Too Busy With God To Friend

Coming Soon: The other person (my former voice instructor [left]) who refuses to friend me on Facebook...
Since we last left Daniel, he had finished his blog post for Thursday, November 29th, and went to get some food.
One of the traveling kids (who was a scraggly looking guy in his forties) came by and asked if he could sit by Daniel and display his artwork while Daniel played.
Daniel didn't really care, and told him so.
He purchased walnuts, chips and salsa, three tomatos and some frozen chopped spinach.
Returning to town, he discovered that the guy had sort of disappeared, and so Daniel went to his spot and played and made 3 dollars without any traveling kid sitting next to him.
The traveling kids artwork was very simple and consisted of acrylic paint applied to cardboard in various patterns. He only had one color, a shade of blue and so all his works featured it.
Daniel stopped at Heroes Pub after getting food and watched the Saints vs. Falcons game until the staff came out and shut the TV off, at around 9 p.m.
When he was in The Dauphin Market getting a beer, a mysterious, tall woman walked in the store. She appeared to be around 30 years old and had big brown eyes and very full lips, an exotic mixture of strange races; one of which, he was told by Sajid, the cashier; was Honduran.
The lady smiled at Daniel and asked him how long he was going to be in town.
Daniel told her "It depends upon..." and was thinking of adding "if I fall in love with any exotic woman or find some other reason to stick around."
But only mentioned that he was thinking of staying until the following Wednesday evening, so that he could return to Serdas Coffee to perform stand up comedy.
He was wondering if the womans apparent interest in him was spawned by his performance of the previous week and was kind of fishing for a response in that regard.
The woman was wearing black slacks and a transparent silk-like top through which could be seen a halter-top and her midriff. Her Honduran navel caught Daniels eye.
After making the 3 dollars and returning to spend one of them at the same store, before retiring to his sleeping spot to cook lean ground beef patties and re-heat the leftovers from the whole chicken which he had cooked the previous night; mix the two ingredients together; wrap them in tortillas and eat them.
Alabama Amanda
Zobaer had relieved Sajid from duty.
Zobaer was able to, in rapid-fire broken English, shed more light upon the mystery of the part Honduran lady.
After being supplied a description of the lady, down to which brand of cigarettes she purchased, Zobaer had narrowed her identity down to two possible ladies.
He produced his i-phone and showed Daniel an unmistakable image of the very same woman, whom he labelled "Amanda."
"She is a good girl," said Zobaer, and then provided addition details beyond the scope of this blog, which intrigued Daniel further.
This morning, Daniel was up with the sun, but continued to lay there feeling its warmth, until such a time that Howard showed up at approximately 7:40 a.m., handed him the sports section of the daily paper, and then resumed his morning routine, by skulking off in the general direction of the library and McDonalds.
Daniel got to the Big Clock spot at 8:35 and played for about an hour and a half and netted 10 dollars, exactly. And exactly the amount of money required to take the bus out to the music store, purchase new strings and then return on the very same bus. Along with a couple of cans of beer to give him the courage to embark upon such a wild and capricious adventure.
And that is how it stands at 11:38 a.m., Friday, November 30th, in 67 degree Mobile, Alabama.
One guy had shown up when Daniel was playing and said "I don't have any money, but, can I show you something?" as he reached towards Daniels guitar.
"Sure," said Daniel.
The guy played a very snazzy up tempo kind of finger picking thing, which was pretty impressive, and then handed the guitar back.
Daniel wondered what the guys point was in showing him that particular feat, and wondered why a guy like that had no money.
"Were you using three fingers?" asked Daniel.
"Yes," said the guy and then added that he was an admirer of an artist called "C Six," or perhaps "Sea Six" or "See Six" or maybe "Sea Sick."
Daniel was advised that he could no longer sit for 5 hours in Pollmans Bakery working on his computer after the purchase of only one cup of coffee, and so will cut this post off now, at about the 816 word mark, and then try to get new strings and maybe find the time to Youtube

I Got A Name

Stand Up Comedy Well Received

Yesterday, I blogged and then went to get food.

I was down to 15 cents.

I sat at the acoustically superior spot and played; though there were few people out.

About a half hour into it; a street person came by and sarcastically asked "Hey, do you have any spare change?"

I think he saw the "nothing" in my case and was trying to spread his misery to me.

At that point I had to reach deep into myself and, not only continue to play, but to try to play better.

A woman came and hollered "Daniel!"

