8/9/05 - Chicago IL.
9:45p - I walk out of my kitchen door onto the
rear stairs of the apartment building, which looks out over the 15’x15’
patch of grass that constitutes the backyard… it’s a calm night,
the whirring drone of crickets is mixing with the gentle roar and hiss of
not-distant-enough highway traffic. The temperature and humidity are at
just the right combination to remind me of why I still love this city…
and it’s really quiet. No kids out lighting bottle rockets (my
neighborhood resembles Beirut from mid-June to early August with all of
the cheap Indiana fireworks), no obnoxious thump of Hip-Hop from a car
with a miniature PA in it’s trunk cruising my block, no sirens from
emergency vehicles (just about as conspicuously missing as the thumping
cars)… it’s just a perfect evening.
Sitting down on the same step I always choose, I light
a cigarette and contemplate the night sky… there’s a storm of
insects around the light in the alley… a rich sort of midnightish
off-purple sky provides a dance floor for the fast-moving clouds, which
have been dyed a hazy orange by the sodium arch lights that illuminate the
city in a gigantic grid stretching out for miles and miles… the color
combination is such that I am instantly taken with their psychedelic
patterns, and I’m hypnotized for a moment until my eye catches a
beacon against the maelstrom… it’s a plane coming in on approach
to O’Hare Airport, of course… and there’s another one
headed out, towards the
east… my apartment building is directly in the path of most
flights to that part of the country so I’ve seen it a lot…
… and tomorrow, I’ll be on one of
‘em…
… I’ll exchange this quiet little space on
my breezy back porch where I’m alone with my thoughts, for the
endless cacophony and psychic cramp that is bus living with eleven other
people…
But that’s not today, that’s tomorrow.
Or, the day after that, to be more accurate. I
get easily confused… but it’s one of those.
In any event, it would certainly be soon enough.
I took one final eyeful of the psychedelic sky while
stubbing out my smoke, and went back inside my apartment to finish
packing.
8/10/05 - Chicago IL.
10:00a - Crap… I fell asleep last night
watching a movie, and didn’t get a thing packed… I knew I
shouldn’t have laid down “only for a minute” … man am
I a bum sometimes! Luckily I’ve got all day.
7:00p - Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have
gotten into that Internet game! Look at the time! I’d better
PACK!
7:30p - Roommate and I hit the road to get to
the airport.
7:35p -Traffic jam. Damn… shoulda left
earlier. Quietly I count on my roommate’s love for auto racing to
provide inspiration, should there for some odd reason be a sudden easing
of the gridlock which now plagues Chicago’s highways roughly
twenty-two hours a day.
Note To Self: Get out of this city. Why didn’t I
spare us BOTH this aggravation and take the train?
7:54p - We pull up to the airport curb…
Bless you, Speed Channel!
7:56p - I roll one big suitcase, a computer
case, and a backpack up to the back of a long-ass line lorded over by a
raspy voiced shock-white
Einstein hairdo-sporting matron in a smartly pressed uniform… her
heavily made-up eyes cast a shiver through my bones… she looks like
she wants to use me to scrape something off the bottom of her shoe… I
think for a split-second about asking her if there’s a different
line, but an Asian guy in front of me jumps on that grenade first:
“Excuse me,” he says to this woman, his eyes
pleading, “I’m sorry, but we arrived
late and we need to be at our gate for boarding by eight-”
Her gaze has the all the consistency and emotion of
slate.
“This is the line… there aren’t any
others…” she interrupts with a dismissive wave of her arm,
catching it expertly under the other in a startling likeness to Jack Benny…
(You’ve got Google - If you aren’t able to
visualize it, do a search… kids today, huh?)
7:58p - The Asian guy recovers from the
dry-sensibilities onslaught of the airline witch’s spell, gets
miffed, and informs his friends that he’s going to ask someone else.
7:59p - (Remember: I CAN’T make this
stuff up, folks!) Just after the Asian guy takes off, the witch opens
another line, about twelve people from directly in back of me all rush
up to the counter and are met there immediately by baggage people.
“Guess I was just past the cut-off for that,
huh?” I hear my voice say, acting on it’s own before my brain
can stop the fool-thing… as if through a fog of helplessness, like
watching someone else in mortal danger, I felt the maven’s icy stare
cast over me with twelve times the distaste I had experienced earlier…
images of the seatbelt sign flashing and masks coming down from the
ceiling flood my head… I feel myself involuntarily readying for the
crash position…
“Do you have an E-Ticket?”
