Today is Monday;
To recap the last 4 days:
I was having no trouble getting drinks, though, and I eventually exceeded the limit for the number of drinks one can have in them and retain a positive frame of mind after X amount of people walk by as they play as hard as they can; and only throw them 75 cents.
The reason could have just been that, at that particular hour, people weren't tipping.
Perhaps groups were meeting on business, and maybe throwing a tip to a musician would have a polarizing effect; for example; what if the guy whom the guy is trying to close a deal with can't stand a certain song, perhaps because of his political beliefs; and the other guy tips the guy playing it; it could be a deal breaker...
The people could have been local to the residential area where I play and might consider that their permissiveness in letting me be there in the first place is charity enough, on their part.
There is occasionally such a thing, in busking, as an hour when you only make 75 cents, though, it can be followed by a 50 dollar hour; but, I was starting to have doubts.
I was thinking about the miserable couple of weeks that I had had after losing my hat.
I haven't changed my style of playing, except to have gotten a bit better, and so I started to look at other factors in my financial demise.
I had already determined to change my look and had gone back to the pony tail; but the elastic wasn't holding the hair too well and I wound up with a sheep dog style.
I was dejected and my mind was racing, thinking of alternatives to busking, feeling like truly giving up.
I had just about resolved to do that, as I walked off.
A Gift Atop My Head
Then, I went to the corner of Royal Street where Rouses Market was.
Tanya and Dorise were just packing up after playing.
I was in such a foul mood, I made a wide circle around them, not even wanting to stop and spread the venom which I felt full of.
I avoided other musicians also, to avoid the question of: "How did you do?."
But, Dorise spotted me from afar and hollared my name, adding that they had a gift for me.
She gave me a long hug when I got there, during which I felt like she somehow could feel that I had only made 75 cents in an hour, and was consolling me.
Then, I was lead to the back door of their van, which was opened and through which issued forth one hat. Dorise assured me "It's you!" and gave me the brown felt hat which fit perfectly.
Saturday: News From Home
Gift Appraised
Saturday, I stopped first at the Baptist church on Dauphine Street, where I was given a new pair of socks and a pair of pants which fit, but which are courderoy and grey in color, and I was told by someone, whom apparently has knowledge of hats: "Someone gave you a 100 dollar hat!" when I showed it off.
I told him that the hug that I got was priceless, and he agreed.
[Photo of hat forthcoming; as soon as I can get the "Blogger" application to work on my Android Phone]
Gift Arrived
I called my mom to see if she had gotten the birthday message which I had left on her answering machine the day before.
The recording featured Tanya and Dorise playing "Happy Birthday," softly behind my message, and then my singing of that song.
She had gotten it, as well as the CD from the very same backup group, which arrived on the very day of her birthday.
Disconcerting News
She told me that my younger brother had had a heart attack a couple of months? ago, as well as having had his third daughter born a few weeks ago. There was no damage to his heart, and now he will have to watch his diet. And the baby is healthy.
That made me realise how long I have been out of touch with my family; and I decided not to ask mom to send money; it being her birthday, and with all that is going on up there in Massachusetts.
A Man Doesn't Pass My Hat
I went to Bourbon Street, to play with the new hat on.
I started to get a steady flow of tip money, just like I used to before I lost my other hat. It felt like I was "in uniform" and people responded accordingly.
I made about 12 bucks in the first half hour, used the restroom at The Blacksmith Tavern, and then returned to play some more, after finding an almost full "Jester" drink, sitting on a shelf in the mens room, as if someone had just plumb forgot it there and was probably at the bar ordering another.
Second Largest Tip Ever
I then began to jam on "The Music Never Stopped," by the Grateful Dead.
A man in a bright yellow tee shirt, who turned out to be 45, came and put four dollars in my case, which I hadn't even seeded after returning from the restroom. I hadn't put my plastic piggie bank, purple Mardi Gras beads, nor flashing plastic toy in the case, either.
"There, I just put four dollars in your case," said the man, before sitting down next to me.
"Is that an alright tip; 4 dollars?" he asked. "That's all I've got; but I like how you sound..."
"Sure, especially if the people see that I smoke; it's like they're giving me a pack of butts..."
"Or a couple beers," said the guy, with a shrug which seemed to say "No big deal...nothing wrong with a couple beers."
He was wearing shades through which I could barely see his eyes: It's not going to last long," he added.