She was the woman who had sat by me once and passed me a bottle of Wild Irish Rose wine and sang a Janis Joplin song and some Pink Floyd.

She had just gotten an apartment, she said, and on this night which was forecast to be 36 degrees, invited me to crash at her place.

She said that she had been looking for me all day. This concerned me.

She touted all the amenities of her place: couch and a bed; one of those old style bath tubs that you can submerge yourself in; stove, etc.

I thought about the whole chicken and the ground beef that I had just dropped off at my sleeping spot (and the spinach, too) and was thinking of taking her up on the offer; but...

Her place was a 3 mile walk (or spend the 3 dollars that I had made at that point on bus fare) and she said that she didn't want to be there alone. This concerned me.

I thought about all the times that I had been invited into peoples places and all the hidden "catches" that came along with such offers and I politely declined.

I didn't want to wake up in the morning and be way on the other side of town and have my "routine" interrupted such.

A guy and a girl came by, I played them I Got A Name, by Jim Croce and got 6 bucks.

I went and got a beer and then drifted in the general direction of Serdas Coffee shop, though, to drink the beer, not to go to that place.

However, I realized that it was Wednesday night and open mic night, and then I saw the gaggle of traveling kids; newly arrived in town on this day; all gathered at Serdas.

Serdas has recently established a policy of giving a free coffee or beer to all performers at their open mic night. (hence, the traveling kids??)

Somehow, I decided to go in and play.

There was a new guy running things.

One of the traveling kids played a decent harmonica and sang.

Then, Taylor, daughter of Jeff the Potter arrived.

I had just signed up and Taylor was to follow me.

I got up and did two songs. They were well received.

The guy that runs things asked me to play another one.

Taylor Sang And Played Well

I said that I didn't want to cut Taylors time short.

Taylor, who was on her way out the door said: "I need to get my guitar out of my car."

This gave me additional time and I decided to do stand up comedy.

"I'm gonna do some stand up comedy, because I always wanted to," I said.

I stood up and did some stuff that I always figured would be the stuff that I would do if I ever did stand up; and it went over very well and the guy that runs things said that he "very much enjoyed" it and "You know, we do this every week..."

So, there is a new reason to stick around for one more week...to try to kick that ball that Lucy is holding....

Addendum To The Ted Story

At the country club where we worked, we were allowed to go into the dining room and help ourselves to the soda dispenser, which had buttons that you pressed to get either Coke or Sprite or Root Beer or Tab or soda water or club soda (there's a difference??) or orange soda or Fresca; as well as the ice cream cooler which had about 12 different flavors of ice cream.

Soon, we were experimenting...Have you tried coffee ice cream with Coke? Not bad..sprite with orange sherbert, man....but soon established The Brown Cow as our official drink -two scoops of vanilla ice cream in a glass of Coke.

taylor "knows" Beiber??

We started a contest to see which of us could drink the most Brown Cows. We had a tally sheet inside one of our lockers, where we kept our golf spikes and the Brown Cow tally sheet.

Ted was leading me 114 to 86 or so, the last time I checked. (he got more hours than me...as an overachieving Greek should).

Maybe the reason that he won't friend me on Facebook is that he is still hopped up on sugar!!!

"Locust, Howard?"

Ted Has No "Time" For Me...

Tonight

36 °F

Partly Cloudy

I have attributed the psychological turmoil that I have been beset with to the fact that I have been using a caffeine laden drink to quench my thirst in the middle of the night, before returning to sleep, whereupon the stimulation to my cerebral cortex triggers the most annoying and irrational dreams, most of which involve the resurfacing of memories which I had buried in my subconscious (except for the re-currant nightmare where I somehow had tossed and turned and slid and squirmed my way onto the railroad tracks, and as I let the rumble from the diesel sooth me into a deeper sleep I am ground up and the mockingbirds fight over the choicest morsels) -THAT one isn't so irrational.

I have found two old acquaintances on Facebook and have sent them "friend requests" which have been ignored for at least the past month.

This has put the circuitry of my brain to work, in search of reasons for my being eschewed such.

I have found plenty, by digging up fossils from the deepest layers of memory and it has not helped my self-esteem.

One friend (shown with his homeboy), I worked with at my first "job" when I was aged 11 through 15.

We were both musicians, although he was much more accomplished on the keyboards and could play "Moonflower," by Santana, for example while I wasn't playing "Moonflower" but was telling (fooling) myself (into thinking) that it was because I didn't want to play it, rather than face the possibility that I wouldn't be able to if I tried.

