Back From Shopping

Wow.

Having decided to stay in on this Tuesday night, I seem to have made some progress by using the word "refurbished" in my searches for laptops for sale.

This "hp" to the left is actually on sale for $129.

It is refurbished and is regularly more like $229.

I could buy one of these right now and still have over a hundred bucks on my card.

By the way, a lot of paths took me to ebay when surfing for refurbished laptops.

There is a company called Newegg whose ads keep popping up in response to my searches.

The fact that I seem to have found laptops that are being sold at half of their "retail" prices almost makes me want to spend as much money as I can, using even the 40 dollars that Rose and Ed are going to give me in less than an hour, in order to use that leverage to get the most computer. I have to remind myself of how arbitrary a figure the MSRP is on anything.
"It's only worth what someone is willing to pay for it," as my dad used to say.

There are Dell "Latitude" E6420 Core i5...need I say more...laptops that are tantalizingly priced right around the amount that would wipe me out. And, I'm almost out of toothpaste and toilet paper...

And would have me spending a lot of time in the coming weeks playing with it, rather than busking...
I would be putting on hold such things that I want for my business, such as a new and better spotlight, and perhaps a battery recharging kit, and of course strings and harmonicas and a capo...a method book, perhaps. Things that seem to make 187 dollar nights come somewhat more frequently...

I have a feeling that the deals that I found online today are not going to evaporate overnight.

I could just about replace my burned out laptop with a refurbished version of itself for about 200 bucks. That might be the happy medium. I would still have about 100 left over.

I would like to soak in a tub full of lavender bath salts and weigh the decision. I can take the cost of the salts out of the hundred that I would save if I went that route...

If I had to buy a laptop right this second, I would get the Dell Latitude to the right, which is 222 dollars and change, and is a lesser Latitude than the ones that they want 300 bucks for.

That would still leave me money for a music method book, new harmonica, strings, antenna for the TV, cheap vacuum cleaner.

I plan upon taking the hard drive out of the Latitude as soon as it arrives, and then popping in one from out of my old fried laptop.

I am hoping that it will boot up and think that it is the old laptop.

And not complain that its hardware has been changed.

I'm going to think seriously tonight about sending off for the $222 machine...maybe waiting only until I have the money from Rose and Ed in my hand...

On Hold

$2 Monday
How To Spend?

Very rarely have I ever concluded at the end of a night that I probably shouldn't have bothered going out. I think there was just one other time besides last night.

I think I will take tonight (Tuesday) off.

Monday, I knocked off around midnight, went to the Quartermaster for coffee, cat food and a Reese's dark chocolate peanut butter cup, which are kind of like substitutes for harder drugs for me, recently.

I have never eaten more than one of them at a time, though. They are very useful in taming the acidity often found in the Quartermaster coffee.

I should have stayed in, to meditate upon how I am going to deal with the almost 300 dollars that I will have at my disposal in less than 8 hours when Rose and Ed cap off my pile of cash with 40 bucks.

There are ways that I could spend the money, of course, so that its impact will be the greatest, and this would mean trying to "invest" it.

I could have made another 20 off of loaning cash to Rose and Ed as, they called this morning to reassure me that the 40 bucks was guaranteed (in less than 7 hours now) and that they would be willing to borrow another 20 and then pay me back a total of 80 bucks after midnight, tonight.

I guess it was a mistake to have put all but 5 dollars of the 100 dollar tip that I got on my plastic card. 

I was doing it to protect myself, mainly against being tempted to spend it on weed, should a deal that I couldn't refuse come along ("you can have the rest of this for just 25 bucks, I'm flying out of here in another hour and I don't want to take it with me, but I don't want to just give it away...") and against being robbed of it, should someone be able to fell me with a well placed paint ball shot.

But, had I put another 20 in a jar in the kitchen on the second shelf near the refrigerator, behind the big bag of pinto beans; I could have doubled it in a span of less than 24 hours. D' oh!

Obviously, the opportunity to buy an almost 300 dollar laptop, hasn't presented itself in so long that it seems an almost no-brainer that, getting that "once every couple years" purchase out of the way would be wise.

It would be an investment, and would conceivably pay for itself indirectly. From...

The More Far Fetched...

I can shoot videos on the thing, and put them "out there" on Youtube.

This would be like planting the scriptural mustard seed; Some country artist contacts me about his wanting to record one of my originals, which he does and it's a big hit...

Some other artist comes across one and wants to collaborate and we become the next Hall and Oates...

One of them goes "viral" for any reason... 

I can get a job, working at home on the thing, like my neighbor does, or like Travis, the guy who crashed at my place for 10 days, did. Travis spoke at length about how well suited the job was to his lifestyle, and how much money he made doing it; but said nothing at all about "How does a buddy, who rented a couch to you, get a job like that?"

The More Practical

I can burn CD's on the thing, assuming this one has a functional disc disc drive, unlike my last one, and actually have them in a box next to me as I play, for sale at a price which I will determine after objectively listening to the thing all the way through upon its completion.

I can use the Audacity application to slow down music, in order to learn it; playing along with Mississippi John Hurt at half his speed, at first, for example.

The recordings can benefit from the portability of the laptop and the Snowball microphone, allowing me to take the studio to where there might be a piano, interesting natural acoustics, or an abandoned car somewhere that would make an excellent vocal booth for nailing down a screaming part like "I Want You (she's so heavy)," by The Beatles.

The laptop would go excellently with the Starbucks gift cards that The Lidgley's of London have sent, allowing me to sit in there with a strong black brew and the thing on the table in front of me.

I could get a cheap printer, in order to print out music studies, saving me the cost of sending away for "technique" books, and to be able to print out pictures that I might want to make drawings off of, which could ultimately be sold along with the CD's in the box next to me.

Etc., etc. I don't think I have to further belabor the point that a laptop is almost a prerequisite for participating in this great big thing that we call society.

