In One Hand, Out The Other

Be Color Blind; Don't Be So Shallow...

One of the pictures taken at the Save-A-Lot in Mobile, Alabama on the eve of the departure of Jennifer the assistant manager, of myself and Sherrelle, a blog followere and the person whom I think of every time I encounter a black man who acts like a jerk towards me and I am ready to think that I hate all black people. I think about Sherrelle and I realize that "There is good and bad, in every race..."

Stuff Disappears

Yesterday, after leaving this library, I went to the sign spot, and the trees were bare.

All of the stuff that Howard and I had hung from the inner branches had been harvested by someone or something....

I suspected the workers who cut the grass and prune the trees.

I lost my flimsy sleeping bag and a plastic bag containing to wit: two green apples, one red apple and an orange.

I checked a nearby dumpster to see if they might have chucked the stuff in there, but my search was fruitless.

I wasn't sure what Howard had hanging there, except for his green seat cushion type thing which he uses as a pillow and which he hasn't washed since he found it in August of 2011. I remember seeing that in the branches, because I made it a point to hang my sleeping bag as far away from it as possible.

I decided to go into town, rather than try to find Howard and tell him what had happened. He would figure it out.

The loss of the sleeping bag was not so devastating since the forecast was for the temperature to only dip to about 53 degrees that night; but the problem will have to be addressed before a cold air mass finds its way here from Winnepeg, Canada by following the Mississippi River like a migrating bird.

I went to The Unique Boutique and bought two cans of Hurricane Lager.

I then went behind The Montdeleon Hotel, to pick their ashtray and to drink the lagers; and to add to my standup routine as such:

"Why is it that all the cheap beers are named after things that can kill you? Hurricanes, Cobras, Colt 45s, Earthquakes....

Thats  kind of weird; although I suppose Samuel Adams could put a musket ball through your head..."

Why do none of the brochures show the alley in back?

Then, a black man came along into the alley. He ducked behind the cover of the dumpster in front of me and proceeded to light up a half of a joint.

He smoked it down to an eight of a joint and then walked over and offered me the rest.

I didn't want him to think that I had a problem with putting my lips on a joint after a black man had smoked off it; so, in the interest of fostering unity between our races, I finished it.

Now, with "Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds" ringing in my head, I set out to find a spot to play at.

Crack And Kiddie Porn

I didn't want to go anywhere near Rouses Market on Royal Street because of what had happened Wednesday night.

What had happened was, I was sitting near there playing (and drinking) and I wasn't making anything (even though 2 dollars is something) and neither were any of the other musicians that I talked to and for the benefit of one of them, who is a friend of mine, and who was nearby and would appreciate the joke; and to underscore the desperation of us and to poke fun at the "anything goes" dynamic of Bourbon Street, I started saying: "Crack and kiddie porn; get your crack and kiddie porn here!"

Ha ha, I guess that's what its come to out here; no money in music, that's for sure, my friend.

5 minutes later, the cop who is stationed inside Rouses Market came out and told me that I had 10 seconds to leave there.

Apparently, someone overheard my "joke" -and it was probably a black man, because I have encountered a lot of them who have no sense of humor and who take everything literally- and went to the cop to report it.

I guess some things are "sacred" in Sin City.

I thought about swinging by there and telling the cop (who was white and also had no sense of humor) that the joke was meant only for my friends ears, and apologizing to him for it, but decided to go in another direction and let any possible emotions run their course and settle down and blow over.

You Play Beautifully

Alexander De Santiago

I instead went to my old spot on Bourbon Street, across from Barnabys condo, and where the horse mounted cops had told me I couldn't play past 8 p.m. It was 6:45 p.m.

I made 6 dollars and was visited by an artist; a very good artist; a New Orleans good artist, who has sold stuff for thousands of dollars, who sat by and told me that I played "beautifully."
It was Alexander De Santiago!!

I think if I was playing beautifully it was because I was trying to ease my way back into a playing spot where I hadn't been in 8 months. I didn't want to get there and just start wailing away. I started very gently and melodically; which 

seemed to be the artists cup of tea.

