Harmonica Here

The harmonica came in very undramatic fashion, 6 days after I was notified that it had shipped and would be here "in 2 to 3 days."

It was sitting on the desk in front of the security guard, whom I was approaching to ask if my jump drive had been turned in. It hadn't. But the package was here.
Tee Time
I had just gotten a text from my friend Ben Lambie in Massachusetts.

He has sent a few tee shirts to me, which, he was told would be here in about 7 days. A Patriots one, and a couple of "rock band" ones.

Given that Alex in California has just sent me some art supplies, it seems that my horoscope should read: "You will be showered with gifts from diverse places..."

Teeth Time

Having been rained out of busking the past couple days, and, not in consequence of because I could have been up all night doing other things, have been getting to sleep and waking up much earlier than "normal."

I decided to knock out one of the nagging things that I had been procrastinating over; namely the dental appointment that I missed.

I checked the address online and then started pedaling that way, hoping that they didn't close at 4 'o clock, because that was the time that I started.

They were open, it was the LSU dental school related place. The lady told me that the appointment that I had missed was for a "consultation" over a root canal. She said that it involved my front teeth. Then she mentioned money a couple times, told me that they didn't take any "private insurance," went on to say that the card that I showed her was private insurance, and then I left.
I left without probing her with further money questions.

She had said that x-rays were to be taken and then I would consult with the endodontist.
I couldn't help scoring a couple brownie points with the middle aged black woman who had regarded me suspiciously when I had first walked up.

"She'll be able to answer any other questions I have?" I asked.

She smiled and answered in the affirmative, and I could pretty much tell by the timing of the smile that it was a reaction to my having applied a feminine appellation to the oral surgeon, without my having met him or her.

I figure that, if they are going to do x-rays and she hadn't told me to arrive bearing any certain amount of cash to pay for them, then I am going to be billed for the consultation.

This made me wonder how much dental work they will go ahead and do while sending off bills to a somewhat underachieving street musician. Will I eventually have a nice smile that will disappear from my face as soon as I think about the 7 grand that I owe the LSU dental school place?

Or, will the LSU people eventually report the account as being in default and be reimbursed for the balance out of some kind of educational fund, should I fall way behind on the payments? Is that basically the only way poor people can get dental work done, other than waiting until teeth become abscessed and arriving at the emergency room in that state to have them pulled, and to repeat that process, leaving each time with a parting gift of Oxycontin, until the teeth are all gone, and the only further care that is needed is a cheap set of dentures?

I guess what a dentist is to wealthy people is like what O.J. Simpson's lawyers were to him; while I will have a public defender working on my mouth...

Then, I hit the Walgreen's to see if I could straighten out my "bonus points" situation. They have the wrong zip code in the computer for me, or my phone number, or something and I can never use my available bonus points, and they are up over 5 bucks by now.

The Sacred Heart Quartet

The cabaret is under way...

Then, I got back to Sacred Heart a little late for chorus practice, but I joined them anyways. All 3 of them.

Yes, there are now 3 people in the Sacred Heart Chorus, besides myself.

It was a fight or flee situation for me. Part of me thought that I was going to have to bring it hard and put as much into the music as I could, but I found it almost impossible to do that.

As soon as I got there, "Bongo," another resident who is a man in his 50's whose fingernails are painted purple and who goes out into the Quarter looking very much like a peacock, was playing a Liza Minnelli song through his phone and portable speaker.

It was a version of "All That Jazz," and, though it sounded like Liza was singing her heart out, it was depressing to me. All I could think was that either Bongo was being self indulgent and somehow suggesting that the chorus do such a song for our Christmas concert in a couple weeks; or what? I didn't ask why the whole chorus was sitting and listening to a live show tune sung by the daughter of Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, and Bongo along with her. I just sunk into despair, confusion and ultimately, melancholy.

We sang "Silent Night," and "Joy To The World." I could feel a coldness from the other chorus members. My spotty attendance of previous practices, coupled with the total lack of enthusiasm that I felt for singing those two numbers, probably had them thinking: "If you don't want to sing, why show up?" But, for me to just get up and leave and take a quarter of the chorus with me seemed almost mean spirited.

I believe in trying to make something better. Next practice (the one right before our "recital" somewhere) if I go, I'll bring my guitar and at least be able to pick a key to put everybody in. Right now, we just pick a pitch and then go with it. It isn't until a voice cracks somewhere in the middle of a song that we realize we should have begun lower.

Why Liza Minelli? Why?

That's all I have to say about Sacred Heart Chorus practice this evening.

It's pretty cold, and I have no money and it is 9 PM and about time for me to go out to busk, if I am. Bongo gave me a hit of his medicinal weed after practice, after inviting me to his apartment to give me a few tee shirts which he had offered me a while ago, now.

They were all in bright, peacock colors, but that kind of goes with the theme of the day, getting free tee shirts, I guess. That was the first time I had smoked in a couple days, and I'm really not liking the feeling it is giving me. It's a feeling like getting to the Lilly Pad will involve a chilling ride across a desolate wind-swept wasteland, for a night that will have me concluding: "I could have stayed in the warm apartment and made nothing at all." I guess I'm going to have to quit that stuff, too?