Saturday, July 30, 2011

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Today

Good To See That I'm
Maintaining My Stature
Wednesday night, they put me in the Mobile Metro Jail again. I was sitting in Bienville Park with 4 or 5 other guys, we were drinking beer and I was playing my guitar. My beer was finished and the empty can was sitting under the bench. The other guys, seeing the special task force which seems to have been assembled to harass the homeless, stashed their cans out of sight. Myself, I was busy playing a song, and had forgotten about my empty can underneath me.
I got to the jail to see at least a dozen of my contemporaries in the same boat. The city is closing downtown shelters and moving them out into rural areas. This way, the homeless would need to buy a bus token in order to come into the downtown area and panhandle.
The task force is part of the initiative. There were a few guys in the lockup who said "As soon as I get out of here, I'm leaving Mobile." This is exactly what the cop want them to say and do. There is a defiant side of me that wants to be stubborn and stay longer, but, I would only be hurting myself.
They put me in a two man cell with 4 other guys, yes 5 guys in a 2 man cell.
I guess the task force has been busy.
Jail Is "All About" The Food Trays
I went to sleep and slept all the way through breakfast, except for a moment when one of my cellmates kicked my foot and told me that it was time for the breakfast "tray." I said something like "OK," and then continued to lay there.
Of course, he then had to follow the script, learned through years of institutionalisation, and say "If you're not going to eat it, get up and get it and give it to someone (I think we know who he had in mind) else."
I said that, if I got up and walked all the way out into the day room to get the tray, then I might as well eat it myself.
He walked out, and I heard him repeating what I had said to another inmate, seeking a ruling or opinion of some kind. He mumbled about it all morning, keeping my sleep light. Then lunch came, and he repeated the process of kicking my foot. I told him that if I gave my lunch to anyone, it would not be someone that woke me up, out a peaceful sleep. I lay back down, and as I drifted back to sleep, I could hear him telling the guard who was passing out the trays, that I had given him permission to eat my lunch, because I was not feeling good, and was not hungry. The guard refused to go along. I don't think the inmate, who they called "Pops," even enjoyed his own meal, so enraged was he over what he considered a lost opportunity to get two lunches.
I thought about getting up at the evening mealtime, getting my tray and giving it to "somebody else," picked at random. I wonder if that would have satisfied Pops, knowing that the county didn't get to keep the tray (one of his arguments), and that I had done the right thing in sharing with one of my fellow prisoners.
I think, rather, that that would have caused a scuffle, maybe some pushing and shoving and harsh words.
I have seen the dynamic at work which makes men more animal-like. It seems to stem from putting them in cages and then throwing them food thrice daily, always at the same times.
I decided to fast the whole two and a half days. I eventually gave my cellmates the very last of my trays, after the judge had set me free, and I was only waiting on "the paperwork," or for the people who push the paperwork. This was not before Pops, in yet another one of his appeals actually told me that he would appreciate it if I would give him my dinner tray, because he was "starving." "I haven't eaten in two days, and you're what?"
The tray was divided somewhat equally amongst my cellmates, with Pops getting the lion's share, probably based upon some lie that he had concocted for the others.
That kind of restored the peace and, as I left, I apologised for being "kind of grumpy," but blamed it upon the fact that I wasn't eating. They said that they understood. "This is jail," said one of them. They wished me luck.
I was out the door by about 8 pm. My money had been given back to me in the form of a check, which cannot be cashed until next Monday. My guitar and my backpack are at the main police station building, a two mile walk, and cannot be gotten until next Monday.
I continue the fast, breaking it only for a 64 oz. can of tomato juice, this morning, with some instant potatoes mixed in, and a few drops of hot sauce.
It is Saturday afternoon. I keep reaching for my guitar, every time I get a musical idea. Last night I was reaching for my mosquito repellent, my radio, and a bunch of other things that I had been taking for granted that are in my pack. I had also been using the pack as a pillow, especially when it is stuffed with clean laundry.
Last (Friday) night, there were people out on Dauphin Street. The temperature wasn't too high and there was a pretty good crowd. All I could do was sit there, feeling useless.
Now, I wait until Monday to walk the two miles to get my stuff, then cash my check and, after a visit to the food stamp office, I should be ready to say my goodbyes to Mobile.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Free To Go

I know you all need some kind of picture, so here;
I just might go to New Orleans on a whim, instead of
Missouri, to help the tornado victims.
I won't be helping any tornado victims in New Orleans...
It was a rather ordinary Wednesday, except for the fact that I got a couple of things done.
I slept at the Christ Church spot, under the vent that blows hot air all night. It rained and everything was wet, except the ground right around the vent.
I washed all of my clothes, to include my sneakers and hung them all in the bush in front of the vent.
At one point in the night, I was a bit chilly, so I reached and grabbed the purple tee shirt, which was bone dry on the bush.
Tonight, I will go back to sleeping on the grave of Elizabeth Williams, wife of the late Nathaniel Williams.
I won't be in Mobile for very long, I can feel it.
When I gaze around, there is a nostalgia.
I really only miss Joelle Underhill, for some reason, already.
She represents something, but I cannot quantify it.
They are getting ready to close the library.
I went to the Federal building and picked up the check for the sum of the balance of my account at the Baldwin County Jail. There is a box in my backpack which, when x-rayed, looks just like an explosive device of some kind.
I had to say "Oh, wow!," when I saw it myself, the first time I visited the Federal building. It is a box with a disposable camera, batteries, an aluminum flashlight, guitar strings, a harmonica and nail clippers etc. It really looks like a bomb.
The first time I visited the place, the Marshalls at the entrance insisted that I let them look inside my pack.
This morning, it was more of the same, but they gave me the check for the balance of my jail account.
Now, I am only waiting to turn my food card back on, tomorrow morning, I hope, and then I am free to roam.
Free to go.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Am I Going To Freeze?

My problem with living in a town this small is that the odds are higher of not getting
along with anyone else in town; statistically...
It's like that thing where you put so many people in a room and two of them are
going to have the same birthday.
Ok, This is called something like Missouri Winter, and it's a watercolor by James F. Wilson. I didn't have to look at a whole lot of "winter in Missouri" photos in the Google results, before getting the idea.
More Results From "Winter In Missouri"
First Winter In 19 Years?
When I saw the above is when I started to have strong misgivings about going up to Joplin, Missouri to help with the tornado cleanup, and to get free clothing and maybe even a job, I admit.
I don't know about this "winter" thing, coming up, though. It would be my first winter since 1992, (unless you count those Arctic blasts that we felt in Jacksonville, Florida for a couple weeks each year...)
I'm talking about gloves, no guitar playing on the street and no wanting to be on the street, anyways.
I still have some loose ends to tie up around Mobile, and then, unless there is a plan C, I will be taking my misgivings on the road, so that I can harbour them right at their source.
Unlike lightning, tornadoes come with no guarantee of not striking twice, which is something to consider before moving to Joplin. And the fact that lightning hasnt' struck there yet.
Will I have to spend my hard earned picking up after tornado money on shelter for the winter, or, can I find a place to improvise a shelter which can be heated by wood, perhaps out in the pristine woods, by a clear running stream?
Find out in a future installment, entitled "I Almost Freeze To Death," coming next February.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Well, Blow Me Down!

