|I Find Drawing "Sharis" Cartoons To Be Therepeutic|
Yesterday, I woke up with most of the 50 bucks which my old friend Ted (the one in imminent danger above) wired to me Wednesday. I had gone to Serda's after going to church with the *Daytons (name changed to protect their identity), and then watching a puppet show, performed by their son, *Issac (ditto).
The puppet show was about former President Bush having to call out the Army when a giant centepede starts to reek havoc upon the citizens. The centepede ate the Army though, and the Marines were called in. I won't ruin the ending for any of you who may at some time in the future, see the production in a theater.
After the puppet show, I noticed Issac's older half-sister, *Lilly curled up on the couch with only her feet protruding from the blanket which she was cowering under. I went to tickle her foot and their dog prevented me from doing so by growling.
Serda's Songwriter's Open Mic
Then, I was dropped off at Serda's and I went in.
It was about 10 pm., and I thought that I might be able to go on and play last, but, there were still about 5 people waiting to play. The guy who does two-handed tapping and plays very fast was playing very fast on a banjo, as another guy played guitar and sang. Then a girl played the ukelelee and sang, then Elizabeth Elliot read 5 of her poems, then an Aisian looking guy played guitar and sang, but, I noticed that not too many of the remaining people were listening to him.
I decided to leave rather than play and be ignored.
I was getting the cold shoulder from the artist formerly known as The Girl In The Fishnet Stockings, and Jimmy Lee never looked at me, which usually means that he is booked solid. I drank a Flying Dog Golden Ale and then trudged to my sleeping spot, very cautiously because of the 47 bucks in my pocket.
I Get Some Bucks
Thursday morning, I woke up pretty early and was at the library when it opened. I spent about 3 hours completing the paper for the Bangladeshi guy.
I then went to the beer and wine store on Dauphin Street where he works, which I cannot name here, in case his English professor reads my blog, to give him the finished paper.
I was happy to find him working, rather than the other Bangladeshi guy who works at the same store.
He was overjoyed to see me walk in and hand him the paper. He shook my hand and said "Thank you so very, very much!" He said that he had been afraid that I had forgotten to write it, or I had "fallen asleep." Homeless guys fall asleep a lot.
He produced 20 bucks, and promised that there would be more work to be done, in the future, in procuring him a 4.0 GPA in English.
I was going to ask him for 50 bucks, and argue that after he graduates he will land a job making at least 50 bucks more per year, due to his remarkable (perceived) proficiency with the English language.
I didn't argue though, because I learned a lot by writing the paper, and can now use rhetorical devices like a pro; nay, like a master of them (that was one just then). Plus, he sweetened the deal with 2 shots of Paul Masson brandy.
When it comes time for the next paper to be done, then I will play hardball and demand at least 30 bucks. I will argue that the papers become increasingly difficult and more time consuming as the semester goes on. I suggested that he leave this one on the professors desk and then run out of the classroom, before she tries to speak to him.
I then had 66 bucks, and made a beeline for the music store, to get strings. It was the kind of "beeline" made by that certain genus of bees that zig-zag a little so they can hit liquor stores for shots of brandy.
I got to the music store, bought strings, played a couple pianos and a little tiny instrument like a zither (but without the keys to press,) bought another shot of brandy at a package store a couple doors down, which I had never noticed before (I think they may have built it that morning, after finding out that I had 66 dollars, but I can't be certain...)
I then took the bus back into town in time to go to...
I went to Island Tyme, which has a Songwriter's Open Mic Night, just like Serda's, only on Thurdsay, instead of Wednesday.
There was a little girl singing and some guy accompanying her on guitar when I got there.
I sampled one of their Yuenling beers, and was soon asked up to play.
The guy who runs the thing, I suspect is a jealous sort who worries about a musician coming along and stealing his girlfriend's (Skye Johansen's) heart. He might be especially afraid that one who sings a song such as my "Carcass Song" is a bona-fide threat who has all the ingredients necessary to sweep Skye off her feet. At least that is the vibe that I have gotten from him in the past. He has never left us alone together for a minute, I've noticed. If I step outside for a cigarette and she steps outside for a cigarette; he will step outside for a cigarette, almost automatically.
I took my spot in front of the mic.
The guy who runs the thing started to "adjust" my sound. I'm not sure if he was trying to screw it up, or not, because (see above.)
He then leaned closer to me and asked me not to do "The Carcass Song," because of the presence of the little girl, who was singing when I got there.
I acquiesced and did "The Man Who Couldn't Decide What Flavor He Wanted," instead, which makes no mention of decaying animals.
I guess the girl's parents are trying to postpone the inevitable "Mommy, what's a carcass?" question as long as possible. She'll learn about carcasses soon enough.
During the song, Jimmy Lee went to the soundboard and brought my vocals up, and the guitar down, I imagine. Without the lyrics of my songs being comprehensible, they lose their meaning, I find. I think Jimmy Lee understands this. I then did "I Fell In Love On Facebook," which I kind of screwed up, but not so badly as to have had to stop in the middle of it, unless it was to add a witticism.