This is a critical time.
I am working on my 24th day without a drop of alcohol, and maybe it is a blessing that I have only $1.75 in my pocket.
Yesterday, the rain started in the afternoon and then poured down into the evening. I still wanted to do something, so I loaded up my laptop and headed for Starbucks, where I could use my gift card on strong coffee and get caught up on things Internet.
I hadn't even brought my guitar, and had frequent instances of my heart jumping in my chest as I looked to see it not by me, before remembering that I had left it at home. Being a homeless busker for 8 years has left a resonance. A guitar has basically been on my back everywhere I have gone the past 7 years, and I felt off balance as I walked along -as if I might topple over in the opposite direction of where the guitar's weight usually presses.
After reading and, in some cases, replying to my e-mail, and being re-directed to Facebook through e-mails informing me that someone commented, or liked a photo or a post, and then spending time commenting back; I barely made it to this blog in time to post.
I left Starbucks at 9 PM to discover that the rain had stopped.
I decided to take the trolley back to the apartment, grab my guitar and then return to play from about 10 PM until after midnight; thinking that the tourists whom had been holed up in hotels while the deluge occurred outside, might come out in droves.
I went back to the apartment, had a quick snack of baked fish, grabbed my guitar and then went to the back exit where I turned around to go back to the apartment after seeing that the rainfall had not only resumed, but was coming down like cats and dogs.
I made a recording of a song about papayas for about 3 hours; trying to give it a Latin beat using maracas, timbales, congas; and bongos -digitally recorded ones, that is.
Right now, I am at Starbucks in Harrah's Casino. I thought that they were open until midnight, but they are to close in another 15 minutes or so, at 10 PM.
This is after being disappointed to find that the Canal and St. Charles Street one had been closed early, due to some water related issue with the city that has overtones of the Flint Michigan situation, in my mind.
Then, I was disappointed to learn that the Louisiana Music Factory took no returns on harmonicas "once you put your mouth on them."
"Can't you send them back to the Hohner factory for credit?"
"No!"
The staff there, whose ignoring of and rudeness towards me I have blogged about, seemed to revel in telling me that I couldn't get a refund. Harmonicas have to be purchased on blind faith that they are not going to have unplayable notes on them.
That really sucked, and, I was glad that I was 23 days sober, as the drunk incarnation of myself probably would have gone off on a tirade. "I guess I'll just throw this one in the trash, then! Nothing like flushing 14 bucks down the toilet.
If I could get a refund or replacement through the Hohner factory, that is something that I will have to investigate on my own. I couldn't imagine the staff at the Music Factory apprising me of that information, even if they had it. They are the ones who remained mum about the fact that they were having an "everything 20% off" sale the last time I was in there and had inquired about the price of a Blues Bender harmonica.
One of these days, I will politely try to determine what their problem with me is centered around.
Then, I went to Harrahs Casino, where I am now. They have the only Starbucks that is open past 9 PM.
Tonight
The last time I was here, the young black guy working the front security podium barred my entering with the words "Not Tonight."
I blogged about that pretty thoroughly a couple months ago.
Tonight, there was a black lady there, who greeted me warily, as if trying to judge whether or not I was a skeezer. I had the guitar and the backpack, yet I was dressed in my black "dress" shoes and had on the new black jeans which the Lidgleys of London had sent in a Christmas Parcel, and I squeezed by the lady without any "Not Tonight"s being uttered.
Now, it is about 10 PM and I have $1.75 on me.
The temperatures are just warm enough outside to facilitate the playing of a guitar, at about 48 degrees.
I have trolley fare home, should I not make a cent; and I have no monkey on my back telling me that I have to make at least enough to get drunk on. So, I am counting those as blessings, and am about to go out and walk the 10 blocks to the Lilly Pad to see what happens.
Monday, I was pleasantly surprised to have made 29 bucks, and it has lasted me 2 days, with cigarette purchases being a thorn in my side....yeah, I have to quit the things sooner or later and the longer I smoke the harder it will be to quit. I tried cigars, thinking that they would satisfy the "oral fixation," as Freud would say; but I wound up inhaling them like cigarettes and doing my lungs an even worse disservice...
I am working on my 24th day without a drop of alcohol, and maybe it is a blessing that I have only $1.75 in my pocket.