Tornado Relief
Plans are falling into place to go to Joplin, to help people find their car keys in piles of debris, which used to be their dwellings.
John The Street Preacher said that the town can be a metaphor for starting from scratch, and, as I help put the city back together, I can work upon rebuilding my life, which has been blown down by a tornado in a figurative sense.
John was quick to add that there are a number of organizations on the scene, providing food and clothing and other sundries, to the volunteers, as well as the victims. It could be a good place to start over in. I have as much faith in John's advice as in anyone elses. A little more, given that he is a preacher.
I have located the check from the jail in Bay Minette, which was sent to an address which does not exist. It is going to be returned to the last address which it was at, the Marshall's Office, downtown.

Needs A Tambourine Track, Or Somethin'

I had been leaning towards getting a digital audio recorder, yesterday. I figured that I could record ideas and songs, plus play rhythms to practice over. I could load the music up to my facebook somehow.
Now, I am having my doubts, because the digital recorders that I looked at have no overdubbing capabilities. That means I could only record solo, no rhythm nor lead, nor extra voices. That takes away a lot of creative potential, especially to one who likes harmony, and adding sound effects, like I do.
Maybe if I can make some money in Joplin, I can get the full blown studio. From there, the conquering of the music market will be academic.
I go now to look at things.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

These Are Some Messy People In Missouri!
As I ponder my move to Missouri, I have prepared myself by finding it on a map. I was surprised that it was so far north.
I must get a copy of my ID first, and then, maybe go.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Search For Laptop Postponed (section E)
I came up with an idea for a movie and in it there is a weird guy, maybe almost like a Kramer type figure, (just to make it easier to picture,) and he starts coining phrases unintentionally, just kind of saying things in certain situations, but they catch on, and throughout the story, they re-emerge out of the mouths of less and less likely sources, and in vastly different situations.
This is just a sideline to the main story, which I don't have yet. But, you know, the world is on the brink of destruction and the president utters a phrase that some crazy guy actually started, to describe something in his life, while sitting at a picnic table, eating a baloney sandwich.

I slept at the Christ Church spot. I ate oatmeal profusely and then decided against washing a set of clothing to be hung in front of the vent which blows hot air all night. I lacked the proper soap. The proper soap is the cheap stuff, and not the body wash, which is what I am down to, until I pick up some cheap soap. (note to self: get some cheap soap)
The Man With The Hat
I saw none other than The Man With The Hat, at the Save-A-Lot this very morning. He sat, did the man with the hat, and waited while his wife wandered the aisles, waited in an SUV, did he.

And she grabbed mostly produce and for it she spent, then The Man With The Hat and herself, off they went. In the SUV, you see. He and she in the SUV, I don't see how it started. But he and she, just as quick as can be. They very soon departed.

The mission of today is to solve “The Problem Of The Breakage Of The Cheap Am/Fm Radio.”

To have a radio would be good, so good in fact I could see me spending freely on a replacement; for the one which has gone through so much defacement.

Digital Audio, No Frills
But, I would also like to have short wave, so that I can listen a few minutes to some HAM radio operator speaking a dialect of Arabic, before tiring of it and switching back to AM Sports Talk. I see me like Henry David Thoreau, in the woods of South Carolina, with a several hundred foot long wire stretched between trees which line up exactly with a specific compass bearing, so as to allow me to pick up a short wave signal of my choice, based upon the length of the wire and the relative positions of the trees etc. I could learn a foreign language by listening to it day and night until I master it, then start publishing adventure stories in it, maybe maritime tales…

Danger, Will Robinson!

It is a foregone conclusion that it will come to pass that a replacement ID card will be obtained from the agents of the government, here, as soon as possible. It makes very good sense to have a "valid state issued ID" when, for example, traveling 700 miles to a tornado ravaged region, to help pick up the mess that the tornado made. It is just too bad I couldn’t have one with a better credit rating attached to it.

It dawned upon me just last night, that I am probably going to be in increased danger of being killed by a tornado myself, by going to Joplin, Missouri to help pick up debris left behind a huge tornado which recently happened through.
To Much To Worry About
Section E: Laptop Vetoed
By a two-thirds majority of voices in my head, the proposal to buy a laptop computer at this time has been voted down. There existed an opinion that the laptop would, and these are not in any particular order, the laptop would give thieves a target, it would cause me to wake up in the middle of some nights and have a start if I should not see the thing right away, even though it would be tied to my body, somehow and I would probably feel it. Should I stay here in downtown Mobile, I would soon be fending off "Where your computer at??" questions. Questions which it would be useless to ask, "Why do you want to know?" to, expecting a straight answer.
When street people ask me where my guitar is, on those occasions that I have it stored somewhere, I can't help but think I see in their eyes the look they would have if they were afraid that it had been stolen by someone other then they, and that an opportunity had gone by the boards. They usually show signs of relief after I tell them that the guitar is safely stored somewhere, and that I still "have" it.
A laptop could easily turn into an all time consuming obsession of mine, which would have me sitting in the park, wearing the same sweatsuit that I have had on for the past 5 days, trying to beat my computer at chess, and taking breaks only to save the game on the hard drive and then go take a leak. Or I see myself working all day, on some computer program, in the same sweatsuit.
Appetite For Terrabytes
Using the thing as a recording studio, I know from past experience is going to quickly lead to a situation where I am dying to get that expensive microphone, in fact two of them because stereo is awesome, and I really want to upgrade the sound card in the thing and go totally "hi def" in my recordings of me playing a cheap guitar on the sidewalk...
Finding and loading the free Linux audio software, to turn my laptop into a recording studio will be an all-consuming obsession, I probably wouldn't eat untill it was up and running. This, after finding and installing the free Linux operating system. Then, there will be UNIX manuals and hours and hours worth of messing around, trying to master the Linux kernel, and dabbling with Perl and Python and Ruby. (Those are computer languages, not strippers.) Lots of fun, but I fear that I might neglect other (offline) areas of life, at least for a few months until the novelty wore off.
If my journey to Joplin, Missouri involves any hitchhiking, I also don't want to have to fake a "I have nothing of value which you should kill me to steal" facade, when meeting new people.
I'm sure glad you stopped and picked me up, sir. It looks like it might be fixin' to rain, and I was afraid my expensive computer was going to get wet; you're a life-saver.

