Sunday, February 21, 2016

Or Does He?


Friday Night Off

53 Dollar Saturday

50 Days Without Drinking


Dorise Resting


Thursday night, I got in, after having made 9 dollars in a couple hours, after having gotten to my spot at 10:30 PM for the 3rd consecutive night.


I wasn't sweating the fact that, after spending my food card down to 9 dollars, defraying the cost of the food by only 2 bucks out of my cash (with 14 days left in the month) and taking the trolley home, I arrived there with, well, 9 dollars.


I did my laundry, and ran out to get a newspaper at 4 AM. The Friday edition was already in the kiosk.


I had bought instant coffee, corn syrup, olive oil, a gallon of drinking water and a can of cat food for Harold the cat.


Harold's Life Matters

Harold seems to be back on his schedule of waiting outside the door that leads to the parking lot at times that coincide with my own. He has pretty much figured out, I guess, that I return on one of the last trolleys, either the 2:20 AM, or the 2:50 AM and is ready to emerge from under one of the parked cars in the lot, meowing for food, when I arrive at the door.


He eats and then meows to go back outside, but has also figured out, I guess, that I check for him around sunup before I lay me down to sleep, and has been ready to come in those times. Perhaps his outside food source has dried up.


I like to know that he is inside the apartment while I am out playing, and that I am not fretting in vain over which flavor of Fancy Feast cat food to get, in order to vary his diet, and racking my brain to remember which flavors he has "voted off the island" by leaving a little bit on his plate, rather than licking it clean. When I first got him, that was a mute point because he was so scrawny that he was devouring anything, but now that he has regulated his weight, he has shown signs of being a bit finicky, like the cat "Morris," of TV fame, whom he resembles.


About the warnings that I have been getting from people that Harold is reaching a level of maturity at which he is going to start "spraying everywhere," unless I get him neutered; I have no experience with that in a cat, but I have been catching slight whiffs of kind of a cheesy, musty, ear infection drainage aroma that has had me on all fours and sniffing around trying to locate the source of; which seems elusive. That is the best way I can describe the scent, other than to say the the Chanel #5 people have nothing to worry about, should anyone try to bottle it and compete for market share with them; no matter how pretty a decanter they use. Too bad the catch phrase "stays on your mind," has already been taken, should someone try to advertise it on billboards...


Louise's Matters


I was at Rouses Market a little after midnight Friday morning, when I heard frantic horn beeps emanating from a cab. I was thinking that someone inside the store had called for a ride and the cabby was announcing his presence, when out stepped Louise the tarot card reader, after parking it, who approached me and told me that she had been trying to get my attention.


She made some small talk and then asked me how Harold the cat was doing.


I told her about his wanderings, which she attributed to his needing to be neutered, and then offered to help me financially with the procedure.


I am going to have to politely decline her generosity, as, how could I


turn her down if she needed a place to stay for 10 days after she had paid to have the cat fixed?


My dad used to say: "There is nothing free in this world, son."


Again, I have blogged about the Louise Skeeze extensively (see the 3rd week of December, 2015) and, in light of what I learned about her, I can imagine that she would want the cat fixed so that, if she manages to finagle another stay at my place, the place wouldn't stink of cat spray.


Coincidently, the 12 pack of toilet paper which she brought into the place shortly after she moved in (my first thought upon seeing it being: How long does she plan upon being here? -my second thought was: Well, she does struggle with an overeating problem...) is down to its last couple of rolls; maybe that offers some insight into her grand scheme...if you let me stay, I'll bring more toilet paper; according to my calculations you should be just about down to between 50 and 60 sheets...


I got the corn syrup as a budget sweetener. If I could afford agave nectar or honey or (yum) maple syrup, I would have opted for one of those.


I think corn syrup messes with the biochemistry and perhaps blood sugar levels in a way that can bring about depression.

Friday morning, I had a sweet tooth and, after discovering that corn syrup doesn't readily disolve in coffee (unless, maybe, the coffee is scalding hot) I wound up hoisting the bottle up and filling my mouth with it, and then chasing it down with the coffee. Otherwise, it would just be globbed on the bottom of the mug of coffee (which had hardly tasted any sweeter than usual) and I would have to spoon it out and eat it that way. I'm not that big on sweets, and have gone days and weeks without any kind of sugar, but I guess I'm prone to binge upon certain things. Alcohol comes to mind...