A better writer, musician and artist, it can help make me. And, if at some point I get a wi-fi connection in my apartment, then the sky's the limit, as I might figure out a way to make a fortune online...

The Whimsical

It will just make a great (and I hate to use the word) pastime.

I will very much enjoy my trips to Starbucks with it;  whether I'm reading a Dicken's novel off of it; working on my Perl program that automatically formats the text for this blog on it, or playing "Mr. Curious" on it, Googling from one thing to another, until I wind up following a scuba diver with a waterproof webcam on his head, through the Great Barrier Reef, or watching a video on do it yourself sound dampening for the apartment dweller/musician.

I just need to be patient and well informed, and look for a "refurbished" machine, from some dealer that at least makes pretenses at being reputable; something that would be twice as much new, as what I can afford now.

When you think of it; every single person on the road right now is driving a used car, right?

Sunday Busking 101

• I Am Shot With Paint Balls On Bike Trail
• 101 Dollar Sunday Some Comfort
• Harold the Cat Returns After Day Away

I was relatively early on my journey into the Quarter Sunday night.

I had put $164 bucks on my prepaid card the night before and was going out, hoping for any amount of cash to help stave off my having having to spend any of that.

Since Sunday at the Lilly Pad can be busy earlier than on other nights, it was only about 9:15 as I set out on the bike trail.

I was hoping that one of the auto dealer conventioneers, who might have visited Lafitt's Blacksmith Shop Tavern on Thursday or Friday, but not tipped me, and had then went and done other things on the other nights, none of which giving him as much satisfaction as his visit to the oldest bar in America, would be returning to it, and upon arriving, would have his memory of the good time he had refreshed at the sight of it, and seeing "everything the same," right down to myself in the same spot, playing, would give me a generous tip.

I'm always very careful when I ride the bike trail, making sure that nobody (no matter how much it appears that they hadn't even seen me coming and weren't even paying attention to me) would come within a proximity to me where, with a sudden dash at me, they might be able to lay a hand on me.

As I approached the bend in the trail which wraps around a basketball court, I saw 3 young black men getting out of a car which was parked in the corner of a lot, where it might look like they had put it in order to be as close as possible to the court.

They were headed towards it, and were going to have to cross the bike trail to get there. I increased my speed enough to make sure that, unless one of them was that Bolt guy who ran in the olympics, and unless he can run just as fast wearing boots and a trench coat, I was going to be able to skirt them. They were conspicuously not paying attention to me, which had put me on alert.

And the fact that they even moved towards the bike trail right as I was coming along, instead of having waited at the car until I had passed, just to save me the consternation engendered by seeing 3 black teenagers, apparently about to cross the bike trail to play basketball in trench coats and boots.
As I made my closest approach to them, they did indeed make a charge in my direction, stopping about 10 feet short of the bike path, before I could pass them.

The first one, the one in front, a tall, skinny not very dark black kid, pulled what turned out to be an automatic paint ball gun out and fired at me, striking me in the side of the face (see photo).

From the angle suggested by the bruise, and the fact that yellow paint wound up coating the inside of my right eyeglass lens, I would say that he fired after I had passed him and was moving in an away direction. This might have been what kept me from falling off the bike.

I then felt some considerably less forceful projectiles from the guns that the other 2 had produced, hitting me.

Other than the ball that hit me in the side of the face and one more, I believe from the same guy with the most powerful gun, which hit me in the calf hard enough that I wondered if it might not have been a small caliber bullet, I mostly escaped injury. I hadn't expected weapons though, and had to admit that, they would have probably killed me if they were "real guns."

101 Dollar Sunday

If someone were to have told me, on my way out to get shot and then play at the Lilly Pad, that only 2 people were going to tip me that night, would I still have gone out?

Of course I would have; suspecting trick question all the way.

I played for almost 2 hours Sunday night, and made 101 bucks.

This was after having stopped at the Quartermaster, where my story made headlines, and where one of the guys who works there helped me wash the blood off my face and put a band-aid on it.

And then, it was a clean cut, well dressed guy who sat and listened to me basically enjoying myself, like someone who had 172 dollars on his cash card, and who had just cheated death might.

I had started my tip jar out with 2 fake 100 dollar bills.

When the guy dropped something (or I thought he did) in the jar, I said "thank you," and kept playing.

When I stopped and leaned forward to see just what he dropped in there, I had to laugh, he hadn't put anything at all in there. There was just the 3 fake 100 bills that I had started off with...

But, wait. I had only started out with 2. One of them was real. The bandage on my face only briefly came up in the conversation, so I didn't feel like I had gotten it as a sympathy tip. That would make me a bandage skeezer; they're some of the worst.

Three days ago, I calculated that I had only made $110 the past 7 days. Now I have made $350 in the past 7 days.

Now, it is Monday night. I have a strong urge to go out and busk more.

I might have close to 300 bucks at such a time that Rose and Ed pay me back the 40 on Wednesday.

There seem to be 3 categories of expenditures that are competing for the money.

A Laptop

A laptop would give me a veritable Swiss Army knife, and I really should get one while I have the money.

It would be a word processor, video camera, recording studio, and would allow me to put a lot more energy into this blog. If I get a wi-fi connection, then I could basically sit in my room with the power of the worldwide web at my fingertips; able to post music videos to Youtube right from my apartment. Hard to imagine that this is all going to be ancient and obsolete technology in say, 25 years...

The Apartment

I could use:

• Bath salts
• New woofer
• vacuum cleaner
• cleaning agents
• potting soil
• blender

My Business

• There is a spotlight for 20 bucks at the Walgreen's that has a beam adjustable from a spotlight to a floodlight, and it puts out some ridiculous amount of lumens, made possible by cutting edge lighting technology.
• Batteries for the current spotlight that has to be shaken and/or whacked before it will come on.
• Guitar strings
• Harmonica
• Guitar capo
• A small amp/mic combo, to boost vocals and put a bit of reverberation on them?