I would have to have the thing in a duffell bag and hide it in a pizza box. "-Got some pizza left over from last night, you want some?" would be a good play, to deflect suspicion that you might be carrying a laptop, using that setup.
The most persuasive argument was probably this. If I have the means to record my own music and feed it to the web, it will not be as inspiring to me, if history is any indicator, to do my best music, as it would be if, as in my present circumstances, I have to perform well enough to attract the attention of someone with the digital toys necessary to feed me to the web. I am NOT going to go back and proofread that last sentence.
In closing and to make a long story short (if that is possible at this point, as David Letterman would say)
Having the studio and tinkering with it all the time, rather than street performing, would make Daniel a dull boy.
Disclaimer: Unless, someone just plain gives me a laptop, one that they have outgrown, or something but that can still handle audio stuff at a basic level.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Jasmine Repaired

I repaired the Jasmine yesterday. I saw John The Street Preacher again. He is thinking of going to New York City. He suggested once again that I use every resource at my disposal to go to either Joplin, Missouri, or Kansas City.
Please enjoy Mount McKinley, in the meantime.
Search Turns To Serial Theif
I believe that the clothing which was stolen from nearby the graveyard was all taken by one individual; a serial theif.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Metaphor Of The Day

Joplin, Missouri
Patience In Laptop Search
The laptop, which I saw in the pawn shop and which is in my price range and has the capacity to run audio recording and editing software, is still in the pawn shop. I want to be patient and shop around. I am also leery of becoming too absorbed by the laptop and all its functionality and devoting almost all of my time to having my face in the thing. Wearing the same clothes for days, being dirt poor; being seen from dusk till dawn in the park, pirating a wi-fi signal from a nearby business.
The Trouble With Dribbles.
The weather has been in the news, lately, as the past 4 days have been marred by downpours. These forced me to sit somewhere, just waiting for it to stop. I wasn’t always in a mood during these events to sit and read, do a crossword puzzle, or otherwise, puzzle over the immediate problems in life. Sunday night, I sought refuge at the Church of Christ spot.
I have moved out of the graveyard. The wall is too high, it is too much trouble going over it, especially if carrying a lot of stuff, and the rain of the past 3 nights has ruled out the graveyard as a sensible sleeping spot.
I had oatmeal with peanut butter and jelly, honey and cinnamon, and a dash of salt, last night on the front porch (I’m sure it has a proper name) of the church, half hidden by the massive columns, which hold the place up.
There were two other homeless guys, already asleep on the porch, over in a far corner where there is a cool draft which flows out from under a pair of heavy, wooden doors. I sort of recognized them from the homeless community.
The three of us were woken up by cops at about 3:45 a.m., asked for ID and then told that the “owners” of the church were complaining. I told them that there is one guy who leaves his cardboard behind in the mornings, as if thinking that he no longer has a need for it, or that it will still be there the next night. What is ‘there the next night” is cops with flashlights.
I was told that I am still wanted for the case that I have already been exonerated from, and that I might want to talk to my lawyer about having the warrant removed. This will be a good idea, should I travel in the near future, say, to Joplin, Missouri, for instance.
Jasmine Breaks Down
Saturday night, as I was tuning up the Jasmine on a park bench, I saw a lot of people walking about. I thought that I might have a pretty decent night, money-wise. Unfortunately, one of the tuning machines fell off of the Jasmine, the way a tail pipe will fall off an old Pinto.
I had noticed a wobbliness in the action of that particular machine, but had not attributed it to the thing falling apart and becoming useless, right at the beginning of a Saturday night.
My task at hand is to fix the Jasmine. Even if I go to Joplin, I will want to have the Jasmine with me and in good stead. Yes, I will want to have my Jasmine in Joplin.
The most economical route to go would be to wait until tomorrow or the next day (whichever day the Friendly Pawn shop opens its doors –they take a few days off, each week do those brokers) and go to the Friendly Pawn shop. They may have the right screws and the right screwdriver and would not charge me as much as The Guitar Center might, for the same service. I go soon to wait for the bus to Airport Road and the music store.
Blessed Assurance
Sunday morning, I went to the Dauphin Fellowship at 3:16 Dauphin Street. I got myself a coffee, after washing up some. I went into the altar area and saw none other than John The Street Preacher, whom I haven’t seen in months, occupying one of the seats in the rearmost row. His head was bowed and his eyes closed.
He told me he has been in Jacksonville, Houston, San Antonio, St.Louis, and other places. He said that he has found it very depressing to be in Mobile, and he is leaving in a couple days.
He agreed with me, that this might be the time and season for me to leave Mobile, perhaps for just a while, or maybe longer if I find every place that I roam to be appreciably better than Mobile.
John and I sat out some of the rain while he told me of his travels. He suggested that I go to a place called Joplin, Missouri, a place which was destroyed almost entirely by the tornados, the ones that came the day that I was arrested unjustly.
Where Is Joplin, Missouri?
John The Street Preacher told me that there was a lot of work to be done in Joplin, from labor to more skilled, and for volunteers, as well as mercenaries.
John added that, even the volunteers come out ahead, as there are several groups set up the feed and clothe and shelter and keep the workers clean. He mentioned a whole house full of clothing, free to both the victims and the volunteers.
He also said that there were people doing menial jobs and making pretty good money. I think the figure he threw out was 700 per week.
This could even be supplemented by some street performance, perhaps.
My mission now is to use the bus pass, which I bought off a guy for two cigarettes, and go to the music store. They may be able to sell me the screws for the tuning machine on the Jasmine and let me borrow their screwdriver so I can repair it right there.
I will also look at other guitars, some of which are the same price as my Jasmine was new and sound and play better than it.
I believe they even have the next Jasmine up on the ladder from mine. Maybe I can trade up on Jasmines, until I am playing thier top model, the way my dad was doing with Buicks, back in the late 60's.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Fiona In The Sky With Diamonds
...Suddenly someone is there at the turnstile. A girl with kaliedoscope eyes....
Organization Of Blog
I am trying to come up with a system that I can use on a consistent basis to organise this blog.
I was thinking of modeling it upon a typical newspaper, using headings such as "world," "national," etc. This implies, though, that I am compelled to comment daily about sports and the weather.
Blogging about the most pressing issue is important, unless a more entertaining episode has taken place.
Laptop, Dog?
Hummer With Bald Tires Dilemna
I am currently swirling in a vortex of indecision over what to do.
My choice is between spending all my money on a laptop computer, or buying a whole bunch of -for lack of a better term- "more practical" things.
If I were to buy the laptop, I would be leaving myself with very little to go with it, as far as accessories. I might be like the guy driving a Hummer with bald tires. I would have, at my disposal, the ability to record music to the same "technical" standards achieved by everybody else who records their stuff on a laptop and then uploads it, limited only by my lack of bells and whistles. I could publish worldwide my songs, featuring the sound of my cheap guitar and a cheap harmonica. If my songs were good or, novel, enough, I think some of the sound quality could be overlooked, plus, there is audio software out there that it wouldn't surprise me if it could fix the sound of a $100 guitar, so that one would be unable to distinguish it from a symphony orchestra.
This blog would surely benefit from my having the freedom to work whenever inpiration strikes, as long as it strikes when I am nearby an electrical outlet, or my battery is charges.
Downside Of Getting Laptop
Well, the downside begins with added onus of keeping the laptop from becoming wet, dropped onto the concrete from a great height, or stolen.
It doesn't come with a case, though the cases that I have seen don't look like much of a deterent to water seeping into the laptop. I would need to improvise some kind of thing using bubble wrap and other hardware. It is not a good idea, anyways to have a case which is specifically designed to carry something which can be exchanged for a lot of crack. Word will soon enough get around that Guitar Man has one of of those computer things what cost thousands of dollars, and I will be shouldering the extra burden of looking over one shoulder to safeguard the guitar, and the other for the laptop.
I would have to make sure the thing could be waterproofed and concealed in my bag, so they might think that I don't have it with me. (some of them will be obtuse enough to ask "Where your computer?" This gives me the chance to perpetuate the lie that "I keep it at a friend's apartment most of the time.")
I know that laptops break. From a key that suddenly gives you two letter "e"s when you press it, to the whole motherboard frying, they won't run forever. I might have to protect it from extremes of temperature and humidity to the point of sleeping with it on cold winter nights.
All in all, the inconvenience inherent with laptop ownership is offset by its potential as a useful tool, for the average person, who has the means to keep it secure. Some people do most of their business with one. Some might have higher degrees than I, but I have a higher degree of difficulty in owning a laptop. I really need to consider the odds of keeping a laptop computer and moving around, camping, hiking and doing "the homeless thing," in general.
Of course, I could achieve great success as a star on U-Tube with a song, master any number of marketable computer skills, or just have some really enjoyable chess games against the machine, keeping me off the street and out of trouble.
A Groovy New Sound 
A new guitar would give me more enjoyment daily and I would sound better. I would make more money, but the amount would be something like a five percent interest, like savings banks used to pay, over the lifespan of the better sounding guitar. Certainly appreciable. I would have no way to share this groovy new sound with anyone but the modest multitudes, here in Mobile. My hopes of going worldwide and catching up with the other artists in the Big Time, (like Fiona Apple,) would rest in those people who promise to post videos that they just shot of you in some coffeehouse, up on U-tube. Those folks are out there but, I suspect that when they wake up in the morning all hung over, they listen to a bit of it, think: What was I thinking,? then swallow a couple of aspirins and delete it because it is giving them a headache.
A new guitar, equiped with a harmonica and solid cases to protect them both, would be better investments into my current business.