Ted, as that is his name, was an A student, and the son of a very proud Greek man, who seemed to instill a drive for achievement in his son.

Where They Clean The Carts...

Ted was a pretty good golfer, and would have to give me one stroke per hole in order for us to have a competitive match.

We worked at the local Country Club, cleaning clubs, loading and unloading carts; cleaning carts and keeping their batteries charged etc.

The job was kind of a training ground for us to learn how to achieve success in life in general, by modeling the behaviors of the wealthy club members, who were a cross section of Who's Who, in our city of 45 thousand inhabitants.

Our boss, PGA Professional, Jim O' Leary (shown with his own timepiece) strove to be a positive motivational influence upon us. We wore Izod shirts and slacks, just like the members did, were clean cut, and said "Yes, sir" and "No sir" and it was the norm to memorize the names of each member (and their wives names) and to use them liberally.

"Good morning, Mrs. Debitteto! Will you be playing today? Would you like an electric cart, or will you be pulling your clubs today?"

You've got to be shitting me;

sleeping under a holly bush?

Our boss expected us to keep busy...When you're standing still, you're moving backwards...and to keep a positive attitude...Our attitude towards life determines lifes attitude towards us....and to keep the whole operation spit-shined..."I've never been to a coarse where they cleaned the carts," exclaimed one guest from another coarse once.

So, with all this excellent mentoring, which Ted seemed to have taken to heart -graduated near the top of his class; went to a fine technical college to study Computer Science; and the last I heard (from a CPA, who wouldn't give me any exact figures, but who handled his tax filings and WOULD tell me (rub my nose in the fact) that he was doing "quite well," It is quite possible that Ted views me as some sort of utter failure and a pariah to never "friend" on Facebook, out of fear of "failure by association."

Classes Are Filling Fast...

According to Facebook, he is running his own golf school near Orlando, Florida.

He must have parlayed the "well" that he quite did into investing in that school.

Now he hob-nobs with Tiger Woods, slaps V.J. Singh on the back, and wouldn't dream of any of them confronting him with "Who's the homeless guy who keeps writing on your wall?"

Where is Jim O' Leary when I need him?...You can have success in one facet of life, but be a failure in the most important aspect, Daniel, such as being a gentleman enough to at least acknowledge someone who acknowledges you on Facebook; someone who was and is a part of your life and helped shape you into what you are; regardless of whether or not you want to admit it....

Thanks, Jim.

Other than that; It was too cold to busk this morning.

I have sunken to "Broke with strings ready to follow suit" status again, and my plan is to take advantage of the few warmer days which the weather report promises; in order to have traveling money; then to hit New Orleans, where I can hopefully have the check from the Baton Rouge jail mailed to; along with a power adapter for the Samsung, should I come up with enough money this weekend to put those two things in motion.

Then, after a little busking in The Big Easy, hopefully ease on out in search of a nice desert to pass the worst of the winter in; fasting and praying and living on locusts covered in honey, until some sort of revelation as to where to go from there occurs...

"Locust, Howard?"

"No, I think I'll just go to Jack-In-The-Box. Thanks, though..."

Yesterday morning, I played "Monday, Monday" and other songs and made 3 dollars.

I decided not to go and spend half of that on a coffee.

The day was eventless. 

I went and got food in the eventing; then, came back down Dauphin Street. After I had gotten food at the Save-A-Lot, I sat in front of that store and played for about a half hour and was thrown $1.50, even though I hadn't seeded my case.

I was flagged down on Dauphin by a couple of guys who both play guitar and whom I have played for before.

They wanted me to play "I Know You Rider," by the Grateful Dead, which I did and they gave me one beer and passed me a pipe while I was doing so.

I am getting better, by simplifying and just trying to play a good solid melody that doesn't have to be amazing in the sense that only a guitarist would appreciate it.

Last night, rain was threatening.

It didn't come to fruition until 4:20 a.m. when I ran across Water Street to the parking garage to find Howard already there.

The rain stopped and both of us returned to our spots.

Then, at 8 a.m. there was a downpour which I should have seen coming, as the skies darkened considerably; right at about the time Howard was giving me the sports section and we were discussing the Minnesota Vikings chances of making the post season.

I went to Pollmans Bakery and sat working on a novel for 5 hours. It now has 14 thousand plus words.

