Good Eye, Harold!!

Louise hates Wael and Anna, because they set up and play loudly right across the street from her; and she is then unable to give tarot card readings without giving the "prophecies" at the top of her lungs.
Louise told me that she was pretty sure that the two were in this country illegally and she was planning upon going to INS and launching an investigation into the pair.
I gave them a heads up the other night.
Wael assured me that he had been born in this country and Anna proffered her green card to calm me down.
They make pretty decent money and probably won't be asking me let them crash at my place, but I'm sure at least one interesting recording would be spawned by that arrangement.
My only ties with Louise now involves the cat Harold, which I waffle upon keeping or not.
She ostensibly gave me 10 bucks as a down payment on him (I guess that would mean that she had given me zero for letting her crash at my place) and she still talks about picking him up.
The cat avoids her when she shows up.
When she came to get the last of her stuff, the cat was clawing at the door in order to go outside.
The first couple nights that L. was here, I almost became jealous of the way the cat seemed to only want to sleep on the couch with her and never came into my room.
After a few days, the cat showed up on the bed with me and pretty much slept within a claws reach of me.
Louise had complained that the cat no longer liked her.
I thought, at the time, that it was because I would play games with the cat where he would try to bite my fingers and would (gently) bite and scratch me; kind of play fighting.
Louise offered the thing none of that and would scold it as soon as it "attacked" her hand.
I later began to think that the wild instincts ingrained in the animal had triggered it to get the hell away from Louise, revealing almost human level intuition in the thing.
Good eye, Harold!

Parcel Arrives

• Louise' Last Stand
• Parcel Arrives

Last years Christmas gift shirt from the Lidgleys looks on mournfully, though with acceptance and humility; personified by Amy Winehouse, as I don this year's shirt, which reads "FCUK MOI?" It is "the changing of the guards" You've been through this before Amy, Don't pout; it was a great year...

The parcel which the Lidgleys of London had sent, arrived after the average wait of about 10 days.
Louise came yesterday and grabbed the last of her stuff out of my place.
She constantly ranted about her life and her condition and her present mental state and her outlooks for the future and her dreams and aspirations; and didn't once ask me about how I was doing.
We both left my place at the same time; myself, to go out and busk, and her to pull her cart laden with her stuff to her storage box, that she pays $189/mo. for.
She wanted to go the "elevator" route, because of her heavy cart, while I went through the parking lot.
I was in mild disbelief that she would reneg on her promise to pay me 20 bucks for storing her stuff; and thought about it, but didn't say anything to her. She was ranting enough about how much money she had had to spend vs. how little she had made, and I took that to mean "so don't even ask me for a cent."
Then, I realized that, having taken the elevator route, she would become stuck at the door of the smoking room which requires a swipe of the key card to go through.
I got to the lobby and said out loud to the security staff "Oh, shit, my friend is gonna get stuck at the smoking room, I'd better go let her through."
Not to worry.
"She's right here," said one of them, spying a monitor.
She had gotten through, gotten her way -probably banged on the nearest door and implored whomever answered to open the door for her.
Then she started to cuss me out for having left her in that situation. "You know, I almost got stuck back there!"
God, don't let Louise ever get stuck back there (in my building).
There is very little that she can do or say to ever set foot in Sacred Heart Apartments again through my agency.
Maybe some things do have to get worse before they get better.

 

If I Know My Skeezers

Louise came and took a bunch of her stuff out of my place yesterday.
She never mentioned giving me the 20 dollars that she "promised" to give me for storing her stuff.
I am pretty sure that she is trying to get out of here without paying me another cent.
She paid me about 20 bucks in cash, a can of peanut butter and one of jelly, a whole lot of toilet paper, a nice can opener, a few candles and a couple micro fiber clothes to wipe things down with.
In hindsight, everything that she brought into the apartment served herself as much as I.
Think about the TV that she wanted to let me borrow...
She knows the policy here whereby people can only stay 10 nights out of every 30 days.
She also knows that, between the hours of 6AM and 10 PM, a visitor can show up each and every day of the month and "visit."
What is to stop a person from rearranging their sleep schedule in order to catch 8 hours of sleep during the day, a hot shower, hot meal, etc.
I can foresee Louise showing up in the mornings, dead tired and having had the worst night of her life and just needing a place to sleep and to cook herself a meal and take a long shower and maybe even watch TV for a few hours.
If I paid utilities, then I could tell her that I really can't afford the spike in my water/energy bill due to her long showers and her using the oven.
But, I guess I went to sleep on that one, and let it slip that I am one of the few residents here who are on an all expense paid stay.
With that knowledge in tow, she is ready to tell me something like: "You don't pay for the hot water; so what is my problem?"
My problem, and it might now sound like I am phrasing it right, but; my problem is: Get the fuck out of my dwelling, you fat disgusting self serving pig that is full of hate for the whole world, but disguises it like a double agent in order to get what she wants....that is kind of my problem.
She still has some stuff in my place.
She had said that she wanted to buy Harold the cat off of me, but has gone silent on the subject lately; and I really wonder how she is going to try to play me over the next month.
I might just lie to her and tell her that I have moved out and now live in Algiers with Howard -the perfect hard of hearing roommate for someone who likes to play music at 4AM, all high, and without worrying about disturbing anyone.....
It will be interesting to see what Louise's next move will be; probably to mollify me with some offering of cash in the range that she thinks will be a windfall for myself, but that only took her a half hour to earn; and that will buy her back into my life...probably..,. if I know my skeezers......