I un-ball my fists, which I just realized were
clenching my bag handles like the rail of a roller coaster… one eye
opened slightly…
“Y-y-y-e-e-hhh-sss?” I offer, hoping against
hope that I’ve gotten it right…
Like Odysseus passing Caribdis, she waved me through
to the happy land where people actually make their flights! Hu-Zaaaah!
8:00p - I step up to one of the automated
check-in stations… after picking my seat (watch it), I hand
the guy my bag, he tags it, and then I’m off-
“Hey! Hey! HeyheyheyheyheyHey! HEY! Are you
Cameron Blietz?”
I get a big smile on my face, it’s obviously
someone who’s seen us before and has recognized me… jeez, this
is embarrassing, but OK… I have a minute… I turn around,
grinning.
“Are you Cameron Blietz?”
“I sure am, what can I do for you, man?”
“If you’re Cameron Blietz then this must be
your boarding pass… you left it in the slot of the machine…”
OK… now I’m embarrassed.
Well, it
can’t get any more demeaning I guess… why don’t I just head
to the to the strip-search that constitutes airport security these days?
I get in line and I know the drill really well now,
but that doesn’t make it any less of a pain in the ass… as I
waddle along in line I begin frisking myself; Boots off, belt off, cell
phone in backpack, keys in backpack laptop out of case and into a tray,
grab another tray and put my boots, belt, baseball cap (metal clasp) into
that…
… take a second to hike my pants back up…
… put all of the trays, my backpack, the laptop
case on the X-Ray conveyor as quickly as I can, slamming my finger in
between the edge of the trays…
… man, did that hurt…
… and then I stepped over in front of the metal
detector and waited to be waved through by a rubber-gloved female officer.
It occurs to me to make a gag about prostate exams and security checks
having something in common these days when I get through to the other
side, but based on the officer’s nonplussed expression, at the last
minute I decided not to…
… it’s not quite like yelling “Bomb”,
but I’d imagine it can’t be a far walk to it, y’know? I don’t
want any trouble in the security line…
… or a prostate exam either, come to mention it…
Where was I? Oh…
So I get through the metal detector unscathed but the
same could almost not be said for my stuff… there is a sudden
commotion, banging and clattering of plastic on plastic like ten Rock’em
Sock’em Robots having an orgy. The trays on the X-Ray conveyor slam
into the bags and there’s a multiple-tray/bag pile-up at the
receiving table, stuff flying everywhere… I start to pack up as fast
as possible, but can’t help over-hearing the line officer yelling at
the X-Ray driver in that oh so delicate Dennis Franz-like Chicagoan
accent, and I quote:
“I’m telling’ ya, Jimmy, slow-w-w
it down… ‘ah-riiight? You break a laptop today and yer payin’
for it!”
I remember looking for a smile, to see if it was a
moment of jocularity betwixt two comrades. There was no smile, not on
either side.
Suddenly, I can’t get my belt back on and get
myself away from all of this quickly enough. Zipping the last pocket on my
backpack I notice that I’ve accidentally brought my AC converter (a
large, heavy piece of metal & electronic junk that I have no use for
on the tour, and which could only have looked worse on the X-Ray)…
and for the record they also failed to confiscate two Bic lighters
(currently banned) and a nail trimmer with the little file on it… T’sk
T’sk… slow it down indeed, Jimmy… slow it down indeed.
8:10p - I arrive at the gate and find Kevin
without further incident… will wonders never cease?
8:25p - Our flight begins boarding… Kevin
gets in line and instead of just tossing my drink bottle on the floor, I’m
forced to leave the line in order to put it in the trash… by the time
I turn around, an entire Guatemalan village has gotten into the line,
stroller and all… there must have been thirty-seven people in this
family, I kid you not… the line is moving quickly, though, and soon I
see Kevin disappear with his bag down the jet way…
Just as I’m about four people away from the
ticket lady, she picks up the phone at her station. The line comes to a
halt. Notice the time on this one, please.
8:40p - I finally get to the jet way after the
ticket lady finishes her conversation. Unreal.
