Good Riddance

Good riddance, gays, lesbians, transgenders, bisexuals.

I did find a gold chain in the trash while looking for aluminum cans...

I don't hate them all, and I consider that mindset to be my biggest achievement of the weekend.

I can't even feel like it is good that 49 of them were killed by a gunman in Orlando recently -the reason, perhaps, being elucidated by the detail that I just used the term "them," which indicates that I have fallen into stereotyping them, and am just as bad as "them," in that regard.

I think that gays are now practicing "straight bashing," in a sense. How else can I explain the one's who stopped and listened for a few seconds, took out their wallet, took a better look (not listen) at me, pocketed their money and walked away. Or the ones who were in the process of tipping before being tapped by someone else, an unspoken communication exchanged, and who then walked off without leaving anything.

I truly believe that there is something "wrong" with the gays. Just like there is something wrong with someone who breaks down crying for no apparent reasons at odd times, or who throw themselves out of bed in the middle of a dream that they can't remember upon waking, or who torture animals, or who throw up every time they see baked beans.

Or who has an education and the ability to do more with his life than subject himself to coming out and busking for what would amount to 10 dollars the whole night.

We all have our demons, but the gay people's are perched on their shoulders.

If it weren't for the fact that I was feeling pressure from Rose and Ed to pay the 40 dollars for the TV that I bought off them the last day of August, I would have probably been home watching movies, living off the 9 dollars that I had woken up with, on this Saturday.

"I'll be so happy when another group of tourists come in next week," I had been telling people last night, after I had played at the spot diagonal from The Quartermaster, because the volume at the Lilly Pad was too high, and after noticing the almost exact reenactment of the previous year that was playing out, with a large swarm of "them" around Lafitt's Blacksmith Shop Tavern, clogging the street enough so one had to elbow his way through and couldn't avoid touching some of "them."

There was the large black cop who has been stationed at the intersection of St. Phillips and Bourbon each night of the festival -the city's response to the mass shooting at the gay nightclub in Orlando recently, I'm sure. Of course, it turned out that the perpetrator of that incident had issues regarding his own sexuality and had probably thrown in the ISIS thing, because fags are trendy.

I was more worried about being fallen upon at the Lilly Pad by a gay guy who hadn't seen me, much less heard me, in his state of preoccupation with other gay men; their bodies particularly.

I did well, in that, since I was across the street from The Quartermaster on one side, and the Monster Energy® truck on the other, they were my intended audience, and I felt like I played at a higher level in order to entertain them.

Fuck all the gays that continued to walk by and ignore. It would be easy to say that I hate their guts, but, how would I feel if I was in the business of shampooing poodles? Some of them had smiles; yet no tip money. A lot of them met my gaze with an icy stare, especially the 20 something ones, as if I represented something to them that they hated.

I made 10 dollars the whole (2 hour) night, and that came from maybe 2 or 3 individuals, out of about 500 that walked by me. Some had even paused in front of me in groups, as if they just wanted (free) background music for their conversation, and there were other times when I had gotten people to laugh at a lyric -laugh without breaking their stride or adding to the 10 dollars that I would make all night.

So many cliches come to mind with self centered, self absorbed and selfish topping the list. They acted like they were at their birthday party, on a day when everything is a gift to them, and they are not expected to shell out a thing....

Do they not care if I make anything?

Did they just not connect the tip jar to my well being?

Are they so uncultured and dewy eyed as to have never seen anything like a busker before?

Are they narrow minded and bigoted to the point where they refuse to acknowledge anyone who doesn't look like them, or lisp like them?

Were they trying to punish me?

Who knows, and I don't care. They are leaving. Tonight.

I will not come out next year to try and busk during Southern Decadence. Period. I will just make other plans.

The girl from the Monster Energy® truck jumped off the back of it and came over and handed me a red sugar free Monster drink, after I had done one of my originals and changed a lot of words for the amusement of my friends across the street.

As I became more potentially offensive to gays, substituting "Oh, that magic feeling; a dick up your ass," for a line from The Beatles "Golden Slumbers," for example (hey, again, it didn't even seem like you were listening).

Food

And, as I type this, my food stamp money is due in 5 and a half hours. I walked past Rose earlier, who said a curt "Hi," but made no mention of needing the 40 dollars for the TV.

I've got a coffee and a half left on my Starbucks gift card, and will ride my bike down there, now that the rain has stopped and the fog has cleared, to utilize it.
I'm bringing a pad and a pen, in case the coffee inspires me to write.
I have to decide how to handle the 14 dollars, and will have my guitar and pack with me, ready to break out the tiposaurus at a moment's notice. I really need strings; but, like a spoiled kid, would rather buy something else, and take my chances upon making 5 bucks to replace the rusty ones,.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that VHS movies at the Goodwill store are priced at 57 cents (I guess so that they will tax out to the round figure of 60 cents).

I have about 14 bucks on me, and this after having played for about 10 hours through the festival. Boy, am I glad that I am noble enough to take the high road and not hate gay people's guts right now...

I might ride my bike all the way to Walmart to stock up on cat food at a savings of 20 per can; I might buy the pack of 5 jigsaw puzzles and cloister myself away, doing them, drinking coffee, eating, and trying to gear up for what should be a gradual return to profitability in busking, now that the fag has cleared, er, I mean the fog.