The idea now is to take my mind off of spending money by going out to try to make more on this Monday night.

The Ebb And Flow Of It All

$8 Saturday Follows "Fourth Best" Night
Harold The Cat Missing, 12 Hours Now

I had dallied past the 10 PM closing time of the Family Dollar down the street, where I wanted to put most of the money that I had left over from the 187 dollar Friday night on my prepaid card.

I had stopped to see my friend in building C, Bobby, who is in the process of buying musical equipment, and who has been inviting me to test drive his new stuff, like the Yamaha guitar (one of the best models that they make) plugged into the "Acoustic" amplifier (tailored for the task of reproducing crystal clear acoustic guitar tones, comes with no "distortion" button at all).

He is a recovering heroin addict, who takes methadone in the pill form, and somehow gets very high grade pot, which he prefers to smoke in fat joints. The weed being "25 times stronger than the weed in the 60's" all I can picture is him holding a joint 25 times larger than the one in his hand.

He is also a Vietnam Veteran. I guess he kind of a "poster boy" of a Sacred Heart resident.
He does have that annoying habit of repeating stories that he has already told, though. I've heard some of them three times now.

And, after I left there in a puff of smoke, I wasted time at the apartment in the usual ways, making coffee, picking on the guitar, deciding which clothes to wear out and how to layer them, etc.

After a phone call to make sure they would do it, I went straight to the CVS on Canal near the Quarter and put 164 bucks on the prepaid card, keeping 5 dollars in cash, in order to maintain my regular lifestyle, without any noticeable glitches from having had one good night. No need to spend money "celebrating" having gotten it. No need to splurge. No $3 cans of "Paul Newman" brand cat food for Harold the cat.

There was a time when I was living more "hand to mouth," when I would often have less than 10 bucks on me, and no weed, and not too many, if any cigarettes, when I rode into the Quarter at night.
I would locate David the water jug player, who is a very good broker of small amounts of weed.
The 20 dollar a gram guy's are catering to the tourists, charging what has to be pretty much an international rate in this present day one world economy. David is skilled in the art of things like buying the half smoked joint that's in the guy's mouth at the time, at an agreed upon price.

I had already gotten some bud, and was in a generous enough mood that I actually looked around for David, intending to smoke him up before I headed out to play. I didn't see him within the few blocks where he spends his entire existence (like the king snake that lives its whole life within a 30 foot radius from where it was hatched). A glance at the big clock on Canal Street revealed it to be approaching 11 PM.

I stopped for cigarettes and then went to the Lilly Pad where I made only enough to pay for them in a couple hours of playing. There was a bit of interest from people, but they were the types that had spent all their money on LSD and wanted to sit and listen and watch the tiposaurus melt under the spotlight into a green pool at the bottom of my tip jar, making the jar smile.
I called Saturday the "ebb" night, to counterbalance the "flow" of the previous one.

I could get root canals done on my front teeth with the money I have, I thought. That could pay off way down the line, when I have an opportunity to make a "real" video, because my front teeth are ready for prime time? Everything is Youtube now, and within a few years, people will be able to fix the teeth in their videos by clicking on that particular "video enhancement" button.

Or I could look for a laptop.

That would certainly occupy me in the near future. It's almost not a good idea to get a laptop with Mardi Gras on the horizon, because I could see myself staying in to play with it, when I could be out making money.

Or I could get bath salts, a cheap little vacuum cleaner, potting soil, an antenna for the TV; a bunch of little things for the house...

I thought about the stories I'd heard about Bill Gates -how he would be sitting in squalor, wearing smelly sweat suits with his hair overgrown, with a pile of empty microwave dinner boxes by him; working away, hour after hour on his project. He would have bought the laptop and put the floor waxing project on the back burner...

An amp small enough to fit in my backpack along with a decent mic, that could boost my vocals just a bit, so I wouldn't have to use any half singing-half just yelling vocal tones.

Harold the cat did not come in when I rang for him early this morning...

200 Minutes Of Entertainment

$187 Friday

It was 2:51 when I looked at my phone as I packed up at the Lilly Pad after having what would amount to a 187 dollar outing.

I had left my new friend Bobby's apartment, telling him against his mild misgivings, that I was indeed on my way out to play on this 49 degree Friday night. "I'll be happy with 41 dollars," I said; adjusting my customary low expectations for inflation.

I'm not sure why that figure popped into my head, probably because I was thinking that it would perhaps be just a couple of individuals, albeit with 20 dollars tips, who would make up the bulk of my workload, on such a cold night.

Cold outside temperatures can be a mild impediment to ambition.

I certainly wanted to get there earlier than the 11:30 that I had arrived on Thursday night, to make 2 dollars in the next hour and a half. Friday night should be busier and the activity should continue well into the morning, I thought to myself as the opportunity to do continued to shrink as time slipped by.

I seem to recall, just a few years ago, remarking to myself that every night of the week was like a Friday here, in that regard. I think my best money night ever at the Lilly Pad, was a Tuesday
I was waiting only for my clothes to come out of the dryer at 9:30, and figured I could be at the Lilly Pad and playing within an hour of that.

I ate some butter beans in tomato sauce.

My clothes came out damp.

It was my own fault. I had left the dryer (which I never use, because stuff hung in the apartment takes only an average of 10 hours to dry) on the "medium" setting that whomever had used it before me had left it on.

I surmised that this might have been done, by someone familiar with the machine, for a reason such as the high setting being so high as to scorch and singe and shrink clothing. In a building where the showers range from "barely cool enough to get under, if you first stand outside the stream of water and spread it over your skin to numb it some" to "scalding," this was not a far stretch.

But, on a night that was 49 degrees and on its way to 43, the clothes came out damp and gave me pause to think about cancelling the whole busking endeavor.

I had about 30 bucks on my plastic card, a dollar in cash and another forty coming in 5 days from Rose.

I decided that I was going to go out, if to do nothing more than take whatever presented itself.