Rice And Navy Beans, Yum

Christmas Day, I woke up at 4 PM, with 2 dollars on my counter of the 14 or so that I had made Christmas Eve, and I walked into the Quarter, stopping to spend the 2 bucks on a malt liquor.

"Did you really lose your phone, or are you just avoiding me?"
"Both..."

Getting to the Unique Grocery, I was given a beer by one of the cashiers. "Merry Christmas," he said.
This is kind of cool, given the fact that those cashiers have to deal with a constant stream of skeezers, and almost nightly, catch one of them shoplifting, or cussing out the universe at a high volume. etc.
I went and played a Christmas song on the harmonica, and thought that I did pretty well, but discovered that the "huge wad of bills" in my pocket was comprised of no larger a bill than a one.
After having a couple beers and picking up some food; I decided to walk home in order to save $1.25...
And that is how Christmas ended.
My food card will be empty for another 10 days; and I am eating stuff that has been passed over the past month or so, like rice and navy beans. Yum.
Phone Found
The phone that I had thought that I had lost and had blamed a skeezer for distracting me into losing; has been found.
It has been sitting at Howard's apartment, I guess since last Sunday night when we watched football there.
Howard has come into some money, through an inheritance from his step father, and he is thinking of investing in a house, over in Algiers, an area that he likes.
If he doesn't invest the money within a year "they will tax the hell out of it," and if Sacred Heart Apartments finds out about the windfall, then Howard will wind up paying more in rent here, for a basement apartment that has some mold, when he could be living in a private house with a yard and no skeezers for "the same" money.
He has his stuff already packed, but is taking an extra day or so to decide what to do.
At some point in the future, I would love to live in a house where I can have a garden (and maybe another pet). But, once a person leaves here (Sacred Heart Apartments) it is nearly impossible to get back in.
If I lived with Howard, I would be able to leave for unspecified amounts of time and always have a place to get back into.
 

Dinner Is At 7:30

It is Christmas day; and some kind of dinner is to be served soon, but I am going to go into the quarter with hardly any money and see what a Christmas Day can bring. I think they are serving gumbo.
I went out and played some last night; mostly it was "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas," with a very harmonica laden arrangement.

I must not have made very much; I know I spent about 10 bucks on libation, if that is the right word.

I woke up almost broke, the cat having knocked my pineapple plant off of the window sill and onto the little table below where it just missed landing on the phone.

The cat has already torn up the foam rubber on my subwoofer.

I spoke to Louise last night, who was doing a reading for a young black couple when I first walked past her, drinking a Hurricane malt liquor which I had financed at The Unique Grocery, putting 50% down with the balance of 75 cents to be paid before 1 AM.

I was thinking that I could get at least a couple bucks from Louise for what would be my second beer of the night which I would arrive at the Lilly Pad with.


Since she seemed to have gotten at least the one reading that she was aparently in the midst of.

I walked past without disturbing her; and then soon came upon Weil and Anna, the electic violin duo that started out with Weil coming into town a couple years ago and setting up on Canal Street where he seemed to be making at least 300 bucks a night, playing melodies over a repeating loop of a syncopated two note violin chord.

Him being a young black guy, it was apparent by the swarm of black people around him, taking videos of him, some of the women with teary eyes, as if they were witnessing history being made, as a black man demonstrates proficiency upon an instument that has traditionally been as "white" as a set of golf clubs.

Then Anna came along from Poland and romance bloomed, as they were both very closely matched in talent, each being able to play either the melody or the syncopated two note violin chord, which now no longer needed to be put on an infinite loop through an electronic box, but now could be played live.

They now have a baby, often seen sleeping upon the back of its mother as she plays either the melody or the syncopated two note violin chord.


She would be the first to tell you that


she is doing a bit of baby skeezing; probably could find a sitter for her, but Anna's opinion of any extra tips that might come her way as a product of her having her baby on her back would most likely be: "Hell, yeah, keep them coming!"


They said that Tim the violinist was up at Rouses Market, and so I bent my steps in that direction, hoping that he would give me some money towards the amp.


He did give me 10 bucks.


Then I went back to Louise to find her still giving a reading to the same couple.


I asked her if she wanted anything from Uniques, giving her an opportunity to give me money with a minimal interuption of her reading.


She wanted an iced tea, but handed me no money.