8:42p - The flight attendant standing in the
doorway of the plane fixes me with a grin probably generated by several
tabs of Lithium…
“Welcome Aboard!” she squeaks, as if to say “This
is just GREAT!” Way-y-y
to PERKY for her own good… or anyone else’s for that matter…
if you catch my drift…
This is one of those women who’s fighting the
effects of time in a purely mechanical way, and in doing so she ends up
looking even more aged, if that makes sense? Her skin is impossibly tight
like she’s had a high-tension face lift, the kind that every time she
smiles her knee caps probably turn white. We’re the third bunch of
grumps she’s dealt with today, most likely… given the sad
financial state of the airline industry today and all of the people they‘ve
laid off, I’m sure senior flight attendants are like the surgeons on “M*A*S*H”,
going into the ninety-sixth hour with no end to the carnage in sight. I
try to smile, but my face has other plans. Whatever odd facial contortion
I have just displayed shakes her perma-grin momentarily. I feel bad for
her… I want to say something…
(Just sit down. Pull your hat down low.)
My backpack situated on top of my rolling computer bag
hits a few elbows here or there, but I’m past caring… I know
that I have an aisle seat, so I start looking at the numbers… mine’s
“20”… 20C, to be exact… let’s see… there’s
Kevin! And my seat must be-e-e-e-e…
… right next to the two giggling fifteen-year-old
model-in-training-type girls.
Riiiiiiiiiiight.
“Hi!” says one with a big smile and a smack
of gum, holding a copy of “Elle Girl” magazine as if it were
alive and squirming in her hands… the other one jabbed the talker in
the ribs and averted her eyes out the window… both broke out in
giggles again…
God, I feel old.
“Hello.” I manage, sounding like Ward
Cleaver to my own ears.
(Just sit down. Pay no attention.)
“What’cha reading?” asked the Talker,
and was again jabbed in the ribs by her friend. More giggles.
“Seventeenth Century Japanese Philosophy.”
“Wow. Sounds deep.” she smacked through her
gum. More giggling.
(This is just like it went down in high school, man…
jeez… I’m having some kind of messed up flashback… nothing
has changed… at least we’ll be up in the air soon-)
“Aaaahhhh-h-h-hFOLKS this is your captain here,”
came a voice like aural Thorazine, “… we’rrrre going to
take a few… uh… minutes herrrre… as you might recall, there
were a few… uuuuhhh… ‘problems’… with the
aircraft…”
(You have my undivided attention.)
“… we should, uuuhhhh… be determining
what’s wrong… and signing some paperwork…”
(How does that fix anything, again? Hmmm?
Sorry? What? Use a WRENCH or something on that “problem” bit
before you go signing off on anything, OK Captain Quaalude? I can’t
believe this…)
“So… what do you do?” asked the Talker.
“I’m a sound engineer.”
“What’s that do?” (Her words, not
mine.)
“I mix live music.”
“For a band?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“You’ve never heard of us.”
She just kept looking at me. I felt stupid.
“Dark Star Orchestra.”
The blank stare continued for a moment, and then she
asked “What kind of music?”
“Grateful Dead.”
More blank stare… and I could swear I heard those
crickets again.
“The Grateful Dead? Jerry Garcia? No?” I
offer.
This fifteen-year-old girl honestly had no idea who I
was talking about… she just innocently shrugged her shoulders… “Is
that like, hard rock or something?”
… I felt my own shoulders sag a bit further with
age.
Being careful not to spit my dentures at her, I tried
to break it down a bit further by relating it to something about fifteen
or twenty years more recent:
“Like Phish?”
“OOooooohhh yeah… I think my older brother
listened to them,” she said absently, turning back to her magazine.
With the news that I did in fact not work for “anybody
good”, her interest fell off. Thank Jah for small favors.
9:00p - (Captain Quaalude comes over the Comm
again)“Ladies and gentle-… uh… -men… this is
yoooouuuurr… captain… still waiting on those forms, buuuut…
uh… we’ll be ready to get underway, uh, here… iiiin just a
few minutes…”
9:08p - “UuuuuuuuhhhhFOLKS… your
captain… again… we’re moments away from… departure…
so please keep your seats… we’ll be on our… uh… way…
to Baltimore soon…”
Would someone get that guy a cup of coffee, at least?
He sounds about ready to pass out! Suddenly, my mouth goes into gear while
my brain is busy puzzling over what the pilot’s pre-flight
pharmacology might include…
“Y’know, in the old days they’d have
that drink cart rollin’ if they were gonna hold us here like
this!”
