Hootie and the Drumstick

I am a total sucker for catching "has-been" bands and performers live in concert. If you are an aging rocker...one-hit wonder...80's band, chances are, I'll find my way to your show come hell or Konocti.

Over the past five years, the Marin County Fair has provided me with annual entertainment ranging from Peter Frampton (actually a great performer, but the crowd consisted of folks my parents age holding up their Frampton Comes Alive albums), KC and the Sunshine Band (which was basically KC, one other original band member, and a bunch of 20-something's that resembled old C+C Music Factory video extras), The Village People (do I have to say anything more?), and the homecoming of Marin's native sons, Huey Lewis and the News.

My favorite performance was four years ago when Eddie Money headlined the fair. My friend Joana pulled me up to the front row where we immersed ourselves in a sea of white trash (for the record, Joana and I were the only two front row people who were not wearing either acid wash or sporting a mullet). Let me say, the drugs have not been kind to Eddie. He looks about 25 years older in person than he really is, and he's swollen and leathery. I joked that he must have come out on stage from an iron lung, as he was sweating profusely and panting between singing, smoking cigarettes, and playing the saxophone.

Eddie started playing new material, but the response from the audience was lukewarm. About midway through his set, Eddie started pulling out the classics. By the time he'd belted out Baby Hold On, Think I'm in Love, and Take Me Home Tonight, the crowd was on fire. He started spinning around with this groovy little dance of his, and when he sang Two Tickets to Paradise, he started reaching out in the crowd giving his fans a high five. Joana, being just over five feet tall kept jumping up trying to shake his hand. I merely reached over and EDDIE MONEY SHOOK MY HAND!

In a word...it was fabulous. (You are all welcome to touch the hand that touched greatness at any time).

Then there was the Rick Springfield concert up at the former Caesars Tahoe a few years back. Once again, Joana and I were there in a crowd we didn't quite fit in with. Instead of white T, it was a bunch of women who were still trapped in the early 80's. I don't think this many mini-skirts, pump heels, and big bangs have been seen this side of 1984. Joana could barely see Rick Springfield as the woman in front of her had bangs that were literally pumped up three inches high.

As if the crowd wasn't entertaining enough, Rick Springfield was celebrating his 50th birthday on this particular evening and had apparently begun his celebrations prior to showtime. After his first song, Rick addressed us with this:

"It's GREAT to be back in the MILE-HIGH CITY! WOOOOOOOOO!"

Uh, buddy. You're in Tahoe, not Denver.

Rick proceeded to pull women on stage to sing for him, kept freaking out that his guitar was out of tune, and would take bouquets of roses women threw at him on stage and smash them against his guitar, creating an amazing rose petal confetti effect. (I can only hope he's this spectacular when I catch him this Friday evening live at the Marin County Fair! Speaking of the MCC, the line-up of performers is absolutely spectacular. Along with Rick Springfield, Eddie Money is coming back, and there will also be performances by Joan Jett and The Nelsons. If you have no other plans this weekend, you should take the trek to San Rafael).

With these stories (and countless other untold gems) about has-been bands, you can only imagine my reaction when I received an invitation to the 2006 Extron Bash at Infocomm.

"Headlining the 2006 Extron Bash...Hootie and the Blowfish!"

Every year at InfoComm, Extron puts on a killer party with great bands, games, food, and drinks. Last year they rented out the Thomas & Mack Center in Vegas. This year, the party was at Sea World in Orlando.

I have to say, I wasn't sure whether Extron shelling out for a band of Hootie's caliber made me happy or sad. Part of me was thrilled that Hootie was getting some work. The other part of me felt bad for them. Here was one of the biggest bands of the 1990's and now they were being relegated to playing private parties for AV geeks. I mean, I know they were the Huey Lewis & the News of the 1990's...a band who probably shouldn't have made it as big as they did...but man, this was a tough break.



Still, here it was, a chance to see Hootie live and for free. I wasn't about to miss my opportunity. I was able to get my girlfriend Irika into the party and we headed straight to the main stage to stake out a good spot to catch the show.

Hootie came out strong. Lead singer Darius Rucker has a great voice and the band, for all my smart comments, really are a decent live act. Surrounding us, a sea of mostly white middle-aged men/AV geeks stand tall, barely tapping a toe to the music. I once again feel sad for Hootie. Irika and I step up our dancing and begin chanting "HOOTIE! HOOTIE!" Behind us, a guy with an amazing mullet is cutting a rug as if he can feel the energy we're trying to bring to the crowd.

Towards the end of the set, I start working my way up to the front. I am spotted immediately by an industry friend, and he pulls me to the front of the stage. I am just a few feet away from Hootie as they play Only Wanna Be With You and Hold My Hand. At the end of the show, the guitarist starts throwing guitar picks out into the audience. Suddenly the crowd awakens and the scene is like one of those videos on America's Funniest Home Videos, where a bride throws a bouquet and there is a scramble (short of blows) to get the bouquet. I can honestly say few things are sadder than watching middle-aged men fight over guitar picks...from Hootie and the Blowfish nonetheless.

After the crowd clears, Irika spots a coveted Hootie guitar pick out of the corner of her eye. Somehow it was missed in the earlier chaos. I reach over the velvet ropes and grab it for Irika. As we are marveling over her souvenir, I spot a roadie clearing up the stage. I ask if I could possibly get one of those nifty guitar picks as well. He winks at me, says "I can do even better," and walks to the drum set to hand me a Hootie drumstick. This is nirvana - what a great memento of a truly Hootie-tastic evening. Thanks again, Roadie!

