Friday, after waking up feeling much better, I went off in an attempt to basically repeat the previous day.
I am doing this as an experiment of sorts, trying to pinpoint what had caused the eczema to flair up.
I excluded the Monster Energy drink of the previous day, which seemed to cause the areas where I had the rash to tingle.
I went to the Ideal Market and bought cucumbers and tomatoes and carrots to juice, and another identical coconut juice drink, to drink as I walked through the 95 degree heat back to the apartment.
I had a whole tilapia in my freezer, and decided that I would break my 3 day juice fast with the juice derived from all of the above vegetables, along with the fish.
I was pressed for time, as I was determined to make it to the Louisiana Music Factory to buy a new harmonica before they closed at 8 PM.
While the fish was in the oven, I made juice out of all the stuff, adding Serrano peppers to the blend, which actually made my hands burn, as if I had dipped them in acid.
Somehow this feels therapeutic, as the eczema kind of starts at the neck and ends at the extremities. In the worst situation, had I continued to imbibe in whatever it was that was triggering it, the rash would have spread to my feet and my hands; having no further to go; and, in that condition, I would be miserable indeed.
I lay on my bed for a while, waiting for the burning in my hands to subside.
Then, I decided that a bottle of red wine to go with the fish and vegetables would have me feeling great.
I was thinking about the times in my life when I was at my most healthy, and at the top of the list was when I was living in the woods of Jacksonville, Florida, cooking fish on the grill every night, after having worked my ass off all day as a "laborer," and washing the whiting fillets, smoked over a red oak fire in olive oil and eaten along with sauteed mushrooms, onions, garlic and broccoli, down with red wine; three quarters of a bottle each night, no more.
I left at about 6 PM, to walk to the Rite Aid to get a bottle of red wine for 3 dollars. "This is cheaper than a half gallon of grape juice," I thought, as a further rationalization as to why I was breaking my 4 day stretch of sobriety.
Alcohol Is Food
"Alcohol is food; and it's a drug," said a random guy to another as I passed them on the sidewalk on the way back to the apartment.
I just got the fish out of the oven and eaten, when I noticed that I had only 45 minutes to make it to the music store.
I got there at exactly 8 PM, before they could slam the door in my face and bought a new harmonica.
After I had gotten off the trolley on Canal Street, with about 18 minutes to cover the mile to the music store, David the water jug player was standing there, charging his phone off one of the outlets along the trolley line.
"Do you want to smoke?" he asked.
"I have to run to the music store for a new harmonica."
"Did you lose it?"
"No, but it's out of tune, and one of the notes doesn't sound."
"Go, Daniel...get your harmonica!" said David.
It occurred to me that, a few times, after he had asked me to smoke him up out of my own stash, I had given him similar excuses for why I couldn't hang around and do so; and now I had added a bit of veracity to those claims, since it was he that was offering this time, and yet, I still had to run.
I came out of the music store, as they slammed the door behind me, with a brand new harmonica and 10 dollars left from the 45 which I had made the night before, with the blown out harmonica and lackadaisical, due to alcohol withdrawal.
I traversed the entire Quarter to find David to take him up on his offer.
His weed was so potent that everything went into slow motion and it felt like it took me the length of an entire movie to walk to the Lilly Pad from there. It was a 9 block walk, and yet, it seemed like I would never get there.
Snark At The Top Of The List
I passed everybody whom I know whom I might (and did) stop to chat with.
I finally got to the Lilly Pad and spent what seemed like half of the night trying to tune my guitar "perfectly." I had the opportunity to buy the Snark tuner, and have now put doing so at the top of my list.
There is just too much noise where I play; and I think it is "subsonic" noise; such as huge waves of sound coming down Bourbon Street, being funneled by the buildings on each side of the street, which is why I can't hear it, yet it makes my guitar sound like it is out of tune at times, when it isn't.
The Snark tuner verified that. It would read all "green," yet a string might sound flat; until a bit later when it would sound great. The frequencies below 20 hz., which are inaudible, except to snakes, can theoretically do this, if they are out of tune with the guitar.
I felt like I wasn't going to make any money at all, as I tweaked and tuned and tweaked and tuned, as tourists walked past by the drove. It was a busy night.
Somehow, I managed to come down enough off the weed and the wine, which I had run out of, to play half decently, and had slowly broken in the brand new harp by starting softly on it; and was able to make 12 dollars and 50 cents in the last hour that I played.
It is 6:30 now, Saturday night.
It is blazing hot outside.
I have another fish in the oven and another bottle of wine, and am trying to repeat the previous day, as my health is improving rapidly.
I have a couple of new songs to feature tonight, and am uplifted by that thought. "It's All I Can Do" by The Cars, being one of them.