“Yeah… that’d be great.” says the
Talker.
“Uh, there’ll be none of that!”
I try to joke further, but it just sounds lame and of course garners
absolutely no reaction from either of my seatmates.
Way to go, Ward.
“Hey! How them papers comin’?” I yelp
up the aisle to no one in particular… who gives a damn… call the
Air Marshall on me… I’ve already been through enough…
“FOLKS this is yer captain… we are going to
begin taxiing any moment now…”
“Peanuts? Can we at least GET OUR PEANUTS?!?”
9:25p - The plane begins to move… It
continues to move all the way to Baltimore, where it lands safely, and I
am not forced to endure any further flashbacks to my high school years…
… at least the chicks back then knew who the Dead
were.
8/11/05 Dewey Beach DE.
Literally the hottest show of the tour: During the day
it’s 101 degrees in the shade with 1000 percent humidity, and the
small shack on the roof which houses the sound and lighting consoles
upstairs from the main floor (painted black, no less) remains a balmy 101
degrees long after sundown like a kiln. Bryan and I are shirtless for the
show, and later Lisa tells us it looked from the stage as if we were
naked.
Probably not what you wanna be thinking about when you’re
tryin’ to sing, huh?
Even though we did a single-drummer show (which
requires comparatively little set-up and tear-down of equipment), we have
all sweated through what remains of our clothing by the end of load-out -
and you can’t get on the bus in that condition, you’ll lose
friends fast. So we all sat outside the only shower backstage and pounded
on the door yelling (with obscenity-laden commentary, of course) for each
other to hurry up…
… even after only thirty seconds of the water
running…
… it’s like a frat hazing every night, being
around this crew.
After-gig shower record holder: Robbie Williams,
coming in at just under four minutes… a new land-speed record for
mammals his size I believe.
Special thanks to Tyler Nixon’s mom for having
the entire band (minus Bryan and Nick) over for a delicious dinner prior
to the show… sorry we swooped in, ate, and ran back out again, but
that’s the biz…
8/12/05 Atlantic City NJ.
Air Conditioning!!!
But really… after yesterday, you have no idea how
much this little amenity means to us. The load-in is almost farcical, with
our equipment having to be sent up two different elevators and about a
quarter-mile of service hallway, but the House of Blues there has a
top-notch sound system and comfortable facilities, and unlike other HOB’s
we’ve played, the room is actually quite spacious with a better
coverage by the PA. Big tip o’ the hat to the crew there, who had to
schlep our cases through that insane load-in! Due to the distance our gear
has to travel (as well as waiting for elevators), the bus doesn’t
leave Atlantic City until early morning. Everyone is keyed up with
anticipation of the next day, and as a result, I don’t think any of
us get what you’d call “good” sleep…
… even in Dark Star terms.
8/13/05 Gathering of the Vibes Mariaville NY.
8:00a - Robbie knocks on the bulkhead outside
my bunk.
*tacktacktack*
(Ignore it.)
*knockknockknock*
(Dammit.)
*thudthudthud!*
(It’s no use, he knows you’re in here.)
The Velcro on my curtain is a nasty sound after only a
few hours of sleep. I don’t like nails on a chalkboard, and I hate
the sound of dental drills, but my curtain’s Velcro ranks right up
there at this moment.
“Hhrmm-heh?”
“C’mon Sunshine. Breakfast.”
“F- breakfast.”
“Let’s GO.”
“F- you.”
“Get up.”
“F- that.”
“C’mon man… not today, OK? Get UP.”
8:06a - Stumble off the bus. Sunglasses.
Coffee. It’s too early. Robbie takes a look at me and silently points
to the hospitality tent.
8:07a - Coffee obtained. My radio sputters on
my shoulder. Gear is being moved, questions are flying. It’s WAY too
early.
OK… y’know what? This time thing is getting
tedious to try and recall at this point, so I’m just gonna go back to
telling stories… I hope the sudden shift in format doesn’t ruin
your appreciation of the piece, but sod it… I need to let this go
where it will or I’m not being true to my style…
… or lack-there-of… as the case may be…
This is the day everyone wants to hear about… the
big Jerry Jam at Gathering of the Vibes…
Was it difficult to coordinate? Was it cool? Did you
have fun? Did it sound good? Did you have a favorite part? Did it rain?
Were there any problems? How many people showed up? What’s the square
root of twenty-five hundred seventy-two?