When I got back, her customers had left. She gave me 2 dollars for the 1 dollar iced tea, and then started to tell me a hard luck story of how the day had gone and especially mentioned that she had wound up giving "discount" readings to the few customers that she had had.


We got back on the subject of my apartment, after she asked me if I had gotten the 10 minute? message that she had left on my phone.


The message was basically another belated appology. She had sensed that I was angry about how she pretty much barged into my place the other morning because she absolutely needed to sleep.


She had come in talking a mile a minute about her troubles as if weilding them like a machette in order to hack her way into my place.


The implication, or her "hustle," if you will, was that even if I could have gotten a word in over her tale of having had the worst night of her life (again) how could I interrupt such a sob story to turn her away from my door?


I had just fallen asleep myself. She kind of knows my sleep schedule, and either didn't care that she would be waking me up out of a sound sleep; or maybe purposely did so in order to catch me off guard.


I mentioned all of this to Louise.


If I had turned her away, I would have had to limp her all the way back across the parking lot and to the front gate, at one mile per hour alongside her, giving her a few more minutes to either heap guilt upon me or become otherwise abusive. Then, it would have been hard for me to go back to sleep.


Louise then restated her opinion that, since her taxdollars went into the creation of Sacred Heart Apartments, she felt that she had a certain claim upon them.


I stopped short of telling her that there are 120 or so people here, and why doesn't she knock on one of their doors and force her way onto their sofa, after telling them that the apartment is just as much her's as theirs.

You've just read: 909 words.

Hilarious The Fifth

Cat Damages Exceed 50 Dollars


Breaking News: Louise Just Shows Up And Kind Of Skeezes (in my opinion) Her Way Into Sleeping The Day Off In My Place





Louise Tears Up My Tranquility





I thought that, when I was jolted awake by my inhouse phone which usually only rings for good things, like to tell me that there is a package waiting for me up front, or that I have won the Sacred Heart Turkey Raffle...
It rarely rings.

It was Louise, they said.


They actually said, something like "There's a Louse Here..."
But, having been jolted awake at the hour of 9:30AM, an hour that Louise probably should have known to be one when I would be just freshly asleep, as, over the whole 10 days that she had crashed at my place and put a Hoo Doo on me, etc. I slept pretty much from 7 AM until about 3 PM. Every day,.


So, I get a call at 9:30.


I just heard the name "Louise" in my stupor.


"Louise stayed here for about 10 days, but she isn't here, now.."


"No, she here...up front..."



I thought that she was here to cart off the last of her stuff, pay me the 20 dollars that she had promised for storing her stuff, and maybe even take possession of Harold the Cat, adding the balance of 10 dollars on him that she owes me to her remittance.


Instead, she had connived a way to sleep on my couch all day for what turned out to be 5 bucks.





The cat tore up my subwoofer.,


My caseworker came and visited me a day or so ago, and I put on some music that I had been working on, and that I was reasonably proud of; and it sounded like crap. The bass notes were horribly distorted.


I blamed it upon the compressor that I had used in the final mix; thinking that it had added volume in the "grave" register that might not have been evident in the headphones that I was using when I was mixing, but what might; in a full range speaker, become distorted.


That was not the case, as, when I flipped over my speaker cabinet which houses the woofer which hovers only about 2 inches above the floor; I discovered that the very same woofer had been damaged in a manner consistent with cat claws. There were needle-like punctures, and then, shreaded foam rubber around the perimeter of the speaker cone, the medium which the speaker hovers upon.





I am going through old music with the intention of paring and shearing.


The destruction that the cat has brought has extended to the sub woofer on my speaker cabinet. It shredded the foam rubber around the speaker cone.


All the furniture in the apartment bears puncture marks from its claws. My earbuds have had the rubber tips bitten off.


Louise is in the other room talking about her life, as I try to write this; she showed up yesterday morning at the front desk; which called me right after I had dosed off, it seemed.


I thought she was here to pick up the rest of her stuff; or to get Harold the cat, or both.


She didn't have her cart, and thus couldn't pick up her stuff.


She was here hoping to sleep "a couple hours" on my couch. She didn't mention that until she had slowly limped all the way to the back door, and we we almost to the apartment.


I felt that was a bit manipulative; she could have had the front desk person tell me that she had arrived and ask me then, if I would come and get her so she could sleep "a couple hours" at my place.


She has just woken up, after having slept most of the day. It is 5:30 PM, and already getting dark outside.


You've just read: 540 words.

All The Tree Rats Out There

6 Dollar Saturday
18 Dollar Sunday
Tree Rat

Saturday night, I played with my new spotlight above me. It is 60 lumens and lit the spot up well.
I only made 6 bucks, though it had seemed like more, as the people tipping me had good things to say. Usually, when someone tells you that you sound "great," there is at least a 5 dollar bill going in your jar, but it wasn't the case with the 6 people that tipped me.