James Joyce took 12 years to write Ulysses, and 8 years to write Finnegans Wake. I have just learned, so I am working again on the novel....

I have concluded that I am in one of the most miserable situations that I have been since becoming homeless; and I don't know if it is my reluctance to cast fate to the wind and just leave at the drop of a hat that is hindering me.

There are, naturally, people here who like me; because I'm good enough and dammit, people like me; but; if they really like me, they would tell me go; go and chase your dreams; ain't nothing here; Bob Dylan didn't use the word "stuck" in Mobile casually....

Immobility

The Pattern I'm In

My Stay In Mobile So Far?

The past couple of nights, I have had only caffeine containing drinks to gulp down in the wee hours of the morning when I wake up parched, often.

This has led to me falling back to sleep and then having bizarre dreams.

I think the dreams have some value in elucidating things that are buried in my subconscious, however, I have been inundated with memories of all the times that I wish I could go back and change; when I did or said stupid things.

I lay there and there is a video montage running through my head of things from the past which make me understand why some of the people that I have found on Facebook whom I haven't seen in forever did not accept my friend requests.

Immobile

We are still in Mobile, and what is keeping me here is as small as a guy who owes me 2 bucks and gets his check next Friday.

There is just a feeling that I was originally sent here to learn some lesson, to help me work out my karma and I can imagine people imploring me "Why are you still here?"

The stand-up comedy attempt on Thursday is still on, provided that I come up with enough money for the bus fare out there, and then will hope that I do well enough so that someone will strike up a conversation with me (as opposed to avoiding me like a pariah) and might be able to give me a ride back to my sleeping spot...just drop me off by this stand of holly bushes; I'll walk the rest of the way home...

Maybe Jeff the Potter's oldest daughter, Taylor will be there and can help me in that regard; she has taken up music, plays the guitar and sings now.

Are You Like Me?

They shut the power down in the park last night, hence no post.
And a lot of homeless people walking around with dead cell-phones with no way to keep abreast of where all the free "feedings" were to happen; pity...
Last night, it got "too cold" to busk.

This does not mean that I couldn't have gotten out and played stuff that requires no real complex fingering ie. Creedence Clearwater Revival (sorry guys, you're not that complex). But, I went to my spot and built a fire and cooked Tilapia with spinach and then ate and fell asleep.

I woke up shivering.

I went out onto Water Street to where I could see the clock/thermometer at the Convention Center.

3:14, 40 degrees.

I guess I had slept pretty long.

Now, I just want to watch some football, on this Sunday.

I slept until about 10 a.m., then visited Howard, who was still in his lair, reading.

I have decided to attempt stand-up comedy; and if the gods want me to do so, then they will arrange to have the bus fare out to the place where they have an open mic night for such, in my pocket by Thursday night.

I have a bunch of routines....."Are you like me?...Who said thank God no?!?"
I will do stand-up and have the guitar ready ala Martin Mull, though I hate being compared to him; or any other comedian who also plays guitar. I don't know why...

I hate the holidays.
I made 3 bucks this morning, off of about 6 people who were on the street on this Black Friday.
Last night, security people whom I've never seen before, but who were working Thanksgiving day at the swank hotel, wouldn't let me watch football from outside.
I am going to decide whether or not to jump on the train, tonight or tomorrow night, based upon tonight.....

Anything To Say??

OK, Here is the jam

That I did earlier this evening.

I had warmed up that (this) morning, and was ready to blaze over certain music, regardless of the water splashing 10 feet away.

 
@Alex In California: Play Your Clarinet Like this (see video)
This My Jam is as follows:

• C minor Part of Shakedown Street, by The Grateful Dead
• Excerpt From Good Morning Starshine
• Funk Jam In E*

The Funk jam in E is very similar to what I played for Doreens husband, who is also her tuba player/drummer, whose name escapes me, but who gave me a dollar and said "You've got something to say on that guitar."

This of course was one of the highlights of my tenure in New Orleans, and, after that day; as noted in this blog; I started to get free coffee and have doors held open for me by smiling security people; and I surmised at the time that Doreen, who is a staple amongst musicians that people come all the way around the world just to see, and has been for like 17 years, has connections that run deep in NOLA.

But, anyways, the jam at the end are the chords I use for "I'm A Funky, Skinny White Boy, Generally Speaking," which I used to do at Serdas open mic night.

Alms For The Stupid...alms for the stupid....

Clocked In Early...