Third Or Fourth Best Night Ever

I sat down and was just tuning the guitar and smoking the tuning bit of weed when up walked a kind of rolly-polly bespectacled guy in his early twenties.

He was looking for weed.

He said he was from a place in Ohio that was nothing but farmland, didn't even have a "center of town" kind of place, was "nothing but cows," and that he had decided not to try to bring any weed with him on the flight from there.

Then he reminded me that there is some kind of auto dealer's convention in town, by telling me that he was some kind of auto dealer. How he managed to sell vehicles to cows, I didn't press him upon. He left me 20 dollars after I had shared my tuning up bowl with him.

Then, soon, another guy threw 20 bucks, after I had finished the next song.

I had started my jar off with one of my own dollars and so, there sat the jar in front of me with exactly 41 dollars in it, as I played and my thoughts meandered to my having told my new friend Bobby that I would be happy with that amount. It crossed my mind that I might not make any more money and that soon the temperature will have dropped to a point where I decide to knock off and return home with the 41 dollars.

But then, another guy came along, not too tall and with a light jacket over a button up shirt and with a spiked type haircut, and asked if he could sit and listen.

I played and we talked in between, he handed me a 20 at one point, which I pocketed.

He turned out to be Troy, from Canada (which explained the light jacket and his apparent comfort with sitting down on a brick step) who was another auto dealer tourist.

After talking about a range of things for a while, there was still not a song that had come to my mind that I thought he would like.

He had complicated things by asking me if I played anything by the Canadian (I'll take his word for it) band called "Tragically Hip."

This led to me admitting that I hadn't heard of them, but then I added that their name was interesting, and pointed out Elvis Costello's use of the term as part of a description of Elvis Presley, in his song: "Town Cryer."

"Others use the splendor of their trembling lip;
They're so teddy bear tender and tragically hip." -Declan McManus (Elvis Costello)

"I'm pretty sure that it is a play upon the fact that Presley (the pelvis) was originally filmed in a way that wouldn't reveal his hips, was notorious for them, and that he was kind of a "hip" guy who came to a kind of tragic end," I told Troy, from Canada, who said that enjoyed the insight and stored that particular lyric on his phone.

 Coffee Helper

Somehow there was enough of a segue into one of my original songs, after I took an educated guess at which one of mine might call to mind the band Tragically Hip the most.

I played "Crazy About A Crazy Girl," a few more people stopping to listen during it and tipping and, to make a long story short, I had hit a certain nail on the head with the song, it became apparent after Troy told me that he had a daughter of about the age of the girl in my song and that he was reminded  of her through it.

"I'm that millionaire," he said, referring to the father of the girl in my song, as he apparently emptied his wallet of its remaining cash. "Here's a hundred and twenty five," he said, handing me that amount, and thanking me wholeheartedly for having let him hang out. The Neil Young stuff that I was playing in order to appeal to his Canadian sensibilities had been bringing in other tips.

All told, it was a $187 night, which is the third or fourth highest amount that I have made at the Lilly Pad.

All kinds of distractions combined in a way that I had arrived at the exact time; 11:30 PM; that I had been trying to beat. But, I played for 3 hours and 20 minutes.

That is about $56/hr. Unless you average in all the previous hours and 2 dollar nights....

I still went to the same store and bought a 77 cent can of cat food, and a $1.14 dark chocolate Reese's to tame the coffee, which I'm still glad that Michelle the cashier brews every night, even if needs a bit of coffee helper. And then I rode home.

Now it is Saturday evening, I need to keep the pedal to the metal. I'm going to throw most of my money onto my prepaid card, reserving for myself only the amount that I would typically have on me after a typical night without millionaires showing up.

I also need to not let the temperature (the same as last night) keep me from going out, because there are tourists out there from places that by comparison make this weather seem only "a little brisk, but really nice," to them.

Americus Domesticus

• 49 Degrees
• 2 Dollar Thursday
• Out Friday Night For Fun And Cat Food

Last night there were only 2 dollars and change to be made, playing from 11:30 PM until about 12:30 AM at the Lilly Pad.

When I left, there were tourists walking past at the rate of about one every 5 minutes.

It was about 49 degrees out.

Busking being, to a degree, a numbers game i.e. if 200 people* walk past, it is likely that the-guy-that-throws-a-20-dollar-bill will be among them, I knocked off, choosing not to gamble upon catching lightning in a bottle (someone throwing a large tip in order to compensate me for the very absence of others) and to save my strings and spotlight batteries for a night when the traffic rate is more like one tourist every 20 seconds.

*The 200 tourist figure is based upon the music that I actually play. Other musician's odds may vary.

It is Friday evening and 49 degrees outside, forecast to drop another 5 degrees or so overnight. This would be in a range of from 5 to 10 degrees above the lowest temperature that I have discovered that I can play at, which is 38 degrees Fahrenheit.

I was inebriated when I played under that condition, which deadened some of the stinging in the fingertips caused by the cold strings, and I was enduring the remaining pain in the name of getting more drunk. I can remember having to wear gloves on my hands to ride my bike to the playing spot.

Thursday night, I had ridden into the Quarter with the mantra: "something is better than nothing" in my head.

Tonight, I might go with: "You're not going to make a dime sitting in your living room; that's for damned sure."

Now, I need to go find my gloves...

Synchronicity

Rose Owes

I had just mentioned Bette Midler in yesterday's post, when referring to examples of movies that are on the "59 cent VHS" shelf at the Goodwill Store on Tulane Ave...

Past Due

Then, right after posting that, I lent Rose 20 bucks...

Then, after knocking off from busking that night, I walked past one particular bar, out of which can  often be heard the strains of people singing karaoke, and heard someone inside singing "The Rose," by Bette Midler. Mere coincidence?

Or did it portend Rose going into default upon the loan, as, at the time of this writing, that is the case?