I went by Loiuses' tarot reading table, which was being watched by "Tree Rat," as she ran to the restroom. I used the opportunity to slink by without stopping to wait for her to return.
Tree Rat is from Iowa and is here to skeeze, it appears.
Louise had introduced me to him Friday night.
All he talked about were his skeezing escapades, telling one story about a thing that he had said to a black woman which got her to stop and talk to him, as it was an off the wall comment (skeezers often have them in their repertoire). She had pulled out her wallet to give him money for brain surgery, or whatever his skeeze was. He said that he had seen 100 dollar bills in her purse, but that she had handed him 5 bucks.

"Why couldn't she have given me a hundred?!?" ejaculated Tree Rat, in a tone of voice which dripped with egotism and entitlement. Let's all get together and afford Tree Rat a comfortable existence, shall we? I mean, is that so much to ask? -seemed to be the attitude of Tree Rat.
He made my stomach turn when he revealed that, earlier that evening, he had been approaching people offering to buy a cigarette off of them "even though I didn't have any money..."

He said that he would fish around in his pockets, as if looking for the quarter or whatever "hoping that they would just give it to me..."

I hate those kind of skeezers with a passion.

After hearing that, I said: "Speaking of buying cigarettes, I need to get to Uniques" and made a hasty retreat, but not before giving my opinion to Louise, directed as much towards Tree Rat, that I have found that people who use street names, such as Tree Rat, tend to be untrustworthy, and that such names just add an extra layer of anonymity, helping them to elude the Law, as they wouldn't even have a correct first name to go on, should the skeezer run afoul of the law and decide to leave town.

"I just hate my real name," said Tree Rat.

Maybe that is why he expects society to pay his way; perhaps to compensate him for having had to grow up being called "Herman," or "Nesbit."

The reason that I mention him is that, after he had informed me that Louise was using the restroom and would return shortly, and I had walked on, seeing no reason to wait for her; I ran into her at the end of the next block.

She blew my mind by asking me if it would be OK if Tree Rat crashed at my apartment "for a few days."

She said that he was only 17 years old and had only been in town for 2 weeks and was a long way from home and was sleeping outside; and her heart went out to him in pity. She worried about poor little Tree Rat the beggar, especially on such a cold night as Saturday was.

I couldn't believe that. She didn't mention him paying any rent at all.

I basically told her that I had judged his character to be undesirable after he had talked about offering people money that he didn't have for cigarettes. "When people do that to me I want to smash their heads with a bottle..."

I went on to say that there are times when a smoker is just a quarter short of buying another pack and has just one cigarette left and will welcome the opportunity to trade it for a fresh 20.

After giving it to a skeezer and not getting the quarter, he now has zero cigarettes, and is put in the position of needing to skeeze his own quarter from a public that has become jaded by all the Tree Rats out there. And he wants to smash his bottle over the skeezers head...

I wasn't shedding any tears for whatever his name is; he chose to come here. I'm sure that he would gladly stay at my place for free, and would probably see it as just another installment in the adventures of Tree Rat whom the world supports because he hates his real name.

Funny thing -he would have to show ID at the front desk, and I would be able to find out his real name- not worth letting a total stranger, who is 17 and thus from a generation that I don't understand nor appreciate, and who sees other humans as a means to an end, come into my place. How many red flags is that; I lost count....

Louise said she understood that I didn't like panhandlers, but her face betrayed an underlying sentiment, as if she was ready to add: "but some people have no choice..."

Some people truly find themselves in a bind and "have no choice" but are rebuffed by a public that has become jaded by all of the Tree Rats out there, and just see them as another one of him.
If Tree Rat is in such a dire situation, then, why is trying to keep cigarettes in his mouth?
I stopped short of telling Louise that I had spent 4 years sleeping outside here, and that the temperature had gotten a lot colder than the 45 degrees that was forecast to assault Tree Rat that night.

I "paid my dues" over those 4 years and I just don't think it fair that Tree Rat, after being here 2 weeks should have the doors to a comfortable (and free) apartment rolled open for him.

What would it be like for me to live with a panhandler?

"Mind if I get one of those (cigarettes)?"

"Gee, that smells really good, mind if I get a plate?"

"It's really cold out today, do you have an extra jacket that I can wear?"

etc. etc.

Louise Laying Groundwork?

In a kind of related note, Louise has asked me if I wanted a TV. She has a large screen one in her storage box, next to the refrigerator et. al.

Could she be conniving to stay at my place 10 days out of each of the coming months, and wants there to be a TV there, for her own purposes?
Not, Louise!

New Phone On The Way

Within 5 business days, I should receive a new government phone to replace the one that I lost a few nights ago.

Louise was mortified after I stopped returning her texts, saying that she thought that I was mad at her (something that she would have to remedy before January if she intends to be sitting on my couch watching TV and eating for another 10 days).

Jay the really loud singer has reiterated his offer of 100 bucks per week to crash at my place.
He goes to work 7 days a week from about 5PM until after midnight and "does" about 150 bucks a day with an amp and a microphone and singing the same 9 songs. He wouldn't become a permanent fixture after having had one good money night; as Louise did.
To be fair, she coaxed me to do the same and take a night off to watch movies and drink whiskey and smoke weed, while she munched away next to me.

