Under the Docks

A strange weekend indeed, at least by local standards...

This weekend was one of those fine moments when all the planets align, and the question gets answered. What would I do? Carpe Diem... Sometimes it gets weird, and sometimes you get paid, but every now and again when the moon is full the weirdness pays - hoo boy, look out!

Open on a long and boring road trip out to Cape Cod. It is a long trip and the scenery is boring. Jenny and I make our way to the Outter Cape. We check in to our room and head downtown to meet with my contact, grab something to eat, generally mill about. It is unseasonably cold and the streets of Provincetown are bare - everyone having scurried from the weather like townsfolk moments before the Big Gunfight.

We meet my contact in a dark basement-level alley, large sums of money are exchanged - payment for two very specific things; the band is playing that night, and I am performing a wedding the next day. An errant tourist wonders down the stairs into the alley and witnesses the transaction, then quickly turns around and heads the other way. One thing is for sure about square tourists in P-Town - they are shy and always aware that they won't like what's behind Door Number Three. Men hold onto their wives' hands like lost children, like they're out at sea clinging to a buoy for dear life. For if they let go, these strange men with different lifestyles and bizarre facial hair may try the old bag-n-tag, and they will be lost forever at sea. They fear the strange things that might happen late at night under the docks out here.

The Gig

Punk Rock band plays locals bar in P-Town...

I could tell by the sign on the men's room door that it would be an interesting night. The sign read: Only One Person at a Time. Indeed. Nobody wants to clean up that mess. Gay bar, owned and staffed by gay men, but somehow the clientele was strongly lesbian.

The band had been asked out to the Cape as a favor to one of the girls getting married the next day - she used to tend bar at a club in Hartford where we played quite a bit, and her gal was a Big Fan who'd never seen us. Having us play was to be her wedding/birthday gift. So there's that.

The night started out dull - drinking at the bar, equipment set up and ready to go, waiting to play. The club music blasting through the sound system would leave our audience woefully unprepared for what we were going to do.

We attempted to start around Ten-Thirty, at which point the owner and I shocked each other - he was angry and shocked that we didn't bring a PA, and I was shocked that he expected us to. Once his PA was set up we started playing, immediately chasing the crowd to the other side of the bar. They were not prepared for this. Apparently, the only types of bands that make it this far out on the Cape are Reggae and Jam bands.

About half way through the set we won over the crowd and they migrated to our side of the bar. It was loud and unabashedly non-touristy, and they liked it. The owner forgave our bar tab and all was right with the world.

The Wedding

The details were kept secret against all prying eyes, family or otherwise. A high speed getaway ensured that we weren't pursued by fanatical relatives. The ceremony was a clandestine affair out on a beach in Wellfleet - the weather was perfect, albeit a little windy, and there were few looky-loos to get in the way. Two brides to be, their dog, a witness and The Reverend. A short speech, exchange of rings and a kiss. They went off to their reception, and Jenny and I went home.

It's a strange way to get to a free vacation, but if I didn't live this life then who would?