Wednesday morning, at 5 o' clock, as the day began. I sat under the holly bush.
There was a mist in the air, and I wondered how long before the next rainfall and thought about my 504 piece jigsaw puzzle on the cardboard next to me.
After gulping down some red Mountain Hollar, rolling up my sleeping bag and packing it in the backpack, and smoking the last of my cigarettes; I went to the Big Clock Spot. The temperature was 51 degrees, Fahrenheit.
The big clock read 6:50 a.m., making this the earliest that I have ever gotten to the spot.
The streets were pretty empty.
And A Muffin
I decided to sit and work on "She's Leaving Home," by The Beatles and try to learn it before any people ambled past.
I found most of the chords, but got bogged down a little with the arrangement.

Sue

I Know You Hear Me, Sue!

Sue, if you are reading this, go to New Orleans.
I didn't want to just play the chord changes, but wanted to be able to do a "chord melody" thing with it.
After about 20 minutes of fussing with that song, some people were starting to walk about.
I switched to my more familiar morning stuff. I made about 8 dollars, a cup of coffee, and a muffin in about one hour.
The bank employees showed up at around 8 a.m., but just said "Good Morning" as they went inside.
Thus, I am still in Mobile and am in position to go to the Thanksgiving meal for the homeless, to be sponsored by Fortis College of Cosmotology.

I think it starts soon.
Then, there must be done a couple of things in preparation for the trip to New Orleans, where a brief pit-stop will be made, at least to do laundry and clean up at The Rebuild Center, if not a lot of busking.
I would really like to order a power adapter for the Samsung and have it sent to the Rebuild Center, as I have a mailbox there
I have been told that items purchased using E-Bay and its ilk, arrive within 3 or 4 days.
I Am Building A Robot
Now, off with me to work on a Perl script which will enlarge the first three words of every paragraph and then select a random color ror each paragraph, dissimilar to the color of the paragraphs next to them; so that I can just type my blog entries in plain text and then feed them to my script and save myself a bunch of formatting.
I eventually want the script to be able to bold-face certain nouns that I use over and over, such as "Howard," or "Dauphin Street."
I am in "Day 6" of "Learning Perl Programming in 21 Days," and I am on the cusp of being able to write such a script.
It will read my text files into one large array, and then insert the appropriate HTML, verbatum, so that when I feed it into the Blogger editor it will be rendered in the window, without me having to spend an additional 10 or 15 minutes highlighting and altering text

Forgive Them, Father; They Know Not What They Boo

Tucson; Buskers Paradise...

Let's see, when we last left Daniel, he had just made enough money for a new set of strings (bus ride included).

Then, on Tuesday (this) morning, he was woken up by Howard, who dropped off the local sports section ("There's not much in it; it isn't really worth it...) and he went out onto the Big Clock spot.

It was 8:45 a.m. when he got there, and beside his two liter bottle of Mountain Hollar, he broke out his guitar and played "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" and then "Sea Breeze," and then "Good Morning Starshine," with some random Beatles songs interspersed.

He made about 4 bucks, but realized that he could play there past the time when the bank opened; a time that, in the past, he had been run off by one of the bank employees (people using the ATM have no way of telling if some guy is sitting there with a guitar as a prop, waiting to rob them as soon as they get their money, and it makes them nervous).

The previous night, Daniel had built a discreet fire and cooked fish and broccoli, and had remembered to add garlic to the recipe.

He slept pretty well, but had dreams about things beyond the scope of this blog.

The date is approaching for the train hop to points unknown. Mobile is struggling to keep him there, perhaps because of the "misery enjoys company" adage, but is fast running out of ammunition.

That's about it. I worked on the 504 piece jigsaw puzzle for a couple hours today. I might busk tonight a bit at the acoustically superior spot; and; that's about it.

I am playing better, having deserted random improvisation, deeming it the craft of a lazy man who never has to memorize anything, in favor of improvisation that can be repeated at a later time because I am paying attention to the exact notes and not just letting them "fly" without looking back...

Similar Thoughts

It was 19 years ago today, that I packed all my possessions in a 1983 Chevy Cavalier station wagon and began a drive from Massachusetts to Florida.
In my growing excitement, as I drove, and to dissuade myself from chickening out and turning the car around to go back to the familiar miseries of the life that I was to leave behind, rather than to risk a worse fate in the life that I might find ahead, I didn't stop.