He gave me one of his Albita beers, saying "I don't usually do this; but you earned it" as he did.

"Human Embrace-ment" Art

That was very nice, and I decided to stop at 8 p.m. and not flirt with the horse cops, because it was Thursday and the money I stood to make was not enough of an incentive to risk going to jail over. Tonight, (Friday) it might be...

Monumental Move
Getting back to the sleeping spot, I observed Howard sleeping under the monument to Simon Boliver, a spot that we usually only went to when it was raining. I guess he took the disappearance of our stuff out of the trees to mean that we should disappear also. 

He was wrapped up in his blanket and so I assumed that he carried that with him all day. I had thought that morning about throwing my sleeping bag in my backpack, I really had.

London To NOLA In 10 Days

From The Lidgleys House

Then, on a whim I checked my mail in the morning, and was surprised to see Brother Charles emerge holding a parcel with the recognizable writing of the Lidgleys upon it. 

It took only 10 days to make it here from London, in a time when it takes about that long for local mail to be delivered across the street.

I couldn't help thinking that the postal service had really screwed up and put the parcel just by serendipity, on a flight for New Orleans.

I resisted the urge to open it there at the Rebuild Center, under the leers of the bums. They would surely ask me where I got it; thinking that they could go there and get one of their own; like I knew about some organization that gave out parcels to the homeless.

I opened it at the library, sitting next to Howard, who had been immersed in a book. He reads so fast that the prospect of the library actually running out of books that interest him is actually a valid one. He will read an entire novel in 4 hours and then start on the next one.

But, he soon became engrossed in watching me cut the tape off of the parcel with my nail file, as if he always wondered how that was done and wanted to take careful note of the procedure.

The Lidgleys were right on the money, once again, with their selection of Christmas gift items.

On top was the poem which Alyne had composed upon first encountering me in Saint Augustine, Florida, which I told her that I wanted to set to music.

Then, there were the hard to obtain things, like underwear and socks. Places like the Goodwill store and others that sell second hand clothing never sell second hand socks or underwear. I guess that's just a matter of aesthetics.

Two packs of Benson & Hedges cigarettes in the gold box addressed my immediate need to go outside and try to find a half smoked butt on the ground.

And there was a 20 dollar bill, snacks, two nice long-sleeved shirts, body wash, and a harbinger of the warm weather which is sure to come in a few short months: mosquito repellent.
And of course, a Starbucks gift card, which will allow me to go into the Marriot Hotel to visit the Starbucks there, and all security can do is wring their hands.

I once had 5 hairbrushes, but the cops in Baton Rouge took all of them. They swore afterwards that they had no time for such silly activities as trying to match the DNA from an arrestees hair follicles to some unsolved "cold case" while they had the guy in captivity and at their disposal; nor the saliva from a harmonica which disappeared along with everything else, but I suspect that their detectives are like kids with a new toy and are antsy for more DNA to play with, and that is why they took the brushes.

They took all 5 brushes because (duh!) I probably keep a souvenir from each of my victims, and the brushes would be light and portable and easy to keep organized, so that when I was using them to relive my crimes I would know; this one is the blonds, this one is the red heads (I love the way she squirmed) and this is obviously the black girls...etc.

They are paid to think that way and it is tax money well spent, even if it means having to cut the music program out of the elementary schools to finance...

If whomever did this thinks my music is beautiful...

Well, now I have a hairbrush again, thanks to the Lidgleys!

Now I go to the music store to replace the pick that I lost (although I might get it back if and when I run into Taylor) and the 5th string that I broke last night.

I woke up with 2 dollars more than I had the previous morning, so I guess I am in "accumulation mode," especially with the weekend and a New Orleans Saints game coming to the Superdome, where I have eked out an average of 25 dollars playing outside the stadium each time that I've done so.

I'm almost in a position to order the power adapter for the Samsung laptop, although, I will have to buy a prepaid credit card for the minimum of 20 dollars, while the adapter will only cost 10. I suppose I can find something to spend the balance on; especially since Sydneys Wine and Beer store takes plastic...