Friday, July 15, 2011

The Recipe I Promised

Sesame Mackerel Salad
  • 1 can of Mackerel
  • 1 can of sweet peas
  • 1 convenience store dill pickle in the plastic bag.
  • 2 Tbsp. Mustard
  • 2 oz. Sesame Oil
  • Salt
  • Pepper

Open the can of Mackerel  with a can opener and drain the water out of it by tilting it horizontally. Hold the lid closed while you do this. This will allow the water to drain, but prevent the Mackerel from falling out of the can. Don't do this over any spot upon which you plan to sleep. There are species of ants, too numerous to mention here, that wish you would.
When the Mackerel is drained, open the can of peas. Drain most of the water out of the can but NOT all of it.
Now, tear the pickle bag open with your teeth or a knife, if one is handy, being carefull to squeeze the bag as little as possible while doing this. Protect your eyes, as an added precaution.
Next, pour some of the pickle juice into the Mackerel, replacing the water that you drained out in step one. Mash it in a little with the plastic fork.
Eat a little bit of the Mackerel to make some room at the top of the can.
Prepare the peas by adding the sesame oil and mustard to the can, then mixing well. Don't worry about smashing some of the peas, they will be pulverised when you chew them, anyways 
Pour a small amount of the result on top of the Mackerel.
Eat with fork out of the Mackerel can. Try to stab both the fish and the pea-mixture with each forkful taken. Keep adding the pea mixture as you eat. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

This is an awesome meal, for under 4 bucks, which can be eaten almost anywhere. High in vitamin E and in fish oil. It would probably be great heated up, too.
Clothing Bag Stolen Again
It seems that there is someone or ones who regularly patrol certain spots, looking for and then stealing whatever is stashed there.
I see this as a trend now, after this the second time that it has happened at a certain spot.
I left my laundry at the spot, readying it to be washed today. It was gone this morning.
I suspect certain people, but that is as much as I can do unless I catch whoever it is.
Bike Could Have Prevented Theft
If I had a bike, I would be living at least 2 or 3 miles from whomever the thief is. Then, I wouldn't have to bait him, by leaving a dummy bag at the spot and then staking it out.
Pawn Shop
I walked to the pawn shop and saw no guitars better than mine, except one which is priced at 350 bucks. There were no hardshell guitar cases, except for the kind with only a handle, no straps.
There was a Schwinn bike for 65 bucks, the old style; 1970's model. I thought about living out in the country and still having my posessions at the end of each day. Then, I thought that the bike, though making me mobile around Mobile, would actually impede my progress, should I decide to ride the trains to San Francisco, or something.
There was a laptop computer, an Acer Aspire 3690(?), and I now go to investigate exactly what that means and what one is worth, both in general and to me specifically.
A laptop could be a word processor, recording studio, chess opponent and a bunch of other things, which could help me get my "art" onto Facebook and Utube. It would have to be protected by something like a carrying case, which has a hard shell, is waterproof; floats and comes with a keychain remote with a red button which can be pressed, if the laptop is stolen. This would detonate the plastic explosives in the unit, if it is within 20 miles. This is why it's important to back up ones data regularly.
I am having a vision of Thomas splattered all over the wall behind the defunct dry cleaner's where he sleeps.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Recipes To Come