I Could Be In Utopia
I was also aware that, should the 1983 Chevy break down anywhere along the way, then that would become my new location by default.
I could be a long time resident of Utopia, Virginia right now, for example, should the clutch have gone out at that point; and there is no telling what kind of life I would be having now.
But, they really built those Cavaliers; not only did the car make it to Middleburg, Florida (in 21 hours), with 235K miles on it; I wound up using it to deliver pizza in Florida and ran the odometer up to 318K miles, before deciding to trade it in, because it needed both a water pump and the drivers side door handle replaced.
That was 19 years ago, today, and now, I contemplate embarking on a journey for Tucson, Arizona, where I will surely meet up with the same friends whom I wound up staying with in Florida.
Of course, I was making pretty good money delivering pizza in the Cavalier ($2,100 on a good month, $1,850 in a bad one) and that was probably the oil that smoothed the way for me being allowed to rent a room from those friends.
I'm not calling them materialistic, but, there was not charity to be had from them; and the couple of times that I was in between jobs, once after being fired, the other time after having my car stolen, those friends decided that it was in my best interest to move out of their house, so I could be closer to the city and within walking distance of employment opportunities.
It will be interesting to see how red the carpet is which might be rolled out for a busker, who makes 800 dollars in a good month; 650 in a bad month.
In 19 years, their perspective may have changed somewhat; but I adhere to the adage about the leopard and its spots.

I, of course, won't NEED to have a couch in their garage to crash on, and an outlet to plug my computer into, but it will be interesting to see if they offer any such.
30 Dollar Friday Night
I made about 30 bucks Friday night. There seemed to be a group of people from out of town; and they were pretty generous.
By 2 a.m., I was ready to call it quits, so with my pocket stuffed with one dollar bills, which must have looked like Fort Knox to the simple-minded street people, I began a circuitous route back to my sleeping spot, first moving in the direction of the Shell Station, as if I was running to the store to redeem some of my money for beer. I wanted to see if I picked up any tails.
I had "broken down" my case periodically (taking out handfuls of bills and stuffing them in my pocket, leaving only around 7 and some change in there) but, a couple times, during certain songs, an additional 7 bills went into the case after a particularly generous group passed, and before I could break it down, the "wrong element" walked past and took note of the bank notes which I had made off my musical notes and, in the words of Archie Bunker, were "beating on the tom-tom drums." My 29 one dollar bills had become the stuff of urban legend.
Cat And Mouse