Yesterday, the rain started in the afternoon and then poured down into the evening. I still wanted to do something, so I loaded up my laptop and headed for Starbucks, where I could use my gift card on strong coffee and get caught up on things Internet.
I hadn't even brought my guitar, and had frequent instances of my heart jumping in my chest as I looked to see it not by me, before remembering that I had left it at home. Being a homeless busker for 8 years has left a resonance. A guitar has basically been on my back everywhere I have gone the past 7 years, and I felt off balance as I walked along -as if I might topple over in the opposite direction of where the guitar's weight usually presses.
After reading and, in some cases, replying to my e-mail, and being re-directed to Facebook through e-mails informing me that someone commented, or liked a photo or a post, and then spending time commenting back; I barely made it to this blog in time to post.
I left Starbucks at 9 PM to discover that the rain had stopped.
I decided to take the trolley back to the apartment, grab my guitar and then return to play from about 10 PM until after midnight; thinking that the tourists whom had been holed up in hotels while the deluge occurred outside, might come out in droves.
I went back to the apartment, had a quick snack of baked fish, grabbed my guitar and then went to the back exit where I turned around to go back to the apartment after seeing that the rainfall had not only resumed, but was coming down like cats and dogs.
I made a recording of a song about papayas for about 3 hours; trying to give it a Latin beat using maracas, timbales, congas; and bongos -digitally recorded ones, that is.
Right now, I am at Starbucks in Harrah's Casino. I thought that they were open until midnight, but they are to close in another 15 minutes or so, at 10 PM.
This is after being disappointed to find that the Canal and St. Charles Street one had been closed early, due to some water related issue with the city that has overtones of the Flint Michigan situation, in my mind.
Then, I was disappointed to learn that the Louisiana Music Factory took no returns on harmonicas "once you put your mouth on them."
"Can't you send them back to the Hohner factory for credit?"
"No!"
The staff there, whose ignoring of and rudeness towards me I have blogged about, seemed to revel in telling me that I couldn't get a refund. Harmonicas have to be purchased on blind faith that they are not going to have unplayable notes on them.
That really sucked, and, I was glad that I was 23 days sober, as the drunk incarnation of myself probably would have gone off on a tirade. "I guess I'll just throw this one in the trash, then! Nothing like flushing 14 bucks down the toilet.
If I could get a refund or replacement through the Hohner factory, that is something that I will have to investigate on my own. I couldn't imagine the staff at the Music Factory apprising me of that information, even if they had it. They are the ones who remained mum about the fact that they were having an "everything 20% off" sale the last time I was in there and had inquired about the price of a Blues Bender harmonica.
One of these days, I will politely try to determine what their problem with me is centered around.
Then, I went to Harrahs Casino, where I am now. They have the only Starbucks that is open past 9 PM.
Tonight
The last time I was here, the young black guy working the front security podium barred my entering with the words "Not Tonight."
I blogged about that pretty thoroughly a couple months ago.
Tonight, there was a black lady there, who greeted me warily, as if trying to judge whether or not I was a skeezer. I had the guitar and the backpack, yet I was dressed in my black "dress" shoes and had on the new black jeans which the Lidgleys of London had sent in a Christmas Parcel, and I squeezed by the lady without any "Not Tonight"s being uttered.
Now, it is about 10 PM and I have $1.75 on me.
The temperatures are just warm enough outside to facilitate the playing of a guitar, at about 48 degrees.
I have trolley fare home, should I not make a cent; and I have no monkey on my back telling me that I have to make at least enough to get drunk on. So, I am counting those as blessings, and am about to go out and walk the 10 blocks to the Lilly Pad to see what happens.
Monday, I was pleasantly surprised to have made 29 bucks, and it has lasted me 2 days, with cigarette purchases being a thorn in my side....yeah, I have to quit the things sooner or later and the longer I smoke the harder it will be to quit. I tried cigars, thinking that they would satisfy the "oral fixation," as Freud would say; but I wound up inhaling them like cigarettes and doing my lungs an even worse disservice...
Try rollies. A 50/50 mixture of Burley And Bright and Bugler. A friend of mine could never quit but he could cut smoking way down with rollies.
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