I am doing this as an experiment of sorts, trying to pinpoint what had caused the eczema to flair up.
 |
| Meet my dinner. |
I went to the Ideal Market and bought cucumbers and tomatoes and carrots to juice, and another identical coconut juice drink, to drink as I walked through the 95 degree heat back to the apartment.
I had a whole tilapia in my freezer, and decided that I would break my 3 day juice fast with the juice derived from all of the above vegetables, along with the fish.
I was pressed for time, as I was determined to make it to the Louisiana Music Factory to buy a new harmonica before they closed at 8 PM.
While the fish was in the oven, I made juice out of all the stuff, adding Serrano peppers to the blend, which actually made my hands burn, as if I had dipped them in acid.
Somehow this feels therapeutic, as the eczema kind of starts at the neck and ends at the extremities. In the worst situation, had I continued to imbibe in whatever it was that was triggering it, the rash would have spread to my feet and my hands; having no further to go; and, in that condition, I would be miserable indeed.
I lay on my bed for a while, waiting for the burning in my hands to subside.
Then, I decided that a bottle of red wine to go with the fish and vegetables would have me feeling great.
I was thinking about the times in my life when I was at my most healthy, and at the top of the list was when I was living in the woods of Jacksonville, Florida, cooking fish on the grill every night, after having worked my ass off all day as a "laborer," and washing the whiting fillets, smoked over a red oak fire in olive oil and eaten along with sauteed mushrooms, onions, garlic and broccoli, down with red wine; three quarters of a bottle each night, no more.
I left at about 6 PM, to walk to the Rite Aid to get a bottle of red wine for 3 dollars. "This is cheaper than a half gallon of grape juice," I thought, as a further rationalization as to why I was breaking my 4 day stretch of sobriety.
Alcohol Is Food
"Alcohol is food; and it's a drug," said a random guy to another as I passed them on the sidewalk on the way back to the apartment.
I just got the fish out of the oven and eaten, when I noticed that I had only 45 minutes to make it to the music store.
I got there at exactly 8 PM, before they could slam the door in my face and bought a new harmonica.
After I had gotten off the trolley on Canal Street, with about 18 minutes to cover the mile to the music store, David the water jug player was standing there, charging his phone off one of the outlets along the trolley line.
"Do you want to smoke?" he asked.
"I have to run to the music store for a new harmonica."
"Did you lose it?"
"No, but it's out of tune, and one of the notes doesn't sound."
"Go, Daniel...get your harmonica!" said David.
It occurred to me that, a few times, after he had asked me to smoke him up out of my own stash, I had given him similar excuses for why I couldn't hang around and do so; and now I had added a bit of veracity to those claims, since it was he that was offering this time, and yet, I still had to run.
I came out of the music store, as they slammed the door behind me, with a brand new harmonica and 10 dollars left from the 45 which I had made the night before, with the blown out harmonica and lackadaisical, due to alcohol withdrawal.
I traversed the entire Quarter to find David to take him up on his offer.
His weed was so potent that everything went into slow motion and it felt like it took me the length of an entire movie to walk to the Lilly Pad from there. It was a 9 block walk, and yet, it seemed like I would never get there.
Snark At The Top Of The List
I passed everybody whom I know whom I might (and did) stop to chat with.
I finally got to the Lilly Pad and spent what seemed like half of the night trying to tune my guitar "perfectly." I had the opportunity to buy the Snark tuner, and have now put doing so at the top of my list.
There is just too much noise where I play; and I think it is "subsonic" noise; such as huge waves of sound coming down Bourbon Street, being funneled by the buildings on each side of the street, which is why I can't hear it, yet it makes my guitar sound like it is out of tune at times, when it isn't.
The Snark tuner verified that. It would read all "green," yet a string might sound flat; until a bit later when it would sound great. The frequencies below 20 hz., which are inaudible, except to snakes, can theoretically do this, if they are out of tune with the guitar.
I felt like I wasn't going to make any money at all, as I tweaked and tuned and tweaked and tuned, as tourists walked past by the drove. It was a busy night.
Somehow, I managed to come down enough off the weed and the wine, which I had run out of, to play half decently, and had slowly broken in the brand new harp by starting softly on it; and was able to make 12 dollars and 50 cents in the last hour that I played.
It is 6:30 now, Saturday night.
It is blazing hot outside.
I have another fish in the oven and another bottle of wine, and am trying to repeat the previous day, as my health is improving rapidly.
I have a couple of new songs to feature tonight, and am uplifted by that thought. "It's All I Can Do" by The Cars, being one of them.
"All of my hair" - the most interesting? thing I've overheard lately while riding my bike past some apartment buildings....
ReplyDeleteHad a guy try to give me, in turn, a car, a printer, the car again, a beer - because I gave him one - and finally a rivit tool which is actually a rather nice one. I can use the rivit tool maybe, the other things not so much... Just another day in San Jose which can match new Orleans for culture and filigree and have plenty left over!