"It's the one who won't be taken; who cannot seem to give..." -from "The Rose,' by Bette Midler

Consecutive $23 Nights

I made 23 bucks.

There came a 10 dollar tip when I thought I was jamming pretty good, and a 5 at another such time. And there were other stretches when I thought I was jamming pretty good for the trash can 15 feet away.
 
I had basically accomplished my goal of getting the money that I lent Rose back into my pocket. The result would be the same as if  I had made nothing, but returned home to find the money had been slid under my door. 

Plus, it gave me emotional insurance against developing any feelings of disaffection for her, if she somehow didn't come through. I wasn't allowing my fortunes to be contingent upon her being paid promptly by this third party, whose apartment she cleaned.

I just remind myself that, in the winter (these days before Rose and Ed get their check) far beneath the killing frost; lies the seed (their pending cash disbursement) that with the sun's love; in the spring (next Wednesday) becomes the rose (my f***ing money).
   
So, I put on just about every available layer of shirt and sweatshirt and jacket upon jacket and went out into the 55 degree air, which had been forecast to become 40 degree air "by morning." A strong, cold wind was headed our way and was going to chill things off through the weekend. I peeled these layers down to one tee shirt once I got warmed up playing, and only put about half of it all back on before heading home. The temperature had probably dropped about 10 degrees over the 3 hours that I was out.

It's 54 degrees now, and I will most likely go out and repeat last night, hopefully being at least as productive. The idea is to pile up some money and then meditate upon how to use it, later.

All I need to make the TV that Howard gave me work is a 12 dollar antenna, which I guess will be one that is optimized for the gigahertz frequency range that the new-fangled sets pick up. It will also double as a pretty decent FM radio receptor, I believe.

TV Listings

That would give me access to "network" channels, but not "cable" ones.

One of the 2 dollars that I spent yesterday was on a newspaper, with the intention of looking at a section that I have been skipping past for most of my life: the TV Listings section.

I have determined, after perusing that section that it would be indeed worthwhile to spend 14 bucks on an antenna, as I discovered more than what looked like garbage in the listings. There is one station that airs back to back episodes of Seinfeld in a certain time slot each night, another one that shows a movie every night with tonight's offering being "Tootsie," the Dustin Hoffman movie from 1980. They put a rating of 4 and a half stars (out of 5) on it.

Plus, there is enough history and science and nature material to keep me from becoming a zombie who sits on a couch and watches suspect after suspect after suspect being apprehended and brought to justice.

I'll cough up the 14 bucks for an antenna soon; just not in time for Tootsie. I've gone 21 years without a TV set, and have had 37 years to catch the Hoffman flick, but never did, so I'm not going to rush out and get something that could potentially turn me into a soft couch potato.

427 (CDXXVII)

The other dollar was on a Louisiana Pick 3 ticket for the number "427" which has been a "favorite" number of mine for years and which has not been the winning Pick 3 number since December 2, 2009. The odds are that it should have come up 2.6 times since then.

The number is overdue, and it a matter of interest at The Unique Grocery on Royal Street where I buy a ticket almost nightly, since the Ethiopian cashiers who work there have seen me playing that same number every night for almost a year now, and I have informed them about the over seven years that it has been since it came up. Some of them have started to play it themselves.

Loan Update

I was just asked by Rose if I would defer the paying back of the loan of 20 dollars, giving her and Ed an extension until next Wednesday. She promised to pay me back 40 dollars at that time.

I immediately agreed to the deal, as a 100% return on investment is rarely achieved, even by the professionals on Wall Street.

She said "things didn't work out as I expected" about the apartment cleaning job.

Rising From The Ashes

$8 Monday
$23 Tuesday (As Dow Reaches Milestone)
Usury Practiced Upon Rose And Ed

I had gotten a call, Tuesday evening from Rose, who wanted to borrow 25 bucks and pay me back 30 on Thursday.

I had woken up with 8 dollars, left over from Monday; and was on my way to spend most of that as soon as I hung up; but told her that if (against odds) I were to make 25 "extra" dollars that night, I would be able to loan it to her when I got back. She needed it for some kind of anti-depressant medication, along with one for "back pain."

And, I had gotten a text from David the water jug player, who had gotten the guitar string that I laid across his bag as he slept at the trolley stop, not wanting to wake him and have to lie, in telling him that I had no weed, as an inquiry about such would surely be some of the first words out of his mouth, as soon as he shook off his vodka slumber. I had just had an 8 dollar Monday night, and was being kind of tight.

David has, in the past, become upset with me when I had told him that I indeed had weed, but that I was saving it for later, had already smoked and so it would be a waste, at least on my end, or that the amount I had was so small that it wouldn't be enough for two people.

He has the "immediate gratification" mentality, of which I had a lot more when I drank.
I had run into him Sunday night, bearing what turned out to be the wrong string for what his guitar needed.

He had greeted me in his more-often-than-not way, using some variant of: "Hey, Daniel! How's it going? Please tell me you have some weed!" I had some bud that I planned upon smoking as I tuned up my guitar at the Lilly Pad, so that any reverie that I consequently fell into would be a musical one that could net me some tip money, rather than leading me to become lost in a conversation with David.

The way that he seemed to pair his salutation with the weed request made me feel, as it usually does, like he has a Pavlovian response to me as a weed source. And, more often than not, if I pull my box of cigarettes out while in his company, his mouth will open to form the words: "Let me get one of those," before I have even opened the box. That seems to be a reflex of his also, lately.

I, of course, have been doing "better" in the past year or so since I quit drinking. He has seen me acquire a bike and nicer clothes, and heard me playing newer harmonicas and fresher guitar strings and playing them better than when I relied more upon drunken enthusiasm, in lieu of deep musical insight, to get me through.

So, Sunday, I showed up reluctantly, almost wishing that I hadn't promised him that I would bring him a string, put it on his guitar (which used to be mine, so I understand it's idiosyncrasies) tune it up, and then witness what I would see as unremitting gall in his persisting to try to get me to throw in a bowl of my weed, and go through my cigarettes double time while in his presence.
 