In retrospect, he was testing me. He was trying to gauge how far I had sunken financially in life (if 4 dollars would make my eyes light up) and/or to see how appreciative I was, in general.
Then, he asked: "What do you need? I mean to help you advance yourself; because I think your playing is excellent; I came around the corner there and it was refreshing to hear such interesting music...and it's hard for me to believe that you've got such a beat up guitar and a case which is coming apart at the seams"
I told him that I needed to become amplified and that decibels equal dollars in the French Quarter.
"Well, how much is that going to cost?"
Thoughts of Tanya and Dorise' setup flashed through my mind, and I was thinking of close to a thousand dollars in equipment; but then I started to glean that he might be offering to buy me some equipment and I didn't want to blow him away with such a figure (although there are people walking down Bourbon Street who wouldn't blink at that amount...)
"Well, the little Roland Cube amps are about 75 bucks...of course, I would need a cable and a pickup for my guitar....or, I could plug in a microphone and both sing and play through it...."
He reached into his pocket and produced a 50 dollar bill.
Then, moving closer to me, and pulling his shades down so that I was looking him in the eyes, he said something like: "Look, I'm a professor, I teach chemistry at a college. I'm not rich; but I'm sure I make 20 times as much as you do. This is a lot of money, even to me. I want to invest it in your music. I want you to use it to get something that is going to help get ahead. I want people to hear your playing..."
Then, moving even closer, he said: "But I don't like to get F*** over...You need to promise me that you're not going to take this and go get high. When I see you -I'm going to be here all week- the next time I see you; I want you to be in better condition; with an amplifier or a new guitar or something...do you understand?"
"Do you want me to take that money back; It won't be pretty!?!" he said in the way of punctuation.
I didn't want him to take the money; but not as desperately as I would if I hadn't been making some tips already; a desperation which he might have construed as "He needs his fix."
I told him that the dope dealers don't even acknowledge me when I walk past them.
Satisfiied, he produced another 40 dollars, making the tip 94 bucks and the (new) "second largest tip ever" which I have gotten.
He reiterated what he said and threatened to beat me if he saw me with the same raggedy equipment in the next few days....to be continued tomorrow...
To recap the last 4 days:
- I Get A Hat
- News From Home; brother has mild heart attack
- Second Largest Tip comes with ultimatum
- Ultimatum fulfilled with new guitar
I was having no trouble getting drinks, though, and I eventually exceeded the limit for the number of drinks one can have in them and retain a positive frame of mind after X amount of people walk by as they play as hard as they can; and only throw them 75 cents.
The reason could have just been that, at that particular hour, people weren't tipping.
Perhaps groups were meeting on business, and maybe throwing a tip to a musician would have a polarizing effect; for example; what if the guy whom the guy is trying to close a deal with can't stand a certain song, perhaps because of his political beliefs; and the other guy tips the guy playing it; it could be a deal breaker...
The people could have been local to the residential area where I play and might consider that their permissiveness in letting me be there in the first place is charity enough, on their part.
There is occasionally such a thing, in busking, as an hour when you only make 75 cents, though, it can be followed by a 50 dollar hour; but, I was starting to have doubts.
I was thinking about the miserable couple of weeks that I had had after losing my hat.
I haven't changed my style of playing, except to have gotten a bit better, and so I started to look at other factors in my financial demise.
I had already determined to change my look and had gone back to the pony tail; but the elastic wasn't holding the hair too well and I wound up with a sheep dog style.
I was dejected and my mind was racing, thinking of alternatives to busking, feeling like truly giving up.
I had just about resolved to do that, as I walked off.
 |
| It's Me |
A Gift Atop My Head
Then, I went to the corner of Royal Street where Rouses Market was.
Tanya and Dorise were just packing up after playing.
I was in such a foul mood, I made a wide circle around them, not even wanting to stop and spread the venom which I felt full of.
I avoided other musicians also, to avoid the question of: "How did you do?."
But, Dorise spotted me from afar and hollared my name, adding that they had a gift for me.
She gave me a long hug when I got there, during which I felt like she somehow could feel that I had only made 75 cents in an hour, and was consolling me.
Then, I was lead to the back door of their van, which was opened and through which issued forth one hat. Dorise assured me "It's you!" and gave me the brown felt hat which fit perfectly.