1. No
2. Yes
3. Yes
4. Of course… who do you think you’re
talking to here? I
mean, uh, I guess so.
5. “Like A Road”
6. No
7. Not as far as I was concerned.
8. Between thirteen and fifteen-thousand, They really
weren’t sure.
9. Go Away.
It was great. Get the tapes. Yada. Yada. Aaaaaaaaand,
Yada. You’ll have to excuse me… I’m still a bit wrung out.
This was a long day… we really haven’t
performed on a schedule or scale like this before, it was insane. S’co
(pronounced “Skoh”, a contraction of his full sir-name “Tomaskovich”
) our monitor engineer coordinated the entire effort from the DSO side, I
really can‘t take very much in the way of credit for what went down
from a thought-standpoint, but we also had bullpen DSO mixer Cotter
Michaels on hand and Sage Plakosh, our longest-running unpaid employee.
Having both of these skilled techs on the stage meant the difference in
the overall Difficulty Factor for S’co and myself on the day of the
show, so that we could concentrate on our mixes… they deserve a big
Thank You…
… and, well, Sage should really get some money…
… notice I said “should” …
Heart-felt thanks also go out to the rest of our crew,
DEBBIE (whom I forgot to mention in the last installment - whoops! Doctor
Debbie was actually a major player in trying the eardrops I mentioned in
the last Road Rash, and I totally blanked on that fact) , Tiny, Bryan, and
Nick… without you guys… well…
… I’d be expected to work a lot harder…
… and I’ve already mentioned in previous
papers, I’m a lazy, lazy man. That would just never work out, y’know
what I mean?
The Vibes? Well, it was five-plus hours with guests
like David Nelson, Melvin Seales, Jackie & Gloria, Donna Jean
Godchaux-MacKay, The Zen Tricksters, Keller Williams, Martin Fierro, Julie
Avalone, and David Gans.
Like I said, get the tapes!
8/14/05 Mulcahy’s Wantagh NY.
I have to be honest, this gig is a fog to me… I
remember dazedly sitting behind the console up in the mix loft of the bar
like a puppet with my strings cut, looking at the stage and wondering how
in Jah’s name my musicians were able to keep it together and deliver
such an energetic performance. The only other thing I can recall is that
my favorite NASCAR driver didn’t win at Watkin’s Glen that day,
which it just so happens is the home of my favorite Dead recording of all
time. So much for serendipitous luck, I guess…
8/17/05 Springfield OH.
A few days off and a movie do us all some good, and
that is reflected in the performance of both the band AND crew…
… most especially the crew.
Everyone was in good spirits for this outdoor show…
plenty of clowning around under a beautiful August night sky, I had some
feedback issues in the second set for the first time in a long time (all
apologies to audience, band, and crew! Boy have I taken heat for that!),
but the show… what can I say? First-ever performance of “Next
Time You See Me”? “Big Iron”? Are you kiddin’
me? A beautiful show at a beautiful venue on a beautiful night, it just
doesn’t get any better than this…
… except, of course, for the feedback…
… jeez… hundreds of gigs, and you make ONE
mistake…
8/18/05 Nelson Ledges Quarry Park
We have the day off today… I roll off the bus
into the moderate heat and take in my surroundings. The stage is clear
except for a tattered drum rug and a few odd cables that look like they’ve
seen better days and there’s a gentle breeze blowing the strains of a
70’s-style “Looks Like Rain” to me, coming from a close
campsite…
The park is a kinder, gentler place the day before or
even the day after one of these festival weekends… there are a few
hippies strolling around or sunning on the beach, a few vendors have shown
up early to stake their spots, but the atmosphere is one of laid back
tranquility… a far cry from where it will be a scant twenty-four
hours for now.
I walk out into the dust and regard the stage for a
moment, and then I close my eyes and visualize just what it is we have to
do to this wide-open stage in order to get ready… it seems almost a
shame to toss a big audio stone into this calm pool of countryside, but it’s
just got to get done. Tomorrow there will be miles of cable, PA speakers,
monitor consoles, instruments, amps, mics, musicians, activity to stir the
air, and hungry ears prodded onwards by starving feet out here by the
thousands where I now stand alone, searching for The Beat… but for
now it’s peaceful, and I’m enjoying it… just then my revere
is interrupted by a voice and I open my eyes to see a beautiful hippie
girl who’s walking by…
“Kinda quiet up there right now, isn’t it?”
she smiles, absentmindedly tossing her mane of brunette hair in a way that
makes me believe in the phrase “God Bless America”…
“Yeah,” I said, “But we’ll change
that soon enough.”