Road to Nowhere

Were on a road to nowhere
Come on inside
Takin that ride to nowhere
Well take that ride

Im feelin okay this mornin
And you know,
Were on the road to paradise
Here we go, here we go

-Talking Heads, Road to Nowhere

Part of the fun of cruising is pulling into a port for a day and doing some exploring. Cruise lines offer a variety of activities for a hefty sum at each port. On an Alaskan cruise there are obvious offerings like salmon fishing and glacier tours, and crazy options such as snorkeling in Victoria, where participants don a 6.5 mm wetsuit before jumping into the icy waters off the island. I can honestly say there is no kelp forest or fish I need to see that badly in life...ever.

I came home one night from work to be greeted by a giddy husband. He had been researching our options and found one that met his fancy.

"We're going 4-wheelin' when we get to Skagway!" Tim says excitedly. "Travel the route of the Trail of '98 from behind the wheel of a four-wheel drive Jeep Wrangler on the Yukon Jeep Safari....Driving a four-person off-road vehicle provides the freedom of exploring Klondike Gold Rush from roads less taken. View Pitchfork Falls, Moore Bridge, Dead Horse Gulch, Brackett Wagon Trail and Tormented Valley enroute to the historic village of Carcross."

I try hard to force a smile and feign enthusiasm back at him. Since nearly drowning last summer in a white water rafting accident, any time I am presented with any kind of extreme sport or activity, I immediately clam up. Call it post-traumatic stress, call it being a sissy, I just didn't want to do it.

Yet Tim was so excited that it was hard to be negative about the Jeep tour. I figured if they were offering it to cruise ships it couldn't be THAT dangerous and the first step of healing from my accident would be to start being more accepting about trying things that scream DANGER! DEATH! SERIOUS INJURY!

Why I even worried is beyond me. In some "mix-up in communication" between the tour operator and our ship, somehow the message that the off-roading would be cancelled due to a heavier than normal snowdrift never made it to us. Instead we would be taking a five-hour drive from Skagway, through British Columbia, and into the Yukon Territory in our Jeep's. On the highway. Had we been informed in advance, I would have scrapped this for sea kayaking (my first choice in Skagway). Unfortunately, this news came to us 45 minutes into the drive when we were somewhere in BFN, British Columbia.

Of course we had overslept that morning and you can't take any food off the ship. We barely had time to scarf down anything for breakfast. And there was no time to wait for my coffee to cool down to drink it. That's right - no coffee. For five hours. In the middle of nowhere, with no radio signal. Into the wild where no one can hear you scream...in boredom.



Buck, our tour guide/adventure mojo squasher, tried to put a happy spin on things. "Tons of wildlife out here! One group saw a mama bear and her cubs the other day. We'll see mountain goats, bald eagles, all sorts of wildlife. I promise!"

My fair readers (all two of you), let me tell you the hidden truth about Alaska and Canada. You hear a lot about the amazing array of wildlife there. Lies! All lies! I was promised whales, orcas, bears, moose, and I saw nothing on my entire vacation. I'm convinced, there is no wildlife in that region at all.

It was pretty but the scenery for the first hour or two is much of the same. Snow, mountains, lakes, trees. The sun was shining on me in the passenger seat and I felt much like my cat Max who seeks out a sunbeam to nap in. I doze off repeatedly in between Buck's CB radio updates on the history of the area. He wants us to create names for each of our Jeep teams. Since Tim and I don't answer, Buck names us "Big Red" after our red Jeep. Redemption is suddenly mine for the taking. Tim has never forgiven me for our bus trip from Rome to Pompeii two years ago. We could have rented a car or taken the train (which I thought we were going to do) but we took a bus tour instead and I have been unfairly blamed for this since. It was so cheesy - 14 hours of our tour guide operator repeating the same thing in English, Italian, French, and Spanish. And singing. And tours of jewelry stores. A terrible detour through the slums of Naples. And ultimately, only about two hours spent in Pompeii (which was cool but not nearly enough time). We were on the Carrini bus line and the tour guide called us her "Carrini familia." With one simple "Big Red" name christening, I shoot Tim a glance and tell him, I never, ever want to hear about Pompeii or Family Carrini again.

But I digress...

As we come into the Yukon Territory, we pull over by a beautiful iced over lake. Buck tells us to take out our binoculars and look up. About 1000 feet above us, white mountain goats are out on the mountain. Even in binoculars, the goat look like tiny little specs. Fascinating.

Finally we arrive in the town of Carcross. Looking more like a ghost town than an inhabited town, Carcross is at the same time, desolate, run-down, and strangely beautiful. We get out of the Jeep to stretch our legs, have a snack, and check out the town. It is sunny, but freezing outside, and the wind chills you straight to the bone. The photo options are endless so I run around this metropolis snapping photos of the sights. As I'm walking over to an simple, white clapboard church, I have my first close brush with Yukon wildlife. A prairie dog pops out of a hole, takes one look at me, and darts back down.

The best part about Carcross is the availability of coffee. Amazingly, Starbucks hasn't made it to this Yukon outpost yet. I grab a cup at the General Store (gotta love a store where you can buy hunting clothes and Christmas ornaments all in one spot) and instantly feel better. (Note to self: seek help for obvious coffee addiction).

Three hours later, Big Red returns to Skagway from the road to nowhere. We are exhausted, famished, and ready to get out of the Jeep as soon as humanly possible. Much more a snooze than a safari, I will be giving Tim a hard time about this for years to come.