Monday, September 12, 2016

Little Matters

What is going on, in no particular order:

The Water Fast

Yesterday, (Sunday) was my first real day of consuming nothing but water.

My desire for cigarettes had diminished by the end of the day, I had only stepped outside Harrah's Casino during every other break in the action of the Patriots game that I was there to see, rather than during each commercial, as I had done Thursday night.

I had about 4 dollars in my pocket, up from the 52 cents that I had had Thursday night, which had made me feel vulnerable and uneasy, as if they have money detectors at the entrances and were going to turn me away.

I had put on a button up shirt, over my Amy Winehouse tee shirt, dress slacks and my best boots.

When the sound system played an Amy Winehouse song during the second quarter of the game, I was tempted to reach my hand under the shirt and, grabbing the cloth like a hand puppet, make Amy's mouth move to sing along with the song. But that would have meant my walking over to the people at the bar in order to entertain them that way; they might not have known who the hell Amy Winehouse is, nor that she was the one singing over the sound system, turning me into a guy who was "for some reason," making his shirt into a puppet; and it might make the bartenders think that I had been drinking and might want another; which would further call attention to the fact that I was there watching the Patriots game, but not drinking; not even Coca Cola.

I watched a very enjoyable game. I have learned how to just observe the action in a detached manner, not clenching my teeth, crossing my fingers, or in any other way trying to will the action of the game in favor of the Patriots. I think this represents progress in terms of my mental health. I used to come back after taking too long to smoke a cigarette outside to see that the opposing team had run back a kickoff for a touchdown and think: "Damn, I wish I had been here to prevent that!" (By yelling "Fumble!" at the television set, perhaps).

I then rode my bike along the Greenway bike trail. It is so smooth and straight that it makes the ride from Basin Street all the way to the Walgreen's on Carrolton Street feel like the 8 minute ride that it actually is. This is such a stark contrast to riding on Canal Street, being slowed by bumps and potholes and thinking the entire time which seems like 20 minutes that there are drunken motorists talking on cell phones approaching from behind and whizzing past.

I got a can of cat food for Harold the cat, and a gallon of distilled water for myself. Hunger was starting to set in after one day of water only, and my sense of smell had been heightened to where every barbecue place or taco stand that I rode past, I could really smell.

And, then, there at a bus stop was a white Styrofoam container, opened to reveal half of some kind of wrap. It had been severed cleanly in half -no bite marks- and was bone colored and glazed with some kind of melted cheese or spread on butter, and was heavy; probably 2 pounds; and still warm.
The Saint's vs. Raiders game had taken place earlier that day and the Quarter was flooded with Raiders fans, many of whom probably wanted to sample the famous food here, and whose eyes, in the case of at least this one person, were bigger than their stomach.

I tore off a corner of the thing and sampled it. I knew that, by doing this, I would kind of ruin it for the next person who might walk up in a state of famine and, discovering that it had been torn into, might pass upon eating it, despite their hunger, But then I remembered that, when I was a drunk who would spend all his money on beer, I would have just scarfed the thing down; holding it by the part that someone had apparently touched, and eating around it.

And, besides, who else in NOLA had had only juice and water the past couple days; and I was able to walk away from it. I did fear that the one little sample that I had bitten off would make its way to my brain through my bloodstream, and I would rush back there to finish it after buying Harold's cat food, but it didn't happen.

It was some kind of chicken vegetable rice mushroom green pepper cheese mayo and special sauce kind of creation, that would have filled me up and was especially delicious in my state of famish; but eating it would have been diametrically counter to what I was trying to achieve with the water only fast, and would have erased 2 days of it; with the only benefit having been what I had saved money-wise on 2 days worth of food. I walked away from it before it could hear my stomach growling.
I went home and watched Snow White, the very first (1952) full-length animated movie ever made. I have about 20 Disney titles (on VHS) and might as well watch them in order.

I know that I have seen Snow White before, and suspect that I was about 3 years old, because it was "familiar," yet not familiar. "Know" what I mean? I certainly knew most of the music...

Note to self:

"Whistle While You Work," or the other dwarf song would be alright busking numbers....

I felt great. I could calmly sit and absorb the entertainment of the feature, as I noticed that the stress was already receding from my muscles, and all I have to do is go out and make a couple bucks busking tonight (Monday) and I will be alright; as I wait to see what kind of job I might land. 
There had been people around the Lilly Pad, when I rode past after the Patriots game had ended, but, of course I had left my gear at home, so that I could get in to the casino in the first place.
It probably cost me about 30 bucks to watch the game, as the Raiders fans fit the profile of the tipping type of tourists; them not being just day trippers from nearby towns...

Money Matters

Gay Backlash??

My post Southern Decadence Festival rant, denigrating homosexuals may have been ill advised, as it only later occurred to me that I busk in the gay part of the Quarter, and that the residents around me, if not gay are at least sympathetic to them and, who knows, I may have had some courtesies extended to me for being perceived (with my long hair) as even being gay.
I don't know if having one penny thrown into my tip jar on a few separate occasions recently is some kind of communique. Some people have mentioned seeing things on this blog whom I never would have thought read it; but I suppose it is easy to include it in a feed of some sort of "all things NOLA," usually skimming through but sometimes reading further when something catches the eye; such as a diatribe on gay's being skimmed by a gay person.

I hope I am not run out of town. I stand by the truthfulness of the post in relating that the Decadence group was the worst tipping group I have ever encountered; and if they were typical of people everywhere, there is no way I would have ever gotten into busking. And that they all have "quirks" in their personalities, to say the least...


alex carter said...

I think you get an effect when you get "too many" people trooping around, whether it's gays or what have you. I've tried playing by the arena when a big Sharks hockey game was going to go on, and let me tell you, the people going to the game had no interest in tipping a busker. Another busker I know hangs out until the game is over and then apparently the tips are good. Then, the people have gone to the game, spent what they're going to spend on overpriced beer, and are feeling good. Mission accomplished and all that.

Daniel McKenna said...

7 or 8 bucks from the people on the way in to the Superdome, 35 to 50 from them on the way out has been my experience. I think the gays are so selfish that it is preposterous to them to even think about tipping a busker (he should pay to watch me dance in front of him, type of attitude)...

alex carter said...

Well, I've not been there when Decadence is going on so I can't say.

As for the Amy Winehouse t-shirt, I'm the same age as you and I'm not really clear who or what Amy Winehouse is, except I think she died from some kind of overdose? I could probably pick her out in a line-up consisting of her, John Wayne, Erne and Bert from Sesame Street, and Ronald Reagan. Probably. Someone coming up to me with a t-shirt on with a vague human face on it (male? female?) and waggling it, would have me sending security "the look" immediately.

If you get the bike messenger job, will it make you have to pay rent for your apartment? And will you lose your food stamps? In my experience, if you're a white male and you make anything at all, your food stamps will go down to $10 a month and they can demand you pay back what they gave you retroactively. It's pretty damn scary. Between that and the hoops you have to jump through, and the "churning" where they kick you off 'em then put you back on then kick you off again .... to me it's just not worth it. When I stopped communicating with them, I had something like $600 on my food stamp card and I think I burned it. The money looks tempting but having to pay it back, with interest, or go to jail does not. I consider panhandling practically a noble occupation compared to getting food stamps. "We'll feed you; just put your neck in this noose here....". So be careful in taking any employment that has any kind of a paper trail, at all.