Saturday: News From Home
Gift Appraised
Saturday, I stopped first at the Baptist church on Dauphine Street, where I was given a new pair of socks and a pair of pants which fit, but which are courderoy and grey in color, and I was told by someone, whom apparently has knowledge of hats: "Someone gave you a 100 dollar hat!" when I showed it off.
I told him that the hug that I got was priceless, and he agreed.
[Photo of hat forthcoming; as soon as I can get the "Blogger" application to work on my Android Phone]
Gift Arrived
I called my mom to see if she had gotten the birthday message which I had left on her answering machine the day before.
The recording featured Tanya and Dorise playing "Happy Birthday," softly behind my message, and then my singing of that song.
She had gotten it, as well as the CD from the very same backup group, which arrived on the very day of her birthday.
Disconcerting News
She told me that my younger brother had had a heart attack a couple of months? ago, as well as having had his third daughter born a few weeks ago. There was no damage to his heart, and now he will have to watch his diet. And the baby is healthy.
That made me realise how long I have been out of touch with my family; and I decided not to ask mom to send money; it being her birthday, and with all that is going on up there in Massachusetts.
A Man Doesn't Pass My Hat
I went to Bourbon Street, to play with the new hat on.
I started to get a steady flow of tip money, just like I used to before I lost my other hat. It felt like I was "in uniform" and people responded accordingly.
I made about 12 bucks in the first half hour, used the restroom at The Blacksmith Tavern, and then returned to play some more, after finding an almost full "Jester" drink, sitting on a shelf in the mens room, as if someone had just plumb forgot it there and was probably at the bar ordering another.
Second Largest Tip Ever
I then began to jam on "The Music Never Stopped," by the Grateful Dead.
A man in a bright yellow tee shirt, who turned out to be 45, came and put four dollars in my case, which I hadn't even seeded after returning from the restroom. I hadn't put my plastic piggie bank, purple Mardi Gras beads, nor flashing plastic toy in the case, either.
"There, I just put four dollars in your case," said the man, before sitting down next to me.
"Is that an alright tip; 4 dollars?" he asked. "That's all I've got; but I like how you sound..."
"Sure, especially if the people see that I smoke; it's like they're giving me a pack of butts..."
"Or a couple beers," said the guy, with a shrug which seemed to say "No big deal...nothing wrong with a couple beers."
He was wearing shades through which I could barely see his eyes: It's not going to last long," he added.
In retrospect, he was testing me. He was trying to gauge how far I had sunken financially in life (if 4 dollars would make my eyes light up) and/or to see how appreciative I was, in general.
Then, he asked: "What do you need? I mean to help you advance yourself; because I think your playing is excellent; I came around the corner there and it was refreshing to hear such interesting music...and it's hard for me to believe that you've got such a beat up guitar and a case which is coming apart at the seams"
I told him that I needed to become amplified and that decibels equal dollars in the French Quarter.
"Well, how much is that going to cost?"
Thoughts of Tanya and Dorise' setup flashed through my mind, and I was thinking of close to a thousand dollars in equipment; but then I started to glean that he might be offering to buy me some equipment and I didn't want to blow him away with such a figure (although there are people walking down Bourbon Street who wouldn't blink at that amount...)
"Well, the little Roland Cube amps are about 75 bucks...of course, I would need a cable and a pickup for my guitar....or, I could plug in a microphone and both sing and play through it...."
He reached into his pocket and produced a 50 dollar bill.
Then, moving closer to me, and pulling his shades down so that I was looking him in the eyes, he said something like: "Look, I'm a professor, I teach chemistry at a college. I'm not rich; but I'm sure I make 20 times as much as you do. This is a lot of money, even to me. I want to invest it in your music. I want you to use it to get something that is going to help get ahead. I want people to hear your playing..."
Then, moving even closer, he said: "But I don't like to get F*** over...You need to promise me that you're not going to take this and go get high. When I see you -I'm going to be here all week- the next time I see you; I want you to be in better condition; with an amplifier or a new guitar or something...do you understand?"
"Do you want me to take that money back; It won't be pretty!?!" he said in the way of punctuation.
I didn't want him to take the money; but not as desperately as I would if I hadn't been making some tips already; a desperation which he might have construed as "He needs his fix."
I told him that the dope dealers don't even acknowledge me when I walk past them.
Satisfiied, he produced another 40 dollars, making the tip 94 bucks and the (new) "second largest tip ever" which I have gotten.
He reiterated what he said and threatened to beat me if he saw me with the same raggedy equipment in the next few days....to be continued tomorrow...
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