Wednesday, August 17, 2016

I'm Trying To Think

  • Monday And Tuesday Off
  • Writing A Multi Volume Novel
  • Thinking
I'm thinking about a lot of things.

I'm thinking of changing the title of one of my previous posts from "Algerians Make Contact," to something else. It is constantly being hit upon, and I suspect that it might be Algerians who are trying to make contact with their countrymen, who are stumbling upon it.

I read the thing, from about 3 years ago; and it has nothing to do with that, refers to the much lesser know Algiers the small town across the river from New Orleans, and more specifically with my encounter, on that side of the river, with a young heavyset black man, who turned out (in subsequent posts) to be "Jimi Hendrix," a guy whose last name was actually Hendrix and whose middle name was James, and who considered this close enough to go around calling himself Jimi Hendrix.

Jimi had walked up upon me as I sat at the ferry terminal with my laptop plugged in and charging and my mp3 player also charging.
Algiers

Jimi, upon seeing my backpack, had correctly inferred that I was homeless, and began to tell me about great resources for the homeless that were right on that Algiers side of the river.
He described an excellent meal that was served by a place, going into detail about the corn on the cob, etc. and was imploring me to let him walk me to that place.

I had balked at the idea of stuffing my laptop and my mp3 player back into my pack and following this guy I had just met (even though he had shown me his ID in the way of proving that his name was indeed almost Jimi Hendrix) through Algiers, Louisiana, which was as foreign to me as the country of the same name.

Jimi turned out to be a weed dealer; one who flashes his legal ID around; ironic, that.

I had entitled the post "Algerians Make Contact," in regards to Jimi having thus reached out to me.

But, I know that I am getting hits on the post for probably the wrong reason.
Algiers (Louisiana)

My all time most frequently visited post is entitled "A Scary Moment."

Most Pressing Matters

When "things to do" pile up and start to overwhelm, to the point that it creates a paralysis in me, brought on by inability to decide which is the most important, and thus, which should be the first one to get to; it is not good.

I need to make an alphabetize list. Some of the things have been waiting to be gotten to for a long time.

I have an "attachment" which is like a warrant, over in the neighborhood of the very same Algiers, which a nice friendly cop here in New Orleans told me that I needed to take care of, because it was showing up on their computer screen for me and, at the discretion of the officer, he could haul me in to jail and leave it to the Sheriff's Office to haul me in front of the judge on a charge of trespassing on the rail yard in Avondale, LA.

That was the last time that I tried to hop a freight train out of New Orleans. Texas or California was the hoped for destination then.

It was almost uncanny, especially to anyone inclined to think that New Orleans has spirits that work to trap people here, how, as soon as I stepped off the train after it had stopped there in Avondale for 5 hours at that point; to run to a store; the yard cop then appeared.

There had been something funny too, about how the only bus back to New Orleans from there, which the yard cop just about put me upon; dropped me off at the very same stop that I had departed from a day earlier, on my way to hop a freight train for Texas or California. Back to square one; drawn right back like steel to a magnet; the circle of life; the spirits of New Orleans...

I am writing a story on another blog. I created the blog for just that purpose. It is going to be the length of a novel, and in fact a novel in several installments. It is going to be autobiographical, like this blog. I was tempted to try to make it a second person or third person or any other "perspective" narration, but I think I am mired in the habit of writing every thing in the first person.
 
The story will be linked to this blog when it's done.

My Dates Have Sprouted Roots

I need to Google "how to grow a medjul date tree, step 2," as my dates have sprouted roots, as per a successful outcome from step 1.

Gorilla Glue Gasses And Optical Health

I need to glue my eyeglasses back together after having rolled over onto them in my sleep, breaking the Gorilla Glue© seal that had been holding the arm on since I last rolled over on top of them. This is the most pressing thing to do. I don't want to buy a whole bottle of Gorilla Glue©, and so I must try to catch the maintenance guy who works here at the building to try to get a drop of Gorilla Glue©.

Then, I won't be able to wear the things for several hours; because when Gorilla Glue© dries, it expels some kind of gas that stings the eyes; you don't want to watch Gorilla Glue© dry from up close. Use theater glasses.

Then, to my caseworker Tim, to see if he can help me change my phone service to a new phone that I have which was given to me by Sherman from Baton Rouge. It was given to me about 4 months ago. It has a better camera and Bluetooth and would allow me to take pictures and then get them onto this blog more easily.

Staying In My Room
Room Changing Not Permitted

This just in: A brief conversation with Valerie who sits in one of the offices here at Sacred Heart Apartments, has brought to light the fact that residents aren't allowed to swap rooms with each other here.

It is "just in the rules" and it would be a moot exercise to postulate theories as to why this might be so.

I'm sure it would create additional paperwork, which would probably grow exponentially as more and more residents catch the fever and want to play musical rooms. And that paper would have to be "pushed" by someone like Valerie.
I'm sure they would have to inspect each room so they could correctly assign the blame for any damage; and countless other things off the top of my head that I can think of for why we are not allowed to change rooms with other residents here at Sacred Heart Apartments.

2 comments:

  1. http://www.dateland.com/how-are-dates-grown/

    Interesting reading. The long and short of it is you don't want a medjool date tree, even if it could live OK there, which is probably can't.

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  2. I haven't read the article yet; but I am prepared to have to buy a full spectrum plant light and keep it on the date tree up to 15 hours a day LOL; and the thing probably gets to be bigger than my whole apartment, I'm guessing. Oh, and I'll have to keep the apartment at 97% humidity; no more hanging clothes on the shower curtain rod to dry any more...
    If I could grow a mango tree I might have to come up with a way to "move out to country" so I could take it with me.

    Related to a post 2 months ago, I found the following, on a NOLA related web discussion:

    I used to draw caricatures in the French Quarter. I never had a permit, I started off on Bourbon Street one night and it worked out so nicely I kept going back. It was decent money, I always had the goal of $200 and would leave with $100-150 on an average night and feel all cranky I didn't hit my goal. But $100 ain't bad for three hours of sitting on Bourbon Street! My highest night was $500-even. I biked home as fast as I could and hid the wad of cash. (highest tips, $100, $80, and plenty of $60)

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