So, the game of cat and mouse was on.
After feigning to walk in the direction of the Shell station, a course which would take me through dark deserted passageways, I altered my direction towards an alley which emerges onto Dauphin Street at the point where two police cars are perpetually parked on Friday and Saturday nights with the cops standing nearby in front of Club 5' 4".
As I approached the entrance to the alley, I noticed an unfamiliar young black man wearing a Hilfiger hoodie, who had been on a course to fall in behind me, should I have continued in the direction of the store, but who had altered his course to fall in behind me after I entered the alley.
An out-of-towner would probably not know about the two cops at the other end of the alley, and might think that it was just the place to jump a white boy and take his 29 one dollar bills, his cigarettes and maybe even his backpack and guitar.
The Hilfiger hoodie was somewhere behind me when I came out on Dauphin and made some small talk with the cops, after they gave me a "what are you doing back there in that alley and creeping up behind us?" look.
"I'm just making sure I'm not being followed," I answered; perhaps a bit unwittingly, as one cop just stared at me for a second and didn't respond otherwise.
I couldn't help wonder what was going through his mind. I wanted Hilfiger hoodie to think that I might have said something like "Just to let you know, the guy in the hoodie seems to be following me," or something that might prompt them to take notice of him; realize that they had never seen him before, and maybe even try to ID him, to see if he is "in the system" and if so, what for...just a few strong-arm robberies; minor stuff...
The cop kind of froze for a second, and I wondered if he was baffled over the concept of actually protecting and serving a homeless street musician ...been harassing you for so long; now you want me to do a complete 180º here...I'm not sure how to react...
I started walking along the safety of Dauphin Street, towards the swank hotel with its aura of safety which enshrouds it and its $275/per night per room denizens.
I walked past a couple who were standing next to their vehicle, about to get in.
Hilfiger hoodie was still behind me.
I went about 20 feet into Bienville Square and went behind a tree, as if to urinate.
This was designed to make Hilfiger hoodie tip his hand. If I was so drunk that I couldn't even wait until I got to a rest room then it may have have prompted him to try to push his luck and try to mug me behind the huge oak tree, where I stood there, not urinating, but watching.
It is customary, when someone is urinating, to give them some privacy. There is nothing so important that it can't wait until a guy is finished with his "business" before approaching him. Even if you're "dying" for a cigarette. If Hilfiger hoodie had started to approach me, he would have given away his intentions, and I wouldn't have to take the time to stop what I was "doing," zip myself up etc. I could hop right back into the bright lights and video surveillance of Dauphin Street at his slightest movement towards me.
As I stood, peering around the side of the tree, Hilfiger hoodie stopped and tried to panhandle the couple who quickly got into their vehicle, closed and locked the doors.
I started back the way I had come, as if I only came to the park to relieve myself and was going back to my playing spot, perhaps.
The hoodie had started to walk down the sidewalk in my direction after being rebuffed by the couple.
This had us crossing paths right in front of the vehicle that the couple sat locked inside of.
I stared him in the eyes as I was about to pass him. He didn't seem to be ready to even speak, so I said "What's up?" in a tone meant to convey "What the hell are you up to?"
He mumbled something and then continued on, perhaps realizing that, to turn around and again follow me would have been ridiculously blatant.
Well, I got to the next corner and, gosh darn it, I "changed my mind" about going back to my playing spot. I guess I just couldn't make up my mind about anything. I must be confused (and an easy target). I started heading directly into the closed and deserted park; on a beeline for the swank hotel; on a path which would take me past the big Christmas Tree which had already been put up, but hadn't been lit yet; and stood there as dark as its shadowy surroundings.
Well, by the time I had gotten to one corner of Bienville Square, where I abruptly changed my mind and reversed direction, Hilfiger hoodie was at the opposite corner, and must have changed HIS mind, gosh darnit, because he turned around and was now on a coarse to intercept me right about where the Christmas Tree was; how festive...
I continued to walk towards the tree.
Hilfiger hoodie now began to stumble along in an exaggerated manner, as if totally drunk. He grabbed a light post as if to steady himself and then teetered a bit; then continued; almost fell on his face and then stopped at one of the trash barrels by the Christmas tree and leaned over it; as if about to wretch.
Well, I had seen enough.
I changed my direction yet again, picked up my pace and headed back towards Dauphin Street. The hoodie was soon behind me and had sobered up remarkably, wasn't staggering at all.
I got to the edge of a parking lot and waved to the yellow shirted attendant, who waved back. Then I stood there and stared at the hoodie as he walked past in the same place and same direction as he had been when I first noticed him.
I then lost him, by taking a special route which, to me, is kind of like the plan to evacuate the President from The White House in the event of an emergency; through places where can be seen several blocks behind with no place for a tail to hide; past swank hotels with their auras of safety; and eventually along the railroad tracks after waiting for a passing train to use as a cover.
I slept like a baby; after the Mission Impossible theme song (which inevitably starts up in your head while running along using a train as cover) faded out of my head; to be replaced by the sound of Howards ferocious snoring.
Saturday, I didn't make crap, as noted in yesterdays post.
Sunday, I watched Football and managed to spend only 5 bucks all day.
This morning, I was up with the sun, it was 67 degrees.
Howard dropped off the sports section of the daily paper and informed me that it was "about 7:30 a.m.

We talked for a while about the amazing New England Patriots offensive attack, Howards success in locating his daughters address using a paid for Internet service so that he could send her money for her birthday, and our upcoming train hop for points west.
I was at the Big Clock Spot at 8:05 a.m., played for an hour and a half, mostly "Monday, Monday," by The Mamas And The Papas, and made about 10 dollars.
Two Laptop Problem
My plan is to maybe try to get the power adapter for the Samsung laptop from Radio Shack (even though it is about a 3 mile walk to that place) so I can eventually stop carrying two of them in my pack.
I don't know what I will do with this one; it has sentimental value, having been a gift from Martin In West Virginia. The battery in the Samsung would give me instant mobile recording capabilities, so I can take advantage of acoustically superior spots.
The Hilfiger hoodie was just another sign that 'tis the season for moving along.
Pit Stop In Nola?
The first matter to decide will be wheather or not to make a pit stop in New Orleans. We probably should not, because that city has a tendency to trap one there; with the promises of one big event after another.
Plus, New Orleans, to me, meant Sue, the Colombian Lady, to me. And, as far as I know, she has flown away from there.
It gets just as cold in New Orleans as it does here, and that kind of cold would be unacceptable without a Colombian Lady for warmth...