For his part, he thinks that, given certain advantages, i.e. a free apartment and food stamps, there is no excuse for me not being loaded down with weed, and in a position to share it with my friends.

And, the fact that I now have a bike that is saving me $2.50 every single day on trolley fares, only bolsters his position. He doesn't seem to realize that the bike represents a milestone in my "recovery" from alcoholism, not only for the fact that the money that I paid for it was money that had avoided the cash register at the beer store, plus the fact that, at the time it was offered for sale to me, I had thrown all the money in my pocket into the deal, not having balked at the thought that it wouldn't leave me any drinking money; and that would totally ruin the whole night.

To David, the better I seem to be doing, the bigger the shame in me not greeting him with "Hey, Rasta (as that is his nickname), How are you doing? Do you wanna smoke a bowl?!?"

He has complained in the past about the fact that he has to ask me, and that I don't just light it up and pass it to him upon seeing him.

So, I guess the real seat of my anger is in that I'm under the power of substances like weed and tobacco, and I guess it seems to bother me, seeing it manifested so blatantly as in hearing David's pleas for it, immediately upon seeing me; as if that was the first and most important matter for us to dispose of.

Then, I considered a night recently when I was headed towards the Lilly Pad, and I had no weed. It promised to be a slow night and the thought came to me that, if I at least had weed to smoke, I could sit there and amuse myself even if nobody walked by, and there would be an increased likelihood of some other stoner throwing me a good tip as I noodled around with stoner music (almost anything from the late 60's).

So, I had made a detour to try to find David, with the sole intention of giving him the "Hey, David, how's it going? Do you have any weed?" I felt that that was reasonable, since that would alter the record to about 10% of the time that it is me who asks him, rather than what happens upon the other 90% of our encounters. But, that time he had given me a little pin joint, of what turned out to be a very kind bud, and I had went out and had a good night busking. Of course, he had gotten it given to him by the guy to whom I had basically brought Travis, and the 90 bucks a week he spends on bud, to; but it's the thought that counts.

So, I was ready to pack a bowl, after having had to rig his guitar up in a very unorthodox manner so that the wrong string that I had brought could be brought into play. I put a very strange tuning on it, which was going to pose quite a challenge to him, and I felt kind of upset about that.

But, before I could do that, I pulled my cigarettes out, and he went into auto-skeeze mode, asking for one immediately.

He smokes cigars, because they are cheap, still have nicotine in them, and their proportions are such that one cigar equals about 5 cigarettes in volume of tobacco. They just aren't as good as cigarettes and aren't even intended to be a replacement for them. But David works within his budget, using whatever he has left over after his nightly vodka purchase. And, he claims that he prefers cigars over cigarettes (unless the cigarettes are free?) just as he prefers vodka over beer. So, this made me feel like he was being an opportunist, at my expense.

I gave him the cigarette, without saying a word, and was soon on my way, having chosen not to smoke him up. All it would have taken was for him to ask for one more thing, and I probably would have given him a piece of my mind. I had just had an 8 dollar night, after all.

All of this, I was stewing over Tuesday night, as I rode down Canal Street, with the right string on me, as well as a pretty good sack of weed, and an almost full pack of cigarettes.

I could hear other voices in my head, like my mother: "Just tell him you don't have any, and that's that! If he gets upset than he's not really your friend..."

And I thought about other people who had relationships with people that they had to kind of perpetually con. People who change out of their work uniforms before going home so that they won't be skeezed along the way because they are obviously working (unlike the skeezer, who doesn't have that advantage) comes to mind.

Then I thought that I was just going to break away from the guy.

When he had skeezed the cigarette the night before, he had hastily added: "Um, if you're not broke..." and I couldn't help thinking that I heard a slight tone of mockery, as in the way someone asking some millionaire for small change might, more facetiously in that case, add "If you can afford it..."

If hanging out with David was going to put me through these mental gymnastics and I have to be on guard and wondering if he is using me, then the "friendship" wasn't worth it, I was concluding.

Consistently, when he and I are hanging out and there are other random black people around, he seems to raise his voice, as if to let the other black guys in on a little inside humor. "Yeah, that's how you gotta play the white guy, you flatter him, thank him profusely and loudly for everything...make him feel like he's one of the few white people cool enough that you enjoy his company...he's doing a good job over there; now watch how quickly he gets the white boy to pass him a bowl and then give him a cigarette..."

So, I was going to ride up. He was probably going to "Please tell me you got some weed!" me. I was going to lie. Then I would put the string on the guitar and tune it up correctly, and then try to get the hell out of there, losing maybe one cigarette, total.

Then, I got to the intersection of Royal and Canal streets and saw a group of 3 young traveling kid types, one of whom was carrying a guitar that looked a lot like David's.

The closer I got to them, the more it did. It had stickers on its soundboard just like his ...did David have a sun and moon sticker on his?... And, it was nicked and scraped in such a way that as I changed my course to ride behind them, I was sure that some little traveling kid skeezer had snatched it up, perhaps when David had fallen asleep.

I was sizing up the kid, smaller than me, and preparing to encounter him with: "What are you doing with David's (I wished I had remembered his last name for some reason, as if that may have made the person he stole from sound more important) guitar?"

I was surprised to find that adrenaline was rushing through my veins and I was ready to become hostile...over David's beat up guitar.

I had just opened my mouth to say something to the kid when I noticed that it wasn't missing the string that I had in my pocket to replace, and then started to notice other differences.

I averted a potentially embarrassing situation by one second.

Sitting there on my bike, preparing to cross over and get back on my course, I was again surprised to feel that my blood was like ice in my veins, and that I had been ready to fight.

My phone rang as I was crossing Canal. I saw David standing in his regular spot, holding his phone to his ear.

"Is your phone ringing?" as I pulled up.