My stack of National Geographic magazines, which I had stashed in the cemetary have disappeared. I was planning upon becoming more savvy of world events and wanted to learn the names of countries, which weren't on my Rand McNally globe, the one that I got for Christmas, when I was 7.
Coming Soon, My Mackerel and green pea salad recipe!!!
I am trying to get my food stamps turned back on. I was supposed to have been in their office, back in May, to report that, after six months (since the last time I had to be in their office,) that my situation hadn't changed, ie. I would starve to death without "assistance to needy families," and that, no I have no new source of income since six month ago; nobody has hired me because I am unemployed, and that spells laziness.
I am being patient in my longing to fullfill the material need which will make my life a breeze and have me singing in the sunshine and laughing every day. I am waiting for a distressed seller with a bike. He will be distressed over where to ditch the bike, after having made it all the way from another part of town on it, without incident; maybe after having missed a bus.
I am hoping to find a huge backpack in a pawn shop. One of those that you use to climb Mount Everest with, because it is humoungous and has multiply straps to strap you into the thing so firmly that if your foot should slip and you tumble down the side of Mt. Everest, and your safety rope grabs and stops your fall, your pack will be right there still attached to you; full of instant coffee, dry matches and a contraption for heating up water.
I can get a better guitar than the Jasmine that I am presently playing. I think I have become good at tuning the Jasmine, because it has its quirks and has to actually be put slightly out of tune in one area of its neck, in order that the whole rest of the neck will benefit, due to some law of physics and/or mathematics. This doesn't mean that I should forge ahead with it, constantly tweeking and re-tuning. I am being very patient and will play brand new guitars at the music store to determine which ones are constructed well, then I will try to find used specimens of the same specie. That way, my guitar will fit in with the image of the travelling street musician, whose guitar is used because he has to use it every day to feed himself.
In the meantime, time is passing.
Bad Omens
I had the bad omen of a guy coming out of the Saenger Theater last night and walking past where I was playing John Lennon, I think it was, and doing a stunt whereby, he greeted me by name and then acted like he was going to throw money in my case, and then he stopped short of doing that and said "No, I can't throw 20 dollars in your case," before walking off into the sultry night. It was related to the arrest, I'm pretty sure. That would explain his knowing my name.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Appreciable Hurdles

Vincent got really pissed when people gave him cameras as gifts...
I have "Starry Night" stuck in my head right now, so I give you a classic painting, "The Cafe."
I woke up about 6 this morning. They (the city mainainence workers who make pretty good money, have all kinds of benefits and whom you never see covered in their own sweat) were already cranking up the lawn mowers and the weed whackers, at the front end of the graveyard.
I hurredly stashed my sleeping bag in a patch of leafy plants the same color as the bag, and then I bagged up all the trash that I could find, and left, to go get my hard boiled egg.
Getting my laundry done is still at the top of my list of things to do.
I went to Save-A-Lot and purchsed two large plastic bags for 22 cents. I then went to the graveyard and stuffed them full of clothing of mine that I could find.
I then removed it from the graveyard and placed it in another spot, which should be a safe place for it; at least until the sun goes down, when the likes of Richard and Thomas come out.
Today, I might try to go to the music store. I want to ask them about technology which is currently available to facilitate the recording of music and the posting of same recordings onto the world wide web.
I still want a huge backpack, and a copy of my Alabama State ID, but will have to wait on the ID, and am being patient in the acquisition of the backpack. Jeff, the Potter had said once that students abandon backpacks at the school where he teaches, and that he might be able to get me one. I would hate to spend 90 bucks on something that I might have gotten free by excersising patience. I want to be able to carry everything that I own on my back, and to thus safeguard it and allow myself to be mobile, in case I want to leave Mobile to partake of the bonanza which is New Orleans, or of any other happening spot, within reach of one with a hugh backpack and a guitar on his back.
That is the order of the day; to clean and dry all my clothes and then neatly fold them and place them in a warm, dry safe place.
Pants Of Death
I am working on a story about a pair of pants at the Wings Of Life rescue mission thrift store that have paranormal powers, so that whoever purchases them for 5 dollars and dons them, falls under some kind of spell and begings murdering and raping (and posessing child pornography) all around Mobile, Alabama. The people all have no criminal histories and are model citizens when not wearing the toupe colored Dickies that they got at the thrift store at Wings Of Life.
That is the premise of the story. Wait until you read about why the cashier at the thrift store always grins maniacly after the pants are re-donated, and after yet someone else, buys them for 5 dollars.
I could go and eat at Wings Of Life rescue mission right now. All I would have to do is sit through a 45 minute church service, where someone on a microphone would talk about how they used to have to go to Wings Of Life and sit through a church service, just to eat, but now they have been saved and delivered from all of that, because they prayed to Jesus, and the very next day a check came in the mail for $118 thousand dollars, and they got a car and a house, not just a cheap car, either, and now they don't have to eat at Wings Of Life, though they are offered plates in return for preaching.

"Settle down, everyone, I'm almost'll get to eat in a minute..."

I am using this writing session as a way of dissociating and keeping my mind off of the daunting task of doing laundry.
I've got the soap and the clothes bagged up. I could wash it myself in a bucket and hang it all night in front of the hot air that blasts out of the Church of Christ air conditioning units. I have wondered why the air conditioner seems to run night and day there. I have concluded that it has to do with the issue of humidity. They probably have priceless spiritual works of art in there, like paintings, which would be depreciated more by a humid atmosphere than the cost of 10 identical air conditioning units.
They are extremely wealthy in that church, so much so that they are very suspicious of outsiders even coming near their sanctuary.
They are the ones that put down straw on the ground where us homeless sleep, around last Christmas. We were sleeping like Jesus in the manger that week.
Wall Rises To 8 Feet
I might move back to that spot, because the wall at the graveyard is a full 8 feet high now, with bricks being added even as I type. It took me a couple of leaps to pull myself up and catch and perch myself at the top of the wall, balancing my body weight, so as to swing myself over the wall last night. And, as usual the silly riddle was in my head, as I went over:
Q: Why are there walls around cemetaries?
A: Because people are dying to get in.

