This just in: a couple of neato Squiddy Pix from our September gig in Omaha, Nebraska. I sing something with feeling and Dave folks-out on the five-string bass. Gabrielle Mcdaneld sent them to us via Facebook. Thanks. That was a great night. See you next time we’re in the middle of the USA.
Aside from my raging head cold and less-than-stellar airplane service, it was a darn nice trip. We performed at the College of St. Mary’s as part of heritage week. The college was founded by the Sisters of Mercy, who were founded by Catherine McCauley, who was Irish.
The audience was right there with us, singing up a storm, just the way we like it. Bill, our guide and ride, put us up in an A+ hotel and showed us a few of the sights on our drives to and from the airport, venue and hotel. He even drove us over the Missouri River into Iowa at my request, so I could hum that line from “Shenandoah.” You know, “across the wide, Missouri.” Well, I thought it was cool.
Virgil and Terry, our sound and light folks, whom Dave knew from his last trip to this venue, were absolutely world class. The lights were snazzy, the sound was strong and clear and their utili-kilts were an authentic touch. Linda was there to document the whole thing, too. Thanks very much. They also provided unrivaled hospitality in the green room.
Dave was chosen for “additional screening” by the TSA when we checked into Logan Airport in Boston. That meant myself and Jake had to get searched, too, since we were traveling together. What is it about bass players?
When we were on the plane, they announced there’d be a delay because the cargo hatch was stuck shut. We could see our checked case, with our merchandise, sitting on the cart out the window. As the minutes ticked away it looked like we’d miss our connection in Milwaukee. Then they had us get off the plane. They said they’d send us on an alternate route to Nebraska via Washington, D.C. While we waited for them to give us new tickets, Jake, our road manager, threw his Milwaukee to Omaha boarding pass in the garbage. Then, they announced the cargo hatch was fixed, so we should get back on the plane. He had to fish his ticket out of the can.
It still took forever to get off the ground. When we landed in Milwaukee, we only had minutes to get to the next flight. We raced off the plane as fast as we could, heeding neither toddler nor senior citizen. Breathless, we asked the guy at the ticket counter where our next plane was.
“Omaha?” he asked.
“Yes,” we said in three part unison.
“Have a seat. It’ll be boarding in just a few minutes,” he said blithely, waving his hand towards the plane we just got off.
Yep. The same plane was going all the way to Omaha, so there was no real way we could have been late for it. Such are the shenanigans associated with air travel theses days.
The flights home were much less eventful — except for one very snooty flight attendant who made sure we were aware he was doing us a favor, letting Dave and me take our instruments aboard, even though they fit very nicely in the overhead bin. At that point, with my head cold and repeated (re)pressurizations, I couldn’t hear much. I said thank you and ordered a Diet Pepsi.