Howard Run Off

Howard left this morning, bedroll in tow...

Last night, after I thought about busking at the store, but then changed my mind after sensing that the dynamic was similar to the previous Thursday night (the "I hate these people" night) then thought about busking in front of the other store (300 feet down the road and owned and run by the same people) and went down there, but sat there, listening to the noise of car stereos and the store next door to them, which was pumping out its own music, and thought that I wasn't even going to take my guitar out.

Then a black man (they're all black here, except myself and the owners of the two stores) walked up and said "You're not playing that thing tonight?" and handed me a dollar. The second dollar that I had gotten that day; the first, I borrowed off of Howard, in order to get one beer "to get me going."

I took the dollar and walked back to the original store, where the guy was set up selling DVD movies and CDs, but wasn't cranking free samples of his product out the back of his PT Cruiser, and sat and played.

I was really getting the feeling that it was going to be similar to the previous week, but did the only thing that I have found success with in the past; keeping myself in a good mood, and persisting in playing.

At one point, one of the guys from the store came out and stood listening to me. He smiled and nodded his head.

I had gotten about 3 dollars, all of them from black ladies. The first one had to ask me where to put tips, because I hadn't even opened my case, so pessimistic was I.

I spent the second dollar on a second beer, and had three in the case.

I Find A Folded Up Ten

I didn't have my glasses on and so, I thought there was a folded up discarded scratch ticket or a receipt of some kind sitting 4 feet in front of me, up against one of the support poles. Something about it drew my attention, maybe the color of it.

I took a couple steps forward and realized that it was a 10 dollar bill, folded up in a manner that some people use on a windy day when they don't want the money to blow out of the buskers case.

I knew that it couldn't have been there very long, not with all the foot traffic in that parking lot, coupled with the fact that you cannot usually even find a half smoked cigarette laying in that parking lot; as soon as someone throws it down before going in the store, someone else swoops in like a seagull and snatched it up.

I think the 10 bucks was left intentionally by the guy who works in the store; maybe for some reason he wanted me to see it and pick it up but maybe didn't want me to know it was from him; maybe it's a Muslim thing having to do with giving anonymously...

I grabbed a pack of smokes, and headed towards the boarded up building/studio where I went to work with gusto on a piece of music that I will call "Jungle Sailing."

I had come to Scotlandville more than a week ago with the explicit intent to record music at the boarded up building, all day and all night, perhaps.

Howard kind of followed me there. After running into him at LSU and informing him that I was strongly considering hitching a ride out of town in the next few days, he arrived Monday morning on the #10 Scotlandsville bus and kind of took up his place beside me.

Well, last night, I was inspired to record a fresh piece of music, using a drumbeat that I had downloaded called Jungle (something) and juxtaposing a rhythm which is probably nothing like the producer of the jungle beat was envisioning when he recorded the jungle beat.

At some point, Howard disappeared from his spot 3 feet away from where I was wailing on the guitar and singing, (mostly mumbling the melody until words came to me) -took his blankets and went to sleep behind the building. I was so focused upon the song that I never noticed him leave. I may have missed a classic facial expression of annoyance.

That is the spot where we originally slept here, it being darker and more quiet, and myself having the barbecue pit back there, so he shouldn't have had a problem sleeping there. But, this morning, he grabbed his blankets and disappeared again, maybe to LSU, maybe to Timbuktu, I don't know.

He should have figured out that I am obsessed with learning the studio and will basically stay up all night on it, since that is when it is most quiet.

So, at this point, the guy has left; acting as if I had been inconsiderate to break out my guitar and play it rather hard at 2:30 a.m. until the sun came up.

The Recording That Drove Ol' Howard Off

So, this is the song which drove Howard away. I give you:
Jungle Sailing

I plan upon listening closely to the lyrics to figure out what I was singing about. I know it was about crossing the Mississippi River...

I have to grade this one a B+ because I managed to not bite off more than I could chew, by keeping it simple; one guitar, the jungle beat and myself free styling lyrics (then cutting and pasting them in different spots, using my newfound studio skills -which I wouldn't have cultivated if I had caved in to the pressure of having Howard trying to sleep 4 feet away from me and nixed the project- He's supposed to be hard of hearing...)