I hadn't expected to see any of the less athletic homeless guys sleeping in there, and I didn't. They had to walk on down Government Street, past the Hardee's, which is intrinsicly tied to this particular problem of theirs, and sleep at the Christ Church, or somewhere else which has no appreciable hurdle in front of it.
I don't think I will, because I have a huge responsibility to supply my body with exactly what it needs to endure as a temple of the Holy Spirit, and that specialised knowledge has been hard learned, and shouldn't be wasted.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

I have the song, "Our House," by a band called Madness, stuck in my head, and have had it there all this morning, on a loop from near the end, where the melody keeps modulating downward as it fades out, repeating the chorus. Somehow this is tied to Haley, the American Idol Contestant, who made it into the top three last season. The song makes me think of her.
Our house; Haley's and mine, in the middle of our street.
Would Be "So" House-Proud
I'm sure that if we chipped in out of what we each make with our musics, we could have a pretty good life in our house.
This current fixation could only mean that I am dissociating from the unpleasant task ahead, to do laundry.
I have purchased the dishwashing liquid already, but have decided to come here and update this blog, before facing what I might as well get over with.
What remains is to go and gather up all the clothing which is worth washing. It is all, thankfully, in one general spot. There is some which is wet and is in plastic bags, and I am very anxious over the possibility that those particular garments may be harmed beyond the restorative powers of Ajax antibacterial dishwashing liquid.
Phat Tuesday's Sports Bar
I went back to Phat Tuesday's last night, for their "Writer's Block" thing, which happens on Monday nights, and is for poets and others. Most of Dauphin Street was deserted, I observed on my way their. But, I was happy to see that the few who were out seemed to be all there.
I did some improvised stuff, and a version of Crazy About A Crazy Girl, which got a good reception.
I was at the thrift store, looking at clothes this morning and deciding that if I keep my four outfits clean then I can rotate them and give the folks I meet enough variety to keep their lives interesting. I didn't need any more. That way, carrying all the clothes I own won't involve using a Santa Clause sized bag, like the one carried by Gerald, whom I have blogged about before, and referred to as "A poor man's Santa Clause."
Then, I looked at books and decided not to buy any. Paperbacks are 50 cents each, and I couldn't decide weather to get a Ken Follett novel, or a Dan Brown one, which I think was the follow up to The Da Vinci Code. I am reading The Da Vinci Code now, but am not far enough along into it to be sure that I want to invest another 50 cents, to read more of the guy.
I decided not to make any rash decisions, and I left the thrift store no heavier than when I walked in.
I have most of the afternoon to accomplish my purpose, and I might even have time to condition and brush out my hair.
1:13 p.m.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Money Matters

I Get Some Money
One of my readers, who I won't embarrass here, wired money, and I was able to pick it up yesterday, even though I had only a jail ID. The person wasn't given the option of using a "test question," in lieu of ID when at their website. This is unfortunate for the fact that the question would have been amusing, I'm sure.
I was nervous about going into the Food Tiger with only jail ID and trying to pick up money. Nothing says "you can trust me" like the mug staring at you from one of those cards. The guy behind the Western Union counter looked a lot like my friend who wired the money. I felt like I could talk bass fishing with him, but chose not to because I don't know the first thing about bass fishing.
I began to explain the situation about the test question, and the guy turned out to be cool and went ahead and gave me the money because I knew the city of origination, and everything. He told me that what I put down as the "expected amount" was off. I was pleasantly surprised to be off in that direction. "He's a good friend, said the man working the Western Union at the Food Tiger. "Yeah," I replied. This dissolved some internal conflicts I was having over having to make choices about what is most important and prudent to use the money on, and what could be left out.
I immediately encountered the discount bin, after pocketing the money. There were bottles of sesame oil, reduced to 1 dollar each. I had to buy all three. For the benefits of sesame oil, from everything to preventing athletes foot, to giving you your daily dose of vitamin E, see Dr. Deepak Chopra's work.
It's Regularly Five-Something A Bottle
My pack got a couple pounds heavier.
I began to lug the oil (et al.) back to town. At the first little store I came to, a man tried to sell me crack.
A little further up the road, a man tried to sell me pot.
Once I got to the Shell station, a young guy walked over and offered me 7 cans of warm beer for 5 bucks. Being the consummate investor that I am, I took advantage of the savings, and speculted in the warm cans of Keystone Light market. I figured, that if I lived long enough, I would probably eventually consume at least 7 cans of Keystone Light, and I would have to pay more than 5 bucks for them.
My pack got a few pounds heavier.
A car pulled up to me at one point and the occupants asked me if I wanted some food, then handed me a bag containing two things of bologna, a bottle of mustard, a pound of cheese and a loaf of bread.
I trudged back to the graveyard, loaded to the gills with booty, costly oil; warm Keystone Light, fine mustard....after having woke up that morning with $6.11, and no smokes. It was still heavy this morning.
I woke up at 6:30 and then went to get my hard boiled egg at the Presbyterian church.
When I took out my cigarettes, Thomas could do nothing but sit there and turn an even brighter shade of pink. He knew better than to ask me for one. He is one of those who broke off contact with me after my arrest. He didn't even ask me for my version of the story, and would walk past me without even saying anything at all.
The paper printed a retraction a couple days ago; one that I am going to print out and hand to select individuals, hoping to shut them up.
Throughout the whole ordeal, I lost at least a dozen "good friends."
I Buy Socks
This morning, I bought 3 pairs of socks at CVS, for a buck a pair, 50 cents a foot. I chose brown one's because the white ones wind up being pretty brown anyways; and not a pretty brown..
I want to invest the money, rather than merely spend it.
Things that I am considering::
Replacement ID
Cost: $18.50
Investment Quotient: "10"
With the potential to pay for itself thousands of times over, the ID gets the nod as probably the best use of under 20 bucks. (funny that it wasn't the first thing I thought of, though). If it is true that there is actually work out there, the ID could be huge.
I will just need to send off to mom, to ask her to send me a copy of my birth certificate, and go through all that paperwork crap again.
Harmonica Holder: A one of those things like Bob Dylan uses to hold a harmonica so that one can play the guitar and the harmonica simultaneously. I refer to the instrument as a until-you-remember-the-next-lyric-onica, because you can huff on the thing while you repeat the chords on the guitar until you get enough oxygen in you bloodstream to hopefully jog your memory of stuff you wrote earlier that day.
Cost: $17.50
Investment Quotient: "9" (out of 10)
The Investment Value, might probably be elucidated by a little story:
"I'll give you guys (Larry and I) one piece of advice, said "Captain Boogie," a Saint Augustine, Florida street musician, who regularly made over 100 bucks on a busy night. He then held up a harmonica and said "As soon as I added this to my act, my tips doubled over night. People like the way a guitar and a harmonica blend together." So, there you have it, from Captain Boogie himself.
I took Captain Boogie's words to heart, and have carried them with me, through all these months that I have had enough money to get a harmonica holder...or beer and cigarettes... and have postponed the purchase of the harmonica holder.
By the way, Captain Boogie, last I heard was finally out of jail after he attacked a cop with a shovel. I remember the night of that incident. I saw the Captain, walking purposefully towards the police station, holding a shovel in his right hand. Then, I didn't see him again, but heard what had happened. So, I am considering getting a shovel, er, I mean a harmonica holder for $17.50. If it truly does double my income overnight, then it will pay for itself every 2 or 3 hours, over and over.
Plus, if I am inspired by the thing to poke fun at Mr. Dylan and do parodies of his stuff, this could lead to a more than doubling of my income overnight. I'm thinking "U-Tube, Most Downloaded Video of the Year,' type of success;. provided I can keep my shovel in check...
A New Guitar? As an investment, a new guitar is hard to justify in the sense that I don't think that I have suffered the loss much tip money because of the sound of the Jasmine guitar that I am now playing. I DO notice that, on open mic nights, when I go on after some rich spoiled brat singer/songwriter with a 2,000 dollar Taylor guitar, I usually have to distract the audience with some patter as I adjust the guitar to the mike, so that they become inured to the sound of the Jasmine, and  the drop off isn't so drastic.
Investment quotient: "3" (out of 10)
The Jasmine really only put me out about 40 bucks, as I recall. It has helped me learn invaluable lessons about how to tweak guitars and adjust one's playing style to compensate for a guitar that is not a 2,000 dollar Taylor.
There are guitars right there at Guitar Center, for under 150 bucks that sound better than my Jasmine. They must have figured out how to make guitars better and cheaper, using silicon chips and robots, or something.
If I do get a new guitar, I will definitely have to protect the investment with a hard shell case. Accept no substitutions. The thing can almost double as a suitcase, given all the other stuff you can cram into it besides the guitar. As someone who is often in a situation which involves being rained upon, a waterproof, hard shell case would hold an investment quotient of "9" (out of 10).
I also won't have to worry as much about being hit by a car, . Plus, hard shell cases are the choice of train-hoppers everywhere.
A Big Backpack
Cost $80-$120
Investment Quotient: "4"
A Big backpack as an investment falls more into the category of a preventative security measure. If I have all my stuff in my pack, then it will be right there with me and not being rifled through, by the likes of Thomas, while I am on the street making money which is destined to go to replace whatever he, or his ilk, take.
The downside of carrying around everything you own is that everything you own gets heavy. Ironically, you want it to get heavy as a sign of accumulation of wealth, and the added exercise of toting it all is beneficial. It's also nice to always have your nail clippers on you, but towards the end of the day when your back is tired and you have another mile to walk, it's hard not to be thinking things like "Do I really need three different fragrances of hair conditioner??"
The backpack would facilitate things like hopping the train to New Orleans, making a killing (or not) and then hopping on the train back to Mobile, or anywhere.
MP3 Player:
Cost: $50.
Investment quotient "2"
Having 2,000 songs available for listening at the touch of a button, could only mean that the next time someone comes up to me when I'm playing and asks "Do you know any [insert name of any band that you have never heard of, here]?" I will be able to plug into a computer and check out that, or any other band that I get inundated with requests for. If I like them, I might learn the songs, which will be as simple as hearing them a few times, uninterrupted. Then, I'll be ready for those requests and increase my income about 10 percent.
*note: getting a job, any job, would increase my income 200 percent, but that would be too much like the dog wagging the tail, which is unfamiliar to me.
A Bike?
Cost $50
Quotient: "7"
A bike would be a great investment, but only provided that I had decided to stay in Mobile. It would increase the range of where I might live, allowing me to escape the urban sprawl where things come up missing. I could worry a lot less about it. It would save me money on food, because I could cook on a fire, thereby saving money over "prepared" foods. And it could potentially expand the list of jobs that I might get hired on to, given that I have "transportation."