She kept smiling and continued on to the beach.
“Soon enough” I repeat, to myself this time.
8/22/05 - Cleveland Airport
I’m wiped out. The weekend is over, we’ve
raised a lot of money for charity, and we’ve managed fairly well to
keep ahead of the Nelson Ledges Gremlin who likes to try and screw me up
every year… the power stayed on, all of the bands got to play, and
the weather held out with the exception of one flash flood on Saturday
afternoon… I’m not going to review everything that happened,
there are lots of run-downs on the website already and really, this paper
is getting long as it is… suffice it to say that I left the Ledges
again this year with a sense of satisfaction that’s difficult to put
into words… so for once I just won’t even try.
And now it’s really early and we’re at yet
another airport.
The bus has deposited us on the curb outside the
terminal and motored on into the bright Ohio morning, leaving us to the
mercy of Monday air traffic.
After a last cigarette, Kevin and I make our way to
the beginning of the roped off back-n-forth nonsense of the ticketing
counters, which of course have lines out the ass… I flash back to the
experiences I had had trying to get out of Chicago and I looked at my
phone for the time…
“7:12 AM”
, it reads in big blue characters… we’ll probably be in
this line awhile, I figure… just then, I see Kevin back at the
entrance to the ticket counter rope-a-dope… he’s standing with a
woman in an airline uniform, and he is waving for me to come back…
Uh-oh.
Our plane doesn’t leave until 9:15a (barring any
need for signatures in triplicate or anything, of course), but I’m
really not in the mood… if she tells me I’ve gotta go somewhere
else, I’m going to tell HER to go somewhere else… somewhere a
lot hotter and more uncomfortable than the Cleveland Airport, I tell you
what…
… but when I get back to Kevin, he’s smiling…
… and to my shock and amazement, so is this
airline employee… in fact, she is the absolute antithesis of the
woman in the Chicago airport… her smile is warm and genuine, and for
a moment I’m even more suspicious.
“We don’t need to wait in this line.”
“We… don’t?” I ask, like a caveman
who’s just seen a television.
“Nah… all we need to do is use the machines
over there. We’re not checking any luggage, right?”
Oh wow. He’s right! I had sent my bag home with
our friend Kari Von Arx who was driving through Chicago the next day on
her way back to Wisconsin… Jah bless her, she’s responsible for
this! For once, things go our way…
7: 14a -
We use the ticketing machines. I remember to take my boarding pass
this time.
7:17a - Here comes security again… I can
smell the campfire smoke is still in my clothes, and I wonder if it’ll
set off any sort of alarm… and then the conditions are just right,
and I get a whiff of ME…
… suddenly, I’m not quite as worried about
the campfire smell.
7:20a - Monday morning Rush Hour for Cleveland’s
business flyers… lots of suits standing in the security line, and
then there’s me and Kevin. Bleary-eyed, haven’t slept… “Products
of the Park”… if you were there over the weekend, odds are you
were in about the same shape come that Monday morning…
Heh. Yep.
Anyway, I got up to security and that’s when it
hits me:
I gotta take my boots off.
Gnarly.
OK… so I get up to the metal counter at the X-Ray
machine and it’s the same routine…
Boots off, cell phone in backpack, keys in backpack,
belt off, laptop out & into a tray, boots, belt… pull pants up…
put computer tray on rollers, heft backpack containing DVD player, DVDs,
cell phone, keys Blah Blah BLAH…
… pull up pants again…
… I pass through the detector unharmed…
… and my luggage takes a little less time than I
thought it would in the tunnel, but this time it’s not because the
officer in charge of the machine was going for distance records with our
stuff, it’s because the people at the Cleveland Airport are courteous
and efficient…
… even at Rush Hour on a Monday morning.
I still walked through the system with two Bic
lighters, though… T’sk T’sk.
We had some time to kill, so Kevin got a coffee and we
sat down outside our gate… almost immediately, we heard this
announcement from an almost comically effeminate young man over the
airport PA:
“Hi, umm, good mor-NEEN passengers… yeah, um…
the flight this mor-NEEN to Chicago has been oversold, so right now we are
offering Business Class
tickets if you have the time to spare and can fly later this afternoon…”
I looked at Kevin, Kevin looked back at me, not a word
was exchanged but the eyes said it all: “Not This Kid.”
