Holy Moly

Doreen played a few bars of the Michigan Fight Song
for me to learn from, but I got confused and played the
Notre Dame Fight Song
for about a half hour, to no avail...

It is Tuesday.
It is the day of the big Sugar Bowl game.
The Sugar Bowl is one of the things that I am staying here in New Orleans for, enduring the inconveniences and minor hardships of the transient life, in an inhospitable atmosphere for a transient.
Aside from toting more weight around, for lack of reliable hiding places, there are other homeless people and their attitudes.
There are about 16 people that have been sleeping on the patio outside the library. I was one of them, until some self proclaimed "Rainbow Child," began to incessantly bug the hell out of me about playing my guitar.
Saturday morning, when I was in good spirits after having done well the previous night, I let him play it, after listening to him promise me that he was fluent on the instrument and wouldn't, even in his drunken state at 8 in the morning, "break any strings."
The memory of the guy whom I once let play my guitar, and who played Velvet Underground songs came to my mind. I remembered how a string snapped on me within 15 minutes of him handing me my guitar back. He had also let me keep the 2 dollars that he had made in a half hour, as throngs of people were walking past.
The Rainbow Child was fairly gentle on the strings as he started to play, but soon forgot himself and started playing louder, and then crescendo-ed into "Sweet Jane," by; you guessed it; The Velvet Underground. When will I learn to heed my intuitions?
Sunday morning, he seemed to expect and to look forward to playing my guitar again, which now had new strings on it.
He wouldn't take no for an answer, and kept on becoming more obnoxious, winding up yelling at me from within fist range: "Just let me play your g******* guitar! What's so hard about that?!?"
That was right before I decided to just walk off, and then to sleep at a different spot the next night
So, the next night, I found one, behind the billbourd which greets motorists with "Welcome To Downtown New Orleans!" It's a spot where Sue, the Colombian lady has been known to sleep, but, I saw no signs of her, behind the sign.
The following morning, I went to the patio, to visit Howard, who had already read his newspaper, already consumed his coffee and already eaten whatever he eats in the seclusion of McDonalds, being far too wise to try to eat on the patio with the other 16 homeless, including Rainbow Child, for an audience. One of them had already bummed the paper off of him, so I couldn't read about the upcoming Saint's Game. "I'm sorry, I would have saved it for you. I didn't know you would show up," said Howard.
Then, the Rainbow Child started up with a slurred: "Are you gonna let me play your guitar now?" which I ignored, along with ignoring other quips like "What kind of jerk doesn't let anyone play his guitar?!?" and walked off, determined to spend a second consequetive night at the sign spot.
My Favorite Things
The things that stand out the most from the 3 day holiday were, talking to Tanya, the chinese violinist, and Doreen and her band, on different occasions, and jamming with the clean guy.
The Clean Guy Resurfaces

Leave your dirt at the door.

The clean guy, whose name is "John B.,"  I've realised looks like a cross between Steve Martin and Jeff Gordon, with a touch of gray in his hair, and a sports coat on (Mr. Country Club).
He claimed to have made 180 bucks, on the night when I had made about 60.
Rich people come out of The Monteleone and see him.
He say's the "right" things; and is totally unabashed about saying stuff like "Well, I just PLAYED Garth Brooks a few minutes ago; it's gonna cost ya' 20 to get me to play it again, ha ha ha!" in such a good natured, back slapping, imagine if it was YOU out here, how much would YOUR time be worth? kind of way; and the rich guy can look at Steve Gordon and actually imagine himself "out here," because he would look the same way; and the "20 bucks" which Mr. Gordon teasingly asked for, turns into an actual 50 bucks -the guy's got a sound business plan.
There is a sound plan for me too, but it probably involves following Ratdog around, wearing a tye-dyed shirt!
I jammed with the guy for about a half hour Friday night/ Saturday morning.

Like Steve Martin...

...or Jeff Gordon

Maybe Steve Martin,
with Jeff Gordon's eyes...

We did "Main Street," the Bob Seger song and, sure enough, a well dressed gentleman approached and threw us each 10 bucks, offered to get us beer, which materialised into two cups of what tasted like microbrew ($) and then, before he left, Mr. Gordon, the clean guy, said: "Was this intended to be split by us, or is it for me?" about the two tens in "his" case.
"Oh, no, I'll tell you what," throwing two more tens into my case specifically as he said so: "How 'bout that, gentlemen?"
"Thank you so much, God Bless you," from Mr. Gordon. Who then, turning to me, said: "See, you just made 20 bucks in a half hour, plus a free beer!"
He wants me to jam with him some more, too.
Running into Tanya and Dorise taught me a lesson about determination and discipline.
Tanya had deep, reddish purple bruises on the three spots where her violin touches her.
I can imagine playing like that if I was making $100+ per hour, like her; but not otherwise...
"You're still out here?!?, I exclaimed.
"If I want to have a bed and a house, which I can't enjoy because I'm out here all the time, then I guess I have to be out here all the time," replied Tanya; offering me a glimpse into her Zen-like psyche, along with a weary smile.