This list is by no means comprehensive.

Friday, July 8, 2011

7:38 Friday Morning

This morning kind of started at 7:38 a.m. That was when I awoke to find my radio still playing and in the midddle of announcing the time.
I had just enough time to make it for my egg at the Presbyterian.
That is how the day started. Then, I was in the part of town where my Federal Defender's office is. I stopped by and was rewarded with the return of my data stick, which he had just gotten that morning, and from which I will give you the following picture.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

One Year Ago Today

One year ago today, I was optimistic about getting a job at the oil cleanup site. I was pretty sure that I was qualified and available and in the right place at the right time.
Somehow, it never worked out, they never called back. That was one year ago, today.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

In The Great By And By

Do We Dream In Black And White, You Ask??

On Sleeping in the graveyard;
Bricklayers to make it a mute point soon....
There are crews of bricklayers in the process of repairing the walls around the graveyard, in the spots where, by one accident or another, they had fallen short of matching the height of the walls to either side of them.
They have fixed the one where a car had hit the wall. It is now impregnable, and is probably responsible for the fact that there are few, I think just two of us now; graveyard sleepers. It is a prime time; very quiet; very temporary. We are siezing the night. "Carpe Nocurnis!" Myself, and the guy who was probably responsible for every thing that I have had stolen from within a half mile of this very same graveyard.
The rest don't see a future there, as, the bricklayers are adding about a foot per week to the wall. Right now, it is only about a four and a half foot drop onto the planks which sit atop saw horses on the other side of the wall. The wall is like the bar, if you are a high jumper. One of these times, getting over it will be a big enough pain in the ass, as they build the wall up to that critical point, that it will warrant a change in sleeping arrangements.
I'm sure the spirits of the dead will understand, in the great by and by.
Federal Agents Going Through My Trash?
Just last week, I had thrown my "morning trash" into the trash can at the entrance to the graveyard. This is probably not incredibly wise, as it leaves clues which could point at the possible existence of someone camping in the graveyard.
Sometimes, I carry my trash past the can at the entrance to the graveyard, and throw it in the city receptacle on Government Street, where it blends with other, similar trash.
This is a great idea, when tossing away raw meat, for instance.
The amount of trash thrown away by people coming to look that the historical landmark, which is the graveyard, probably does not add up, in a year to what could be thrown away by a couple of unwitting campers in a month. And that adds up to more work for whomever has the job of emptying trash cans. It might be less work for them to just "find" your stuff where it is stashed and get you run out. So, let us be conscious of our ecological footprints, shall we?
Oh, and the feds went through my trash. It was fairly obvious. I had thrown a section of newpaper out, and someone had gotten into it and left it pulled apart as if it had been investigated. There was a middle section of the sports page which had a photo a high school's chearleading squad. That page, in particlar had been displaced in an almost ritualistic and symbolic manner; pretty blatant to those of us who are trained to look for them, I might add. I think the government might have an agent following me; waiting for me to slip up...
It was like they wanted me to know that THEY knew all about the picture of the cheerleaders.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

Letter To C Block cont.