You Can Go There

I Am Invited to a Homeless Dinner

I just got finished warming up with a Sea Breeze and some messing around, during which I was invited to the dinner, being put on by the Fortis College of Cosmetology.

Maybe there will be some fine cosmetological specimens spooning out the slop.

Saturday (last) night, there was the same drop off from Friday that there had been the previous week and I didn't make "anything."

I talked to Howard and we are "on" for heading west by Tuesday, at the latest.

I guess I'll miss the homeless dinner....

Consider The Lilies Of The Field...

Nowhere Man
I know I sound better than this; but I like the little solo that was loosely based upon George Harrisons.

Incubus- "Drive" Note to self: Learn.
Staind- "Fade" ditto.
Well, I suppose that running into the nice Lilly The Banjo Player on Dauphin Street last night might have been the highlight of last night.
It (the highlight) certainly wasn't standing in front of The Battle House Hotel, sneaking peeks through the window at the football game between two teams vying for the best draft pick, and sneaking sips off a can of Steel Reserve that I had stashed in a flower bed. And then sneaking to my covert holly bush and building a discreet fire and cooking a "top round" steak with green beans in a pie tin (and forgetting that I had fresh garlic to add d'oh!) and then, sleeping fitfully until such a time that I woke up and day was breaking, but it was still too early to gulp down the red Mountain Hollar (which echoes Mountain Dew) which would propel me to the Big Clock Spot to try to replicate my feat of two weeks ago when I made 18 dollars in 50 minutes.
I guess running into Lily was more interesting than all that.
In an earlier post, I described her as something like "19 going on 38," due to her, at the time, haggard look.
Well, she has bounced back and now looks like a ripe tomato, rather than a prune.
There was a small crowd of street life around her, as I first walked past her where she was playing in front of The Bier Garten on Dauphin Street.
The crowd included none other than The Guy Who Comes Along And Strikes Up A Conversation Then Plops Himself Down By You Hoping That Someone Will Throw You A Nicecce Tip So He Can Beg You To Buy Him A Beer (the hweeb), and a blond haired woman of about 40, who was sitting on the other side of Lily.
A skinny, inebriated black guy, who only last night had showed up where I was playing with the hweeb at my side, and told us that he was from New York (with an accent which sounded like "fake New York") and that he had lost "everything" in Hurricane Sandy; his house; his car -all under water- was teetering in front of Lily gushing praise for her playing and her singing and the songs she was doing and her hair and her banjo and her boots and..."My name is Mike," he said, offering Lily his hand, as soon as she finished the song.
"You already told me," said Lily, not shaking his hand but rolling her eyes.
Then there were two other young black guys, who seemed determined to find out if Lilly was alone and if she had a place to sleep.
The hweeb gestured towards me and told Lily: "Hey this is guitar man, he's really good; you two should try to play together."
"He already met me," said Lily with another roll of her eyes.
By the time I returned from seeing that Heroes Pub was not showing the game, the crowd had abandoned Lily. Maybe she told them that she never made as much in tips with people crowded around her than otherwise.
I had seen her earlier, playing her banjo while looking at a notepad.
"Were you learning a new song, earlier?" I asked.
Her face lit up. "Yes, I was!" she said, and then played the new song with the proportional amount of miscues which come with a new song.
It was a song by the band Marcy Playground, and I can't recall it right now, but it was an excellent song, one which suited her style and which I had heard before and always thought was The Red Hot Chili Peppers.
"No, it's Marcy Playground; their only hit, really." said Lily.
We chatted for a while. I told her about the hweeb and my post about him. She smiled.
Then I asked her about the guy who lost everything in New York during the hurricane (even his JOB!!) and was here, "starting over."
She said that he had mentioned none of that to her. "That's interesting," she added...
Before I left to catch the game at the swank hotel, she told me that she was on Facebook, as Lily Guthrie.
"Spelled like Woody and Arlo?"
"Yup."
So, I now prepare to go to the park and get online and will try to post a picture of Lily The Banjo Player.
I made $6.79 at the Big Clock Spot, in a little over an hour.
It was 45º when I started, and 50º when I knocked off when the bank opened at 9 o'clock sharp.
And that is where it stands now.
My goal is to learn at least one new song today, so that when I play tonight, it will more interesting to myself.