I woke up a couple times Friday feeling like crying, such were the depressing dreams, I guess that I was waking up out of. I suspect the gulping down of the corn syrup changed my sugar levels on some count; and I was on some count like withdrawing from heroin as the corn syrup left my body...


I have hit my 50th day sober, and I wonder if I can start counting months pretty soon, rather than days. I also wonder if there is a certain date in the future when I will just unthinkingly take a drink. February 29th kind of makes me nervous, because I could probably rationalize to myself that it will be at least 4 years before I ever drink on that day again...


Tanya Huang was at the corner of St. Louis and Royal streets tonight, playing her violin along with pre-recorded music coming out of a separate amp. She had her dog with her. The dog was sitting in the chair where, for the past 12 years, or so, Dorise sat, and it freaked out when I tried to pet it. I must smell like a 140 pound cat to it.


There was a considerably smaller crowd around her than usual, but she had won them over with her violin playing, and they were asking the same questions, such as "How long have you been playing?" and "Do you ever play with an orchestra?"


She was selling CD's, but only her solo disc, on which she plays all the instruments, and sings.


Of course, I asked her where Dorise was.


"She's resting," said Tanya.


"Did you have an argument?"


"No, we didn't have an argument."


I didn't press any further, and she was soon playing one of the songs off her solo CD for someone who had bought one, or was thinking of buying one.


I walked on towards the trolley, encountering Johnny B. along the way.


He was in a talkative mood, and seemed kind of excited.


He produced his phone and was soon showing me a video of himself playing on the corner of St. Louis and Royal streets and alongside him stood Tanya, playing along with him and looking, to my eye, pretty uncomfortable. She kept shuffling her feet and moving from side to side and moved backwards at one point, almost behind Johnny B.


Johnny B. talked about the huge crowd that amassed, and how it made him actually nervous, and especially about how "In a little over an hour I made about 120 dollars; Tanya just told me to keep it all, she didn't want any of it; of course she makes bukoo bucks..."


The video was of them playing "Daniel," by Elton John, coincidently. Johnny probably has about a dozen songs in common with Tanya.


I told him that I had talked to her, and that she had told me that Dorise was "resting."



Johnny B. , trying to appear more muscular by pressing
his upper arm against the guitar body'; what buskersrefer to as the "puff fish."



Then, Johnny took out his phone again and showed me a text that he had just sent.


It was to Tanya, thanking her for the honor and priviledge of having been abl to play with her, admitting "I know I can't hold a candle to Dorise," but thanking her again, profusely.


I needed to run to get the trolley at that point.


"Ok, I'll catch up to you, I'll see you on the trolley," said Johnny.


I was on the trolley when I saw Johnny pulling his cart full of equipment up the sidewalk, apparently in no rush to try to catch it.


He had better get the last one, I thought. He doesn't want to have to walk through the drug neighborhood at this hour; not with all that money in his pocket.


Any one of those guys could have caught wind of his raking in cash alongside Tanya...


I post the above information hesitantly; because Johnny had mentioned something about them trying to keep the matter a secret.


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2 comments:

  1. I remember us having a bottle of Karo corn syrup in the kitchen when I was a kid; I don't know why Mom bought it, or what it was intended for.

    This was in the 1970s, before the Japanese discovered the myriad of things it could be put into (there I said it: myriad) and before people started drinking 1 soda per hour or whatever the current consumption is.

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  2. you don't have to modify myriad with "of" because it is implied to mean countless, so "myriad things" and; funny you should mention it; there was a bottle of Caro corn syrup in our cabinet throughout most of my upbringing, with a few runnings down the outside of the bottle that had turned an opaque frosty color.
    The bottle was there when I graduated high school, and I think it originally was used in the batter for a cake which bombed at my 7th birthday party...
    We were also not honey users and a bottle of thick, pasty, crystallized honey stood not far from it as evidence, for at least 4 or 5 years.
    I think the story behind these things were: mom tried new and different recipes, which required the odd ingredient, and which received a less than enthusiastic reception from dad (she would have had an old standby like strip steak, ready to fry up in a pinch were he not even able to chock them down) and the odd spices then sat there, in case they were ever needed again, and because you just don't throw food away, even though they would likely never be needed because, it was more than likely that the foreign flavor imparted by the odd spice that dad had an aversion to. Fennel cookies, anyone?
    As I said, I think it (the corn syrup binge) messed with my blood sugar levels, and gave me the blues the next morning...unless chicken liver can do that; they are another thing that I hadn't had in a few years

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