I saw a bright shooting star, with a fiery tail. Then, I saw another, smaller shooting star. I figured that a meteor shower may have been going on. I have yet to confirm this, but the event was the evening of 5/23, a Friday.

Then, along came the pickling lady.

Pickling lady; spraying the parking lot; telling me that she was into pickling foods and telling me of some of the fine pickled foods that she would give me if I would accompany her to her abode in the country.

And so, I rode with Becky, 4 miles out into the country which is the outskirts of Bay Minette. We were to the north, I believe.

This was partly for the purpose of waiting out the three hours before Jeff was due to arrive; him coming from Louisiana, where he was taking water samples from the ocean. Oil spill related work, has tapered off, but hasn’t evaporated, (excuse the pun) entirely. I wonder if someone in Jeff’s church turned him on to the job; it's alright to help one another out.

They (his/our church) gave me a brochure for a "Men's Recovery" type of program, which is run out of Pensacola, along with some nice clothing; Pensacola fashions, as a matter of fact.

It is a place to get right with God, and study the bible in a completely sober state, missing all of the deeper mystical references, because of this. I guess one can't have his cake and eat it too.

I think it is nice of them to have given me the information. It is like a 7 month program. They mention that all the "men" are given work assignments and in fact they call this work "therapeutic," and educational.

I would eventually assault someone with the nearest book that weighed at least a pound and a half, if history repeats itself. I would break out in the middle of the night and call someone, begging them to wire me money so I could just go into a bar and get away from the recovery experts.

Until the Press Register runs an article about my indictment being dismissed, this is going to be a hard town to work in. Going somewhere else for a while might be prudent. The recovery program sounds tempting, but, I think I can admit that I'm powerless on my own time.

She (back to Becky) has 2 dogs, which were of the "lap" variety. These are dogs that sit and stare at diners, waiting and hoping a meatball will fall off a fork. Not my favorite kind of dogs; I at least like the breeds that can frighten off a wild turkey, if called upon by a sense of duty to do so.

Her house was full of very old things, from the artwork, to the furniture. It was probably like going back 100 years in time, and smoking weed with an ex-hippie lady.

A philosophical person might say that she is trying to preserve the spirit of a bygone era, through the appointments in her house, the same way she preserves things like green beans by picking them.

Her piano was not TOO out of tune for an 100 year old specimen of that instrument.

I am pretty sure that I could mess with it for about 3 hours and the right tool (called a "hammer" and almost 30 bucks; whereas, if it were a tool made to be used on a car, it would be about 8 bucks)

I wonder if the murderer played a little ditty on the piano before he hacked his victim up. (I'm not sure if there is any truth to the rumors about body parts being pickled)

Her house was done in turn-of-the-century “little girl,” with dolls and paintings and other porcelain renderings, amidst an Old Curiosity Shop backdrop of interesting sundries.

She had a gumball machine, one from like, the 60's.

I was sampling pickled stuff and settling upon the sweet stuff, the candied figs being prominent in my recollections. These were the whole, fresh, ripe figs -the kind that are purple and very soft if found in the right produce department. They were made into some very thick, and fig flavored syrup.

Candied figs rock. You could probably get an item for candied figs in there, especially if they scooped you at least three of the suckers, with a good amount of syrup.

Coming from out of the Bay Minette Federal holding facility, where a bear claw is as close as one can get to a fine confectionary, the figs were almost overkill.

Becky Used To Be A Body Builder
I never cease to wonder at the serendipity of my meeting people like Becky, the lady who likes to pickle; at the times that I do meet them. I saw two shooting stars that night, before the mosquitoes drove me off. I didn't make any tangible wishes, just the usual mantra of 'send me a lady who pickles things...'

And so, now I have her number and I have about a half dozen of her Mason jars; now empty, souvenirs from the wonderful culinary journey that I took. I should try to return them to her.

As stated in a previous post, I thought about getting a bike and then maybe even poking around Bay Minette, helping Becky around her house, out of charity and not just because it would be nice to sleep in an air conditioned house. Air conditioning can't be cheap. I would have to see how much action there is for a street musician in Bay Minette.

Too bad there wasn't a convenience store that would let me sit on a milk crate in the front area of the store on weekend nights. There used to be, in Jacksonville, until the higher-ups decided that the musician might sue if burned beyond recognition by a gas pump explosion, or if hit by a car which came into the Kangaroo parking lot and just never stopped...

I’m not sure that I could contribute enough to pull my weight around Becky’s house, if I can’t make money on music somehow.

I'm going to print this out and send it in. Ray will be the recipient, and then can let the others read, in a certain order, based upon who is in Ray's good graces that day.

I'm sure that anyone wanting to read and see what's going on in the outside world (things are getting put in jars with a lot of vinegar and spices), I'm sure that there will probably be at least one Hertel to get past. BaaHaaaHaaa!!!

I'll be telling my grandchildren that one.

Cook: "What, after you sit them on your lap??"

Well, I've had about enough of this for a day. It has been in the 90's out here and humid enough last night that it seemed like breathing in steam. It made me lazy and I just sat there.

Not helping at all was the fact that I had smoked some botanical incense, and then I rubbed some deodorant on my arms. My deodorant has crumbled and no longer is manageable with the plastic dispenser that it came in. Are you following me!?!

By the way, when I put "Are you following me!?!" It's supposed to be yelled loudly, almost barked, like a dog. It's like a wake up, cold water in the face "Are you following me!?!"

Then, I put on some skintastik mosquito repellant type stuff.

The combination of gasses from the skintastik applicator towelette, which is a repellant to mosquitoes, combined with some of the chemicals from the deodorant, which was all over my fingers, because I had just wiped it all over myself; and had gotten on my cigarette.

It was like some new designer drug, which I had accidentally discovered. I envision a club full of people dancing, while mirror balls spin over their heads, bouncing beams of colorful light everywhere. Each one of them has got a skintastic towelette in one hand, which they periodically huff. A thing of Degree anti perspirant is being passed around. The dancers seem oblivious to everything else...

Here is your one more installment.

Has anyone had the guts to request the partially hydrogenated soybean oil-free diet, and practice the art of pickling?? Don't look at it as giving up your chicken patty,; you can always trade for a chicken patty, especially if you get fat slices of tomatoes. Someone needs to take a bullet for the team and become soy intolerant, or you boys won't be getting your 4 food groups.