Over the course of about a half-hour we listened to
the offer go from the upgrade ticket to the upgrade ticket with a food
voucher good anywhere in the Cleveland Airport (I’ll leave your
imagination to run wild with punch lines for THAT… nothing I make up
could possibly be as funny) and finally they topped it off with some bonus
miles or something equally as tasty… to be honest, they could have
offered free airfare to Aruba and I wouldn’t have bitten…
While it was crowded as Hell and some of the business
set were a bit pushy in lining up, we got right onto the plane…
… well, it was like a plane… only it was
smaller…
To say that this aircraft was a claustrophobic’s
nightmare would be a gross understatement. It had two seats on one side of
the aisle and only one on the other side, and the ceiling was so low that
I (standing at 6’2”) had to stoop over to get through the plane
to my seat… even the flight attendant standing in the door had to
hunch her shoulders and lower her head! It was ridiculous… but I
tried to look on the bright side (I would be home soon in my own bed, etc.
like a mantra), and really what did I expect from a Cleveland to Chicago
flight, a 747? I hobbled down the aisle hitting people in the head with my
backpack, which is slung over my shoulder this time instead of riding my
computer bag because the aisle is way to narrow…
*thud* “Hey!”
“Sorry.”
*wump* “Watch it!”
“Excuse me.”
*conk* “Ouch!”
“Get a helmet.”
By the time I got to row twenty (that row number
again, although not seat “C” this time and more’s the pity
for that but I’m getting ahead of myself ), pretty much the entire
plane hated me… I thought for a second about taking my shoes off to
really get the group’s anger rolling, but when I got to my seat there
was only enough room in the overhead compartment for my laptop case due to
the plane being over-sold in the first place… so I figured I would
put my backpack under the seat, not the most comfy arrangement, but it was
a short flight…
… and as you can probably deduce by now, it wasn’t
that short… at least, it certainly didn‘t feel all that
short.
I had the window seat… normally, when I get to
the ticketing counter, I change to an aisle seat if I have a middle or a
window assignment but this time when I tried to do it the seating chart
came up with only one option; A different window seat about a row in back
of the other seat.
Just to have fun, I switched to the seat anyway to
sort of “roll the bones”…
… yeaahhh…
… did’ya ever do something innocent…
COMPLETELY innocent, on nothing more than a whim… and later you wish
you hadn’t? And I don’t know why the gambling spirit took me at
this particular moment in my life, ask the band, I never ever even sit at
the poker table. I can’t see the reasoning behind losing the money
that these musicians are supposed to be paying me for my all-too-valuable
skills back to them. I know my luck better than that… you’ve
heard of the Luck o’ the Irish? Well, I’m Scottish. It’s
pretty much the reverse for us…
My father always told me “Only gamble as much as
you have to lose.” and
you can tell just by looking at me that most of the time I don’t have
a pot to pi-
Sorry… I’m getting away from the story…
I’ll try to keep the personal information germane from here on out.
I’m tall, and I need room to stretch my legs…
if I sit on the aisle I can stick one leg out to stretch and then stick
the other one out (while the drink cart is off the track, so to speak) and
sort of trade off during the flight… that helps with my lower back
too… but this time it was not to be. The
plane being as jammed as it was with Monday morning traffic and all
of the folks having one of those little rolling suitcases with them each,
by the time I got to my seat in this cramped little plane all the way in
the back there was not one little bit of space in an overhead compartment…
… or, well… the bread boxes which passed for
overhead compartments on this equivalent of a Shetland Pony with wings…
… as I had already ticked the entire plane off by
pelting them in the head with my backpack, I saw nothing to lose and
started re-packing the vegetable crisper above my seat. On the bus, there’s
no room for anything as I have told you before, so we’ve all become
pretty good at doing the Tetris thing with our backpacks and computer bags…
I just took a few things and re-arranged them…
… with a firm shove…
… to accommodate my computer.