"Yeah, I knew it was you, I could see you dialing..."

David said that the string had already been replaced, by some kid who came by who had a guitar just like his "same color and everything..."

He then passed me a lit joint, which I hit a couple times while tuning his guitar "...he didn't know how to tune, though..."

So, David the water jug player redeemed himself. Again.

I then went and played and got a 20 dollar bill and a couple singles as tips in about an hour and a half.
I got back home and left Rose a message that she could come and borrow the 20 dollars (today) and can pay me back 25 dollars tomorrow.

And, here it is Wednesday night. It would be nice to make some good cash and then have the 25 bucks thrown on top of it in the morning. I've got 34 bucks on my plastic card and a dollar and change in my pocket.

They have been reliable in the past as far as paying me back, being apparently in the habit of tackling their debts off the top of whatever money they get each month for being depressed and having aching backs.

The only thing that makes me wary a bit is that Rose told me that the pain in her back was from her having cleaned an apartment (thoroughly: "You know how much of a perfectionist I am.") for which work she said she will be paid Thursday; that is, if whomever apartment it was is as reliable as Rose and Ed have been.

A Visit With Howard

• $15 Saturday
• Football At Howard's

"We get paid the most and hit the least (after punters)"

"This no longer seems like a practical way to make a living.." I thought to myself as I packed up my stuff after playing Saturday night for what amounted to 5 dollars an hour.

$15 Million Sunday (right)

Strings and harmonicas and spotlight batteries, batteries for the guitar tuner etc., could be calculated as costing me a couple bucks each night that I go out and play, whether or not I make anything.

I suppose the 2 dollar energy drink and the 2 dollar joint that I smoke can be considered business expenses, although they would be consumed on a night off, also.

Football Championship Sunday

I woke up with just about all of 15 bucks on my table. It was Sunday and the football games were to be later in the evening.
 
I rode to the corner, got an energy drink and a pack of cigarettes, pedaled to the ferry, paid 2 bucks to ride across the river, and then arrived at Howard's to watch football with 5 dollars left in my pocket. He had a Monster Energy drink, waiting in his fridge for me.

Howard has bought a new TV, which measures 32 inches across "the 40 inch one is too big for this room," and is going to give his old 20 something inch one to me tomorrow, when he comes here, hoping to talk to Tim, my caseworker.

I will then have a semi-modern flat screen high definition TV with no way to make it work, instead of the small and medium sized TVs that I found sitting near the dumpster and took, just out of a hoarding instinct.

I could give those away or sell them cheap, but, I think even the most inveterate skeezer here has at least a flat screen TV, even if it is the lowest, bottom end, skeeziest flat screen made.

The End Of A Curse?

The largest one I own, bought from Rose and Ed for 40 dollars, still sits there with a picture of Donald Trump taped over its black screen.

As soon as I had agreed to pay R and E that amount, I entered something like a 3 week stretch of making less than 20 bucks a night, with a good amount of 7 and 8 dollar nights in there.

It was like the TV was a curse, and a lesson to me to be very wary of having any dealings at all with other residents here. There had been a couple nights that I took off to watch movies, rather than busk, looking at the TV instead of being out there paying for it, but it turned out to be a bad time to buy a TV on an installment plan.

I had only a VCR and mostly Disney videos, and whatever I could find on the Goodwill's "59 cent video cassette" shelf. The picture quality wasn't great. It was hard to see who wrote or performed a particular song in the movie, due to the blurriness of the fine print in the credits, for example.

Plus, the Goodwill bargain shelf is rarely replenished through fresh donations of VHS movies, and by my third trip there, the same copies of "Beaches" (The Bette Midler flick) and the rest of the still uninteresting looking movies that I had already seen (there) were staring back at me.

That kind of nixes the idea of investing in another VCR, even at the typical 8 dollar Goodwill price on those antiques.

At one point, Berta, one of the housemates of Howard, brought in freshly made pizza, which I couldn't turn down after being told that they had searched high and wide for pizza without "partially hydrogenated soybean oil" being listed in the ingredients.

I especially had to eat it as, I could guess from Howard's face that he probably preferred whatever his "regular" pizza is, and was making an allowance for my partially hydrogenated soy oil issue. I didn't want his efforts "the Pizza Hut* people; they didn't seem to know what the hell I was talking about!" to go to waste.

*Pizza Hut pizzas are swimming in that lowest prices commercially produced cooking oil. I used to have to smear the insides of the pans with it, using a paint brush, put to that task, when I worked there. Dominos, ditto.

A TV In Every Home

Howard's TV is just going to sit in my apartment, awaiting such a time that he gets a wi-fi hot point of some kind in his house, when he said he will give me the converter box that he is currently using.

That is behind the assumption that he is going to be able to switch to using the Internet to watch TV, in a way that he won't need the box any more.

A Favorite of Howard's

I'm not sure if that will be the case.

I think whomever installs a box in his house that will put out the wi-fi "signal," will also bring another one that will plug into that box, which will unscramble the 275, or so, channels, and send them to his new 32 inch flatscreen TV.

They will probably "bundle" the services so that, for an extra 20 bucks a month, he "might as well" get all those channels, bringing his bill to "just $59.99 per month," or something; plus whatever they can get him to spring for by dangling the carrots of "on demand" stuff in front of him "...Oh, wow, that's the only Kirk Douglas movie I haven't seen!!"

But, I think I will wind up having to buy my own converter box. In time for the Stanley Cup Playoffs...perhaps, if I hurry.
...haven't seen them since 1972...I think I read somewhere that Bobby Orr retired...

I'm not in any real hurry, having not had a TV in 25 years.. Plus, I would need an antenna to go with it.

It's Time To Busk

I suppose I am going out on this Monday night, to try to follow up the 15 dollar Saturday with whatever a slightly cooler (55 degree) Monday night might yield. It's already (9:16 PM) time to get going on that.