It used to be 8 songs for him, but he has recently added that Buffalo Springfield song called: "(Stop, Hey) What's That Sound?"

Friday The 18th

Friday, I woke up totally broke and decided that I would use my free all day pass to take the trolley into the Quarter to see if I could spot Tim the violinist, who is buying my amp from me and who said that he had texted me a couple days prior about giving me 40 bucks towards it.
I lost my phone and never got the text.
Louise, who stayed at my place for 10 days thought that I was angry at her because I hadn't returned her texts.
Now it is Saturday night.
26 Dollar Friday
I was relieved to have made 26 bucks last night.
It was cold.
I had woken up broke and gone into the Quarter looking for Tim, the guy who owes me money.
I didn't find him, but I ran across Paul, who used to play with Doreen's Jazz Band.
He was in a coffee house and told me that he no longer played with Doreen, and that he was moving out of New Orleans in a couple weeks. He asked me what I had thought about St. Augustine, Florida.
He was considering moving there but was concerned about the "high crime rate" there.
I assured him that the statistics in that category were skewed by the fact that the police are on a mission there to eradicate the homeless problem by arresting as many as they can for whatever they can, and that makes the city look like it has a crime problem.
The city has a "friendly to the homeless" problem. There are so many shelters and organizations that show up in the parks to offer the homeless buffet meals that the word has gotten out around the nation of skeezers and in a city of 25 thousand, there are listed almost 2,000 homeless people on the unofficial tally -the one that was calculated based upon how many "free phones for the homeless" were given out by certain organizations with government ties.
It was cold yesterday (Friday) and, after having talked with Paul for about an hour in the coffee house, he advised me to just take the night off.
I got back to my place and was packed up and ready to go by about 8 PM. I had the all day trolley pass, and so had nothing to lose by going into the Quarter flat broke; I could always come back on the thing..,.,
I was able to set up and, although my lights were dim, get a few people to stop.
One guy actually said that he admired my ingenuity in turning the otherwise dark spot into a venue by hanging my own lights in the vines above me; trained upon the tiposaursus' jar.
I wound up making 26 bucks and only spending about 8 of it; picking up the rest of what I might have spent off of Bourbon Street in the form of once sipped margaritas and half smoke butts laying everywhere.
In the morning, I was happy to have found a Christmas card from my mother, along with 50 bucks inside, and now, I go out to play in an hour or so, not worrying about the little details like, am I going to have to walk home if I don't make a dime.
 

The Aftermath of Louise

Louise Boils Over
After walking all the way home from the Lilly Pad Thursday night/Friday morning; entering the apartment to find Louise reclined on the couch in front of a table atop which were the debris of whatever she had feasted upon; I went into my room, closed the door, kicked one of my chairs, threw my bag hard against something, then lay down on the floor between my bed and the wall to try to pass out.

I lay on the floor, because after having walked the 2 miles home, laden with a backpack made extra heavy with at least a gallon of spring water, I felt pretty hot, and the temperature in the apartment felt oppressive. Louise had adjusted the thermostat to her satisfaction on more than one occasion during her stay.
I set a "bone-in beef shank" soup bone in a pan of water and, putting the lid on, set the burner to a very low setting (less than "1") and went back to lie down again. The idea was to do like a crock pot thing and let it slowly simmer for hours, hopefully to get the marrow out of it.
On Bone Marrow
Bone marrow has been a new discovery by me at the age of 53. I find that it somehow makes me feel better in the morning; the same way coconut milk does.
The discovery that some foods can make me feel better is a new one also; I had always prescribed to the theory that the road to health was in eliminating offending foods. Now I believe that there can be a balance between cutting out some things, while fortifying with others.
Fasting is like house cleaning; and to extend the analogy; like demolition -tearing out the walls and the ceilings and the floorboards in the "house." The house would then optimally be restored using newer, nicer and cleaner materials...
The Marrow Of The Story
I didn't put enough water in the pan and, combined with the fact that there is a little steam release hole in the top of the lid, and that I misjudged just how hot "1" can be on a stove burner, by 7:30 AM the soup bone was sizzling in what was left of its fat and starting to sear on the bottom.
Louise heard the sizzling and got up to investigate.
Finding the burning soup bone (which was not even a danger to set the smoke detector off) and then not seeing me in my room, as I was behind the bed on the floor, Loise freaked out, thinking that I had put something on the stove and then gone out; putting her life at risk, not to mention that of Harold the cat's.
She had left her previous apartment after the landlady had "tried to blow the place up" by leaving a gas line on.