Closing the compartment with an authoritative slam
like I was turning on the “No Vacancy” sign, I looked down to my
seat. There was already a passenger in the aisle seat and he looked up at
me expectantly… I stood there for a second, and then I had to give
him the ol’ widening of the eyes, as if to say “Well? Are you
gonna move or am I going outside and sliding in through the window stock
car-style?” and then he finally moved for me to get in…
… not standing up, mind you, but just scooting
his legs to the side like someone in a movie theater…
What is it about row twenty? Is it the Freaks row? Don’t
sit in row twenty, people… ever.
“I… uh… alllll-right…”
It was no use trying to reason with this guy, running
on no sleep and less patience… so I piled over him. As I slid in I
tried to put my backpack under the seat, and it’s at this point I
realize that in addition to the overhead compartments being shrunk, the
seating space on this aircraft had also been… shall we say, “optimized”…
there was little to no space left under the seat in front of me for my
LEGS let alone a piece of carry-on luggage… so with a sigh I crammed
it under my knees and looked for my seatbelt and then pull my hat down
over my eyes…
As the plane is taxiing out to the runway, it begins.
This guy’s knee starts hopping up and down,
rapidly… he’s obviously anxious, and that’s not so unusual
for air travel… but this knee which is now running like a piston is
right up against my leg, and he’s transferring this nervous energy to
me… I move my knee out of range, but this just allows the guy to
spread out a bit more and continue his speed metal kick drum practice…
the more I try to get away the more he encroaches, and for a split-second
I consider going off on the guy, but after clipping all of my fellow
passengers with my backpack, rearranging the overhead compartments, and
the fact that I smell like a bear, I kind of figured that the next step
for me was to be roughly introduced to the Air Marshall if I made one more
objectionable or even remotely threatening move aboard the plane…
So I sat there and put up with it.
TaptaptaptaptapTapTAPTAPTAPta-
(At least it’s not a long flight)
TaptaptaptaptapTAPTAPTAPtaptaptaptap-
(It can’t be much further)
TAPtapTAPtapTAPtapTAPtap-
(I wonder how the Indians are doing this year?)
Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap… tap
(OK… this is really starting to tick me off)
TAP… TAP… TAP…
(That’s IT)
tap.
(Not a court in the land would convict me if I just…)
By the time we go to O’Hare Airport, I had come
up with a half-dozen places I could likely hide this guy’s body on
the plane… Kevin was waiting for me up at the end of the jet way, and
he got a kick out of my murderous rant about my seating arrangements…
I, on the other hand, was not amused and I just wanted to get my luggage,
get on the train, and get to my bed.
And that’s just what I did. In that order.
After I got home I went to sleep… did not pass
go, did not collect $200... I just crashed HARD. Eventually, when bed
sores were immanent, I got up and wandered around my apartment tending to
the garden of domesticity which I had been neglecting for the last several
weeks…
… getting home is so weird sometimes…
No PA to figure out… no real schedule to keep…
no snack machine down the hall… nothing to do but stare at the four
walls.
“Guess I’ll have a smoke.”
8/23/05 - Chicago IL.
12:23a - It’s much cooler out here since
I left… the crickets are still going strong but the swarm of insects
has disappeared from around the alley light… the clouds must be
higher in altitude because they’re a much more natural color, only
slightly jaundiced from the glow of the city lights… and out of
nowhere a car drives down our block and the trunk-thumper sets off every
car alarm as it passes, which makes me smile in spite of the sonic
intrusion into my peaceful little backyard…
I do love this town… and I’m glad to
be home, finally getting some space… but as I observe the changes
around me from just a few weeks ago in my little backyard, it makes me
realize just how quickly my life seems to be moving lately… it’s
flying by at mach speed, one venue at a time, and to be honest sometimes
that scares me. Weeks seem to evaporate into minutes (kind of like I’ve
just done for you here), and when the resulting fear sets in I sometimes
think about what life would be like off the road… if I could finally
write that novel and get it published, if
I could have a regular family life, what all of that might be like…
staying in one place for awhile and trying life at a little slower pace…
would it still flash by?
I’m sure that in a short amount of time I’ll
get bored and crave the unpredictability of the road again, but for now
this is perfect… sitting down on my favorite step I light a cigarette
and look up into the eastern sky just in time to catch the tail lights of
an outbound jet…
… yeah… I’ll get sick of this, but for
now I’m content… there’ll be another tour and more
excitement soon enough.
“Soon Enough,” I say to the crickets, and
put my cigarette out.
G’night y’all… and see you around the
playground!
~Cameron~
9/02/05 - Somewhere in Chicago