Howard will be here, bright and early tomorrow morning, to drop off the TV

What Are You Doing Sitting On The Computer On A Saturday Night?

• A Myth Debunked
• Hoping Saturday Compensates For 30 Dollar Friday

I have returned from a local circuit with a can of "indoor" style cat food for Harold. Here I would like to point out an irony, which Harold illustrates nicely.

"Indoor" cat food is formulated with green things that a cat might eat while outdoors mixed in, giving it that grass flavor that housebound cats have no access to.

Since Harold spends so much time outdoors, one would think that I could skip getting the indoor formula; he has plenty of access to grass and whatever other greens might be out there.

But, the truth is that Harold just may love it outside so much just for the grass and the greens that are out there. One might surmise this upon seeing the gusto with which he inhales any of the "indoor" cat food formulas, with "garden greens" mixed in. So people, especially those of you reading this after the year 3000; just because a cat is not an indoor cat doesn't mean that he won't love food for indoor cats.

I picked up a 5 dollar bud of weed after having put 20 dollars on my prepaid card (the minimum) and then turned around and spent 2 something off of it in the same session.

The balance on it is $45.05 now.

I have just seen an article online, after searching for "phones that have the best audio recording quality," and found, among their top 10 picks, some of which cost as much as a mid range laptop, was a phone which I later found for sale at 84 dollars.

It has high quality stereo mics and a very fast "bitrate," sure to capture everything that a human ear would...

Of course, then I would be stuck using a mirror to shoot any videos, so that my mouth can be 9 inches from the high quality mic while my guitar is more like 24 inches, and the video will be more than my face from 9 inches away; I can appear further (distance from camera to mirror plus distance from self to mirror) away.

But, the truth is, I'm going to eventually want to load the videos into a computer and run some kind of editing software on it; adding hand claps or what have you to the music, and maybe even inserting other video clips into it so that it might show me in my room, playing and singing, reflected off a mirror, and then go to, I don't know, some stock footage from the Jim Jones massacre, anything to give it more meaning... a shot of a seagull floating in the air, during the harmonica solo...

Audio multi-tracking, built in effects, even drums...

I could actually record all the music, just with the audio studio, and then shoot a video of myself lip syncing along with it and playing air guitar, and then put the two together; they will surely run in exact step with one another...and it will sound like my voice was in top form that day and I was nailing every note on the guitar, even though I was playing it like it was nothing at all. And that the song was comparing this chick I once met to a seagull.

But, right now there is a break in the clouds and it should not rain again over the next 5 hours or so.
This gives me that amount of time to go out and busk.

I need to push myself out there, fight for my spot, try to come up with something more interesting on the A major harmonica than I did last night, and hopefully make some more money so I can visit Howard to watch football tomorrow in style; maybe even bearing the gift of a bag some kind of snack food; maybe try to broaden him by introducing him to Smartfood Cheddar flavor or something. Perhaps it might steer him towards a more healthy diet, should he like them enough to replace Cheetoz with them...

The Great Pumpkin

• 30 Dollar Friday
• Pumpkin Loaf (new creation)

Friday night, I made 30 bucks but, just like sports games where it is deemed that "the game was closer than the score would indicate," it felt like a pretty dismal night. It was a 20 dollar bill from one random person, that had kept me from having a 10 dollar night on almost 3 hours of playing.

It comes by the can, not very expensive at all, probably because it isn't really sweet, but rather fibrous, with a taste somewhere between squash and eggplant.

I acquired my very first ever can of "pumpkin" recently, at the dollar store. I was thinking that I would use it in my meatless meatloaf, or my turkey meatloaf which is the former with ground turkey added.

Pumpkin would perhaps make a good substitute for the juicer pulp that is called for in the recipe, my gut told me.

Then, I was visiting my caseworker, Tim, in his office, a couple days later, who led me to a box of sundry food items that had accumulated inside it, having first been donated through some agency, and then eschewed by residents whom, I guess, knew that they were never going to eat whatever it was. There was a can of pumpkin there.

Of course there was a can of pumpkin there (it isn't very sweet and has a taste somewhere between a squash and an eggplant).

It was sharing space with a 3 pound bag of oatmeal, an equally copius bag of nutritious, but still unpopular, lentils; and lots of canned vegetables which aren't eaten here, I think, because there is nobody here to force them upon us; we being adults now.  Either green beans or sweet peas could be the flagship vegetable of that group.

I feel pretty good this morning after having used a whole can of pumpkin, mashed in with the oats, ground beef and all the other ingredients of the loaf, minus juicer pulp.

Pumpkin actually has protein in it, I was surprised to learn. I am also keeping alive the "fiber craze" that exploded in the late 80's, about 5 years after I had already adjusted my personal diet to a very fiber rich one, using instinct alone.

It looks like a busking night, despite the original forecast being for rain throughout this weekend. The radar shows it to be pretty clear around us, at least right now. It is possible, though, for a light misty rain to be falling without it showing up as green on the wunderground© weather map (above).

I stepped out into 75 degree temperatures with a light breeze and partly cloudy overhead. I made a note to myself to appreciate it as being "that 20 degree day in January when you wish you could snap your fingers and it would become 75 degrees and pleasant." It's that day, today.

I'm going to put 20 bucks on my card, maybe get a 5 dollar bud of weed, a can of cat food, gallon of spring water, and probably feed my addiction to Monster "Absolute Zero" energy drinks, before coming back here.

I'm still hesitant about getting more blank CD's to load music in the key of the new harp onto.

Whatever camcorder or tablet I wind up getting to record on will most likely have the capacity to have music stored on it and played back, which would allow me to circumvent the skip prone, impossible to erase and re-write over, CDs that are only 6 bucks for a box of 10.

The Oscar Schmidt guitar is up and running, with the new bridge pins holding the strings in place, and plays very well. It would be good enough to busk with for certain. It has a slightly wider and flatter neck than my Takamine, which makes certain things easier to play. And the sound of it is a little brighter.

My