Harold Is Adorable

She got on the phone with someone and began to have a chat about me and my apartment.
I almost wanted to call her attention to the fact that I was in the house and could hear every word; but I was also curious to hear what she would say to whomever this person was, whom she had called immediately after having made the gruesome discovery of the burning "bone in shank of beef" and still trembling with fear after such a close brush with death.
To make a long story short, she was basically pissed off at America for giving a nice free apartment to "some dumb ass, alcoholic who can't even function in society" while she, a talented gifted person with a lot to offer the world "has to" sleep outside.
She added that if it were not for the rheumatoid arthritis that has beset her since childhood, she certainly would have gone over to the Middle East and "knocked in the heads" of "those women hating camel jockeys. But I couldn't and so 14 year old girls have to do the fighting!"
She is, as a result, not a veteran and out of the running for an apartment in this building, and blames the unfairness upon America and just about anything else.
I eventually made my presence known, so I wouldn't have been totally eavesdropping, but I'd heard enough.
She then went on to berate me for having left the pan on the stove and put her life in jeopardy; and even though I countered with something like: "I know my stove, I've been here almost a year and nothing is going to catch on fire from that low a settings; plus the smoke alarms here are almost too sensitive and the thing would have screeched before the place was totally engulfed in flames," this only enraged her more, as she felt that I was calling her stupid.
So that is the note that Louse went out upon.
I told her I didn't appreciate being cussed out in my own home.
This prompted her to say: "You don't have a home! This isn't your home! This is owned by a government that's too f***ed up and stupid to know who deserves it and who doesn't. They'd rather give it to a dumb ass alcoholic who's going to burn it down, rather than someone like me...etc."
She then proceeded to take an extra long shower -the bathroom walls reverberating her non stop rant- and then prepared herself a large breakfast, perhaps trying to use up the last of the eggs and the cheese, etc. and then she was gone, on the day that she would have had to have been anyways.
I appears that she had done a really good job of keeping her venom under wraps the entire time that she was availing herself to the resource of the apartment.
The Red Flags
In hindsight, some of the red flags should have been A: When she had gotten off at the wrong place, 2 blocks down the road and I hadn't answered her texts right away; she texted back some pretty nasty stuff, like "If you didn't want me to stay there, you should have said something before I brought all my stuff here," and "Are you just going to leave me out here to be raped?" and other overemotional things.
B: She thanked me profusely after she had made it inside, then added that I was her last resort; because she had no other friends. No friends=Red flag; I'm now convinced.
C: And of course, my music that she loved so much upon her arrival began to evince in her signs of annoyance; but that red flag came along pretty late; around half way through her stay. By then, she had pretty much decided to vacation at my place and had only worked a couple nights.
She took a Saturday night off, lamenting that it was her best money night of the week and that she really shouldn't have "but oh, well..."
To be fair though, her presence "enabled" me to stay pretty wasted the whole time, and there were times that I might have gone to the Lilly Pad a lot earlier than I did, being in a hurry to make my "first beer" money, but Louise had flipped me a few dollars from the couch and I went to the store down the street and then slackened my pace in general.
She is going to buy my cat Harold off of me for 20 bucks; she's already given me 50% down on him.
I'm doing it for the sake of the cat; and for the fact that it is a chore to keep him here. His litter box needs to be emptied at least every other day. And, look at what he did to the toilet paper! (photo above).

Loise Gone; Phone Lost

The only way I am going to keep this blog up is if I can make it better; in my opinion.

Last night, I went out to the Banks Meat Market, where I sat on the sidewalk in front and started to compose a text message to Louise, who had stayed at my place for the allotted 10 days.

She had blown up and did a "Leslie Thompson" on me the very last day, when she was to wake up and pack up and leave.

I was composing the text, the gist of which was that Louise and I had pretty much broken even on the "deal."

