Madonna Called, And...

When Madonna came upon me on Decatur Street , almost 5 month's ago and joked "You need to come up and jam with me when I do my Superbowl gig, I was flattered, to be sure. I figured that she was saying it to be kind, but.

It appears that her inner voice told her to follow up upon that idea, and I guess some of you, about 75 million, or so, will be seeing me on TV Sunday.

I actually can't tell you what songs we are going to do, because people have paid advance fees for the exclusive rights to our performance, and, if I should mention a song which might cause a negative public reaction, then I would be in danger of being sued, or something. 

I need to be at the airport by tomorrow night, around "nine or so" (Madonna said that the plane would just wait for me, I was the only passenger) and, wish me luck. 

I'm going to be able to plug into the sound system; pretty awesome; there are some pretty savvy professionals running sound and such, not bad... 

 

Howard and I got out of our spot just before the
approach of the orange clouds...

This morning, I was surprised
to see "Wednesday" on Howard's morning paper. I lost a day somewhere.
I am anticipating watching the Superbowl with Howard at Filippe's Taqueria, which has large screen TV's and the waitresses don't bother you about continually spending money.
The Patriots/Ravens game only cost me 6 bucks in there, mostly because I gave in to the temptation to try their "agave" margarita, which cost me 6 dollars. Howard got by on some chips and guacamole for under 3 bucks.
I want to try to arrange for us to have clean laundry, will probably do it tomorrow at the Rebuild Center, so that neither one of us will smell too homeless, should the bar be crammed like a phone booth on a college campus.
One Gold Dollar

Last night, I played on Decatur Street, after following what has become a routine of mine of grabbing two beers at the Unique Boutique, and then cutting through a certain alley, hunting for "ducks," or half smoked cigarettes, which can be re-rolled.
I think my irritation over the fact that 9 out of 10 times when you light a cigarette in downtown New Orleans, you are decended upon by bums is actually displaced anger at myself for continuing in a habit that I feel that I will quit eventually.
How I would love to be able to truthfully say: "Sorry, I don't smoke" and then smile, rather than have the urge to say something snide like "No, I only got 20 in this pack; no extras..." or "What do I look like, the Salvation Army for Cigarettes?!?"
As soon as the pack is out of your pocket, you become aware of movements out of the corner of your eyes, much like a quarterback whose "pocket" is collapsing in upon him. Sometimes, I answer their initial "Excuse me," with "This is my last one, pal," saving them some breath.
What bugs me is that the same people would never come up and say "How's it going? Doing alright?" out of concern; it is always followed by "You wouldn't have an extra cigarette, would you?"
But, anyone who reads this blog knows that this has been an ongoing peeve of mine.
Keeping An Eye On Sue

I have re-routed myself these past few days, so that, after exiting "duck alley," I walk further down Royal Street, past my former cut through spot, keeping an eye out for Sue.
Last evening, her backpack, but not her person, was sitting next to Grandpa Elliot on the corner where he sits. I think he is harboring her.
I was surprised that Sue would entrust a blind man to keep an eye on her backpack.
I think ol' grandpa sees, but only what he wants to see. He handed sue a wad of money once, and asked her to count it for him and arrange the bills in order of denomination. "I could have told him anything and kept some of his money!" she repeated more than once, in repeating that story more than once. I think grandpa was testing her, and knew the amount of money that he was handing her.
After seeing her backpack under the "watch" of grandpa, I went to Decatur Street, where I played well for about a dozen people. One lady put a gold dollar with Abraham Lincoln depicted upon its obverse, in my case. Then a guy came along and told me that he had seen a musician being harassed by the police, the night before (Monday). I remembered that Monday and Tuesday are the nights which that seems to occur on, and I decided to take my gold dollar and leave.

It MUST be KA-ME gluten free
brown rice crisps, no substitutes!!

I went to the sleeping spot and made and ate my "coconut ginger noodle" meal, for the 4th straight night, feeling sorry for people who were inside the 5 star restaurants on Bourbon Street, spending hundreds of dollars.