance and hours of research before every job I asked of him. Justin drove down from Haverhill to help on multiple occasions. Uncle Joe fashioned a running board out of the discarded ladder from an old boat. My cousin Pistol Pete at the parts store was on speed dial for automotive advice.
Uncle Jim had her on his lift in the beginning. I remember he shook his head sadly because I had not brought her to his garage within the limits of the lemon laws. I had bought my ticket and was forced to take the ride. Blown bulbs, snapped cables and leaky seals. She demanded constant attention and I obeyed.
Uncle Dennis offered consistent assistance and hours of research before every job I asked of him. Justin drove down from Haverhill to help on multiple occasions. Uncle Joe fashioned a running board out of the discarded ladder from an old boat. My cousin Pistol Pete at the parts store was on speed dial for automotive advice.
My grandfather looked under the hood and made me promise not to tell Gram that he had been working. My grandfather's buddy John got up on the ladder to check the seals while the truck was on the lift. While up on the ladder and clutching my leaky transmission John argued with my grandfather in a way that was gentle and displayed respect.
Their honest conclusion was to run away. To make her someone else's problem.
Their honest conclusion was to run away. To make her someone else's problem.
I drove the 2001 Ford Escape to death. She was leaking transmission fluid when I traded her in. Maybe I should have traded her in sooner. Maybe I should have never bought her at all. She never repaid my unity and friendship. She barely held up her end of the deal.
I cling to the silver lining that she was a catalyst to spend time with a large circle of family and friends. In her absence I can honor those relationships and spend time with the aforementioned wonderful people under circumstances more enjoyable than car repair.
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