So far the first two people who have expressed their interests in crashing on my couch for "a few days" have reneged, for one reason or another.
The latest, having decided that he was going to go to Georgia, rather than hang around New Orleans, to look for work.
He said that he had worked here a couple years, post hurricane Katrina, and had enjoyed the experience so much that he wanted to repeat it.
The climate has changed here since the time after the storm, apparently.
Another potential renter, I have been having text conversations with, and have gotten so far as to have told him that, if he paid me the money up front, I would let him crash for 15 bucks a night. This matches the price of the hostel around the corner on what I would deem better accommodations, as here the kitchen and bathroom only need to be shared with one other person.
I might as well do this before I have acquired anything of real value that might be stolen. I suppose that, close to Mardi Gras season, I can increase my asking price. I can always go to spend a few days with Howard on the other side of the river, and, before I know it I will have the place to myself again and will hopefully have the cash to help turn it into a studio again.
I really want to totally redo most of the recordings that I have in the sidebar of this blog, for instance. Being long removed from the process lets me hear them with fresh ears. I really need to work on capturing the live sound of just myself playing like I do on the street and, only then, adorn it with extra voices, instruments, etc. and not set out to make it a big production from the start. I can understand how Paul McCartney hated "The Long And Winding Road," after he had heard what George Martin and Co. had done to the simple piano and vocal arrangement that he had submitted.
An Excuse To Scrub
The whole renting the couch situation gives me an excuse to do the wholesale cleaning of the apartment that I have been intending to do, but have been putting off.
I have had a spotless kitchen while having a ring of soap scum around the tub, or a shiny sterilized tub and spotless kitchen, but a sticky floor around Harold the cat's feeding area, or everything else clean but the rugs needing vacuuming, etc.
It's funny how the prospect of admitting a stranger into my space has fed certain insecurities in me, and I find myself contemplating pulling certain drawings of mine down off the wall, or of rearranging the furniture to make the couch more prominent in the decor. I even open the kitchen cabinets and envision some random person staring at the two large canisters of oatmeal, thinking: "What's with all the oatmeal, what's this guy, a fiber nut?"
The books on my shelf will paint a portrait of me, not necessarily accurate because a lot of times I will find a box of books and take them all and wind up keeping some that I had no desire of reading, but didn't just want to throw away.
The 20 Disney videos stacked up against a wall could make someone think that he was renting a couch from a real "rated G" kind of guy; I can't help thinking as I look around my place with regard to having a guest....