She left in her wake a nice new heavy duty can opener (no more jabbing knives into the lids of cans and having my kitchen wall splattered with some of the contents -grape juice concentrate leaves stains) some Jello, peanut butter and jelly and mayonnaise, so much toilet paper that I will have to think about her every time I wipe my ass for the next 3 months, cat supplies (flea stuff, cat "wipes" and a brush to comb out his locks) and in general, stuff that it could be argued had been brought in by her to make her own life more comfortable.
After her first day here, I came home to hear her lamenting about how she had been unable to extract some food that she had been craving from the can that it was in.
Which brings me to the first of the list of things which worked to counter balance the benefits that I received through her staying here.
In essence, the fact that I came home to find her complaining about not having been able to open a can meant that I came home to find her there, as she had never gone out to work that night.
She worked one night, made over 100 dollars reading tarot cards, and then decided that it would be nice, since I wasn't charging her rent, to stake "a few" days off; lay on the couch, play with the cat and feast upon things such as potato salad, rotini and sausage, Jello, and eventually things that come out of cans; after she had somehow procured the nice can opener, which she left as a gift to me. Whether or not she left my place unlocked in order to run to the store for the can opener and more food; I never asked her about.
She would have been right in assuming that, most likely, nobody would be trying to come in the apartment and steal anything, given all of the security here, while she was gone; but; is that a decision that a guest in someone else's place should be making?
Meanwhile, I was out there having some of the worst money making nights that I have had since coming to New Orleans 4+ years ago; and reading texts from her about how cute the cat was acting; and that she had put a "Hoo Doo" on me, so that I would be attracting money out there.
The whole experience was kind of a wash.
She enabled me to stay drunk and stoned, by doing things like sending me to the store with 20 dollars cash for stuff that I could get with my food card, allowing me to return to the place with a her stuff, plus a pint of whiskey and a sack of weed for myself, and there was one night when I actually blew off work myself; set up my laptop and speakers; and we sat there watching a movie, while she ate beef stew, washed down with diet Coke, and then had Cherry Garcia ice cream for dessert.
She doesn't drink nor smoke weed, but she does go to "Al-anon" meetings, which she claims help her with one of the problems that she does have, namely, "overeating."
She had lost 65 pounds, she claimed. This reduced her weight to somewhere in the low 200's.
I think she put back about 20 pounds during the 10 days that she stayed with me.
The boiling point came upon the last day of her stay.
I had gotten up in the morning at my "usual" hour.
I did not do my usual things. I sat and listened to her talk incessantly for over an hour.
She was trying to push the A.A. program upon me, all the while assuring me that she wasn't trying to push anything upon me.
"Can I just read you the Reflection For The Day?"
Can I just spend the next 45 minutes expounding upon how this particular reflection has helped me so much with my issues of anger and overeating?
I started to write what might have become a blog post, actually blocking out her voice and focusing upon it.
After a while I just became distracted by her, because, like most people who ramble, she started interjecting questions like: "...you know what I mean...?" that required a short response or a grunt from me.
She is like the person who calls on the phone and begins to rant, allowing you to just put the phone down on the table in front of you and go about your business, just picking it up whenever you hear the squawking pause to say something like "Yeah," before replacing it on the table where it will squawk for another interval.
She had decided not to go to work yet another night.
The place where she had been staying charged enough rent so that she had to go out nightly in order to maintain.
Now, she was availing herself to my place, being a constant presence which deprived me of anything close to "quiet time" in my own apartment, and even went so far as to ask me if I would set my laptop and speakers up for her so that she could watch movies while I was out busking.
I balked at that, since I have a lot of personal stuff in my laptop, and since I really didn't know her that well, and I didn't want to even flirt with the idea of coming home to hear her say something like: "I had one of my episodes and deleted your whole hard drive; I'm very sorry; that's one of the things that I'm working on in the Al-anon program; my impulses to destroy other people's things..."
After I had become distracted by her, I said something to the effect that I was trying to work on a blog post and that it was distracting to have her talking at the same time.
She became deadly silent.
I tried to write some more, but her silence was so oppressive that the implication was clear that I had offended her, and so I had to mollify her with something to the effect of "I didn't mean to cut you off, but..." Which started her back up talking.
I ran to the store for some things, picked up a half pint of whiskey and sipped it on my way back to the apartment.
I wanted to record some music to document it before I forgot the lyrics or the whole song idea in general.
I have a song called "The Cat Song," which is about Harold the cat and is one that, when I played it for her the first day she was here, had her rolling on the couch laughing and telling me how clever it was and how I should include it in a stand up comedy routine.
Not so much on her last day there.
She was clearing her throat and staring at her I-phone that she was playing a game on with an expression which said that I was annoying her.
With this vote of confidence in my back pocket, I went off into the Quarter with her blessings and Hoo Doo's to match the worst money night that I have had since coming here.
I walked back, just thinking that I wanted my life back.

The End Of "Street Musician Daniel"

I think I am going to "deep 6" this blog...
 
I won't delete past entries (I'll let them "forever" sit in cyberspace, I guess for "posterity") but; as I haven't really been posting much lately; because of the fact that I have really lost interest in blogging -maybe I just don't deem my life worthy of documenting; as I sit in my Unity apartment waiting to die, so they can come in and clean out the refrigerator and repaint the walls for the next sucker that they are going to marginalize from society and bestow upon the Trojan Horse gift of a "free" apartment...

Well, Here is a post I did a few days ago. It is not comprehensive; it is not well thought out; it is not insightful, not even educational and I am not even going to proof read it;

I think I am out of this business....It's been an alright 10 years....

Love, Street Musician Daniel
Retiring From Blogging? I Think so...
Trivial crap that I no longer want to write about and waste time upon...
It is almost 3 in the afternoon on this Wednesday the 2nd of December.


Last night, I had another slow night.


I had come up enough in the world to have fresh batteries in my spotlight; and had left the apartment with 41 bucks on me; after having been paid for the pain pills and having slid Howards "half" of the money under his door.


But then, it was a half pint of Jim Beam and a Bush beer to pour it in ($6) and a sack of weed ( $6.50) and then across the street to the Ideal Market, where I got some apple juice and some coconut milk and some yams, putting 2 of my own dollars towards it; and effectively wiping out my food card for the month with 4 days to go.


This is better than the past few months when it had run out with 7, 12 or 14 days left.


I have been getting money from outside sources.


Tim the violinist paid me another 20 bucks on the amp, Sunday night, after I had gone out and only made about 10 bucks playing and had spent that down to about 4 bucks.


Then, I got the 50 bucks early Tuesday morning for the pain pills.


Are My Fortunes About To Change


And now, Louise, a friend of mine who is a Tarot card reader on Royal Street and whom I have walked past a hundred times and spoken to on occasions when she wasn't doing a reading, is going to crash at my place for at least a couple days, as her current living arrangements have become volatile and "dangerous," as she describes it.


She is packing her stuff into a friends truck to drop off in storage, and then will be here some time in the next few hours.


I told her that I might leave here at about 7 PM to go out and play.


I really need to reverse my fortunes and break the string of 10 dollar or less nights that I have had over the course of the past week which saw me collecting almost 90 bucks from outside sources, yet spending most of it.


Louise said that she would give me some money; I told her to try to bring some instant coffee; as a calling card.

You've just read: 389 words.

It is Sunday afternoon, and I am in position to make it to the Superdome by the time the game lets out and 5,000 people walk past my spot there.
Of course, someone could be already at my spot; or any number of other things could go wrong, like a change in the security policy of allowing a busker to sit at my spot...
Last night, I played sloppily and made only about 20 bucks, but found a 10 dollar bill inside my guitar this morning; I can almost remember someone stuffing it in there, but not really (remember).
Louise, my guest, stayed in last night, but went out early this late morning.
She has been sending me to the store with cash to buy her food and orange juice; which I have been getting with my food card and then using the cash across the street to get weed. Yowsa.
I really wasn't playing at the top of my ability last night, and I could just tell that I was getting one dollar tips, rather than 10's and 20's except for the ten spot inside my guitar.

(Jim) Beam Me Up

I Take In A Guest

"OMG, That's Her!!"

It is almost 3 in the afternoon on this Wednesday the 2nd of December.


Last night, I had another slow night.


I had come up enough in the world to have fresh batteries in my spotlight; and had left the apartment with 41 bucks on me; after having been paid for the pain pills and having slid Howards "half" of the money under his door.


But then, it was a half pint of Jim Beam and a Bush beer to pour it in ($6) and a sack of weed ( $6.50) and then across the street to the Ideal Market, where I got some apple juice and some coconut milk and some yams, putting 2 of my own dollars towards it; and effectively wiping out my food card for the month with 4 days to go.


This is better than the past few months when it had run out with 7, 12 or 14 days left.


I have been getting money from outside sources.


Tim the violinist paid me another 20 bucks on the amp, Sunday night, after I had gone out and only made about 10 bucks playing and had spent that down to about 4 bucks.


Then, I got the 50 bucks early Tuesday morning for the pain pills.


Are My Fortunes About To Change?
Louise, for whom the whole state is named...
And now, Louise, a friend of mine who is a Tarot card reader on Royal Street and whom I have walked past a hundred times and spoken to on occasions when she wasn't doing a reading, is going to crash at my place for at least a couple days, as her current living arrangements have become volatile and "dangerous," as she describes it.


She is packing her stuff into a friends truck to drop off in storage, and then will be here some time in the next few hours.


I told her that I might leave here at about 7 PM to go out and play.


I really need to reverse my fortunes and break the string of 10 dollar or less nights that I have had over the course of the past week which saw me collecting almost 90 bucks from outside sources, yet spending most of it.


Louise said that she would give me some money; I told her to try to bring some instant coffee; as a calling card.

You've just read: 389 words.

Dusted Off And Pretty Shiny

Thanksgiving night; I started out flat broke and might have made about 17 bucks.
I took Friday off.

Saturday night was slow for a Saturday night, but the Bayou Classic football game was going on in town; and opinions are mixed as to weather or not they are good tippers.
They are the same two teams every year: Grambling vs. Southern University (Baton Rouge).
And they are, of course, "black" colleges, and last year I did well (had a $108 night, in fact) by playing the whitest music that I knew, while others who tried to pander to the crowd by dusting off their Motown stuff, were complaining.
This year I was happy with the about 17 bucks that I made, considering that my spotlights were fading fast, and I finished the night almost in the dark.
Tanya and Dorise seemed to really appeal to the all black swarm of college kids; they keep an average of about 25 people listening to them for the entire 10 hours that they play; but this crowd had swelled to about 100 when I walked past them and they were playing their own Motown, which was dusted off already and pretty shiny...
Sunday night I took off to watch the Patriots lose to the Denver Broncos on Howard's Television set.
Monday, I went out and played, even though the guy that was going to give me 100 dollars for the pain meds, was going to do so shortly after midnight, when he got his monthly "1,200 bucks."
I was able to make enough for a few beers, a pack of smokes, and a can of cat food.
I seem to be gravitating toward the economy of breaking pretty much even after spending all that "sin" money.
If I go sober, then I accumulate the 90 bucks a week that I would otherwise spend; nothing new there...