All My Exes Live In NOLA

• Tuesday's Cold Front
• Bamboulas Open Mic
• Xanna Sighting
• Karrie Is Here

I guess I will start with the most recent and work backwards:

This morning, I got to the library and noticed a woman sitting on the steps, who smiled at me.
I thought that she was a certain woman who paints her face and body white and who dresses like a jewelry box dancer and stands as a living statue on Bourbon Street.
It was not the living statue, but a woman who explained to me that "We used to live in the woods together in Jacksonville..."
A closer look revealed her to be none other than Karrie, whom I have not seen since May 31st, 2010, before I got on a bus for Mobile, Alabama and left her "crying at the bus stop" (according to subsequent reports) in that .
She has lost a lot of weight, 50 pounds of it ("I quit drinking beer) and shaved her eyebrows ("My face got burned") and seems to even have a different accent.
She had a pack of cigarettes in her purse, but wouldn't sell me one, not even for a dollar ("I have to pan-handle for them") and wouldn't give me her cell phone number ("I just don't want to get in trouble").
"You must have a boyfriend," I said, thinking that the cigarettes probably belonged to him and that having me in her contacts would be what might get her in "trouble."
"No, I don't have a boyfriend," she said, before she went off to The Rebuild Center to eat lunch at 1 p.m.
And that is the way it stands; I'm not going to rush into anything.
If I wanted to rush into anything, I would have reached for the 150 dollars that I still have left from the weekend; and offered to buy her some better food than what is likely to be the fare at the homeless center; and then; old habits might have taken over and the next stop might have been the liquor store...
She looks very good and healthy; and, if it is truly because she has stopped drinking, then I'm not going to be the devils advocate.
If old habits take over then, she will find me at the right times and places; like she used to do.
We need to take things slowly, to maybe establish a different kind of relationship than we had before.
I had been standing and talking to Leslie about 25 feet away from where she was sitting just 10 minutes prior to our meeting, and the subject of the conversation had somehow drifted to her.

Bamboulas Open Mic
I did all of my laundry last night, and dried it very well and put most of it on, as the weather forecast was for temperatures to drop to 40 degrees with winds strong enough that people were advised not to leave their empty trash cans by the street.
I saw that the new club, Bamboulas, on Frenchman Street, was having open mic night from 9:30 till 11:00 p.m.

A walk past my playing spot showed it to be deserted.
The wind was already picking up with cold breezes strong enough to blow tips out of a guitar case hitting my face.
Not A Good Idea
I decided to grab Leslie from his apartment and we would go to Bamboulas and jam at the open mic night.
I thought this would be good because Leslie knows the owners of that place, as they are also the owners of Last Call, on Bourbon, where Leslie does odd jobs.
I thought it would elevate his stature with them should they hear how well he plays the harmonica; and I thought it would be good to get out of the cold on a night when I probably wouldn't have made much money, anyways.
Leslie was in his apartment and had 3 cans of Hurricane Lager which he had not yet drunk, and a half pint of whiskey in his pocket, but couldn't remember where it had come from.
We arrived at the venue and I was greeted by Sal, who is a very good singer and guitarist who does old blues from the 1920's. "I'm hoping to get a gig here," he said.
He was scheduled to go on after the guy who was up there doing pretty decent stuff that sounded original; but who was a jerk when I tried to compliment him upon it.
Sal got up and played.
The PA system was set in a way that destroyed most of the effect of his voice.
He sings with a very wide vibrato and bends notes with a lot of dynamics; and has interesting lyrics; all of which was washed away by the reverb and echo on the sound system; and I realized just why people in the 1920's developed vocal styles like Sal and why they didn't need, and would have been annoyed by, too much reverb and echo.
Amp Search Continues

?

Useless Leslie
By the time Sal finished playing, Leslie was barely standing up and wasn't sure where he was.
I told the guy running the thing: "I would get up and play, but my partner isn't exactly in playing condition..."
"I wouldn't have let him go up, anyways," he said.
 Leslie is useless after around 7 p.m. on any given evening, I am learning...
Xanna
Monday afternoon, I saw Xanna (another ex girlfriend; see 2001) standing by the off ramp of Route 10 holding a little sign begging motorists for money.
She had several items of luggage strewn around her along with a little kitten, which she said she has named "Captain Ghost" (another reference apropos of 2001).
I gave her a dollar, out of the 200 or so which I had left over from the weekend.
San Francisco Fans
This weekend, the Saints have another home game and we are expecting the San Francisco fans to be as generous as the Dallas fans were.
It shouldn't hurt me -the fact that I play in the gay district of the Quarter...
Another Cold Night
Another cold night is forecast; though not as cold as last night, and without the wind.
I will make an effort to play.
I have been invited to crash at Leslie's place.
Karrie is invited, too.