I woke up this morning at the sign spot; at about 11 AM.
I tried to gauge how tired I felt.
I remembered running into Johnny B (the clean guy) who was playing across from the Hotel Monteleone. It was about 1:30 AM.
He had a Russian guy pestering him to play music, but who wasn't tipping him.
The Russian guy spoke no English, and so, used hand signals to try to tell me to take my guitar out and play along with Johnny. I would have, if my guitar wasn't tuned one half step down from "concert pitch."
Plus, the Russian guy wasn't tipping.
He eventually went across the street and into the hotel where rooms are about $275 per night.
Johnny once again invited me to crash at his place, which is somewhere nearby, on Girod Street.
I once again declined, valuing my solace, and thinking about whatever food I had hanging in the trees; and about sitting up in the morning sipping coffee and poring through my sheet music magazines; practicing and writing and working on getting organized.
Johnny and I harmonize well together on songs like "Losing My Religion," by R.E.M.
He had made over 50 bucks with his microphone and his amp and the little button on the amp which is labelled "effects" and which might as well say "tips," with a slider to increase or decrease them, commensurate with the amount of reverberation saturation you add or subtract.
I think a lot of non musicians think that the really great singers have voices which just echo and reverberate naturally (that's how you can tell an amateur from a pro).
Tuesday night was about the 5th "break even" day which I have had in a row.
I have been waking up hung over and slightly depressed, but with the same 32 dollars and change which I had woken up with the day before.
It's a holding pattern fraught with peril as, all major purchases need to be put off; as time goes by.
I am listening to Hunky Dory, by David Bowie.
I left at about noon, to use a restroom somewhere; one of the drawbacks of the sign spot is its lack of privacy
I tried to gauge how tired I felt.
I remembered running into Johnny B (the clean guy) who was playing across from the Hotel Monteleone. It was about 1:30 AM.
He had a Russian guy pestering him to play music, but who wasn't tipping him.
The Russian guy spoke no English, and so, used hand signals to try to tell me to take my guitar out and play along with Johnny. I would have, if my guitar wasn't tuned one half step down from "concert pitch."
Plus, the Russian guy wasn't tipping.
He eventually went across the street and into the hotel where rooms are about $275 per night.
Johnny once again invited me to crash at his place, which is somewhere nearby, on Girod Street.
I once again declined, valuing my solace, and thinking about whatever food I had hanging in the trees; and about sitting up in the morning sipping coffee and poring through my sheet music magazines; practicing and writing and working on getting organized.
Johnny and I harmonize well together on songs like "Losing My Religion," by R.E.M.
He had made over 50 bucks with his microphone and his amp and the little button on the amp which is labelled "effects" and which might as well say "tips," with a slider to increase or decrease them, commensurate with the amount of reverberation saturation you add or subtract.
I think a lot of non musicians think that the really great singers have voices which just echo and reverberate naturally (that's how you can tell an amateur from a pro).
Tuesday night was about the 5th "break even" day which I have had in a row.
I have been waking up hung over and slightly depressed, but with the same 32 dollars and change which I had woken up with the day before.
It's a holding pattern fraught with peril as, all major purchases need to be put off; as time goes by.
I am listening to Hunky Dory, by David Bowie.
I left at about noon, to use a restroom somewhere; one of the drawbacks of the sign spot is its lack of privacy
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Comments, to me are like deflated helium balloons with notes tied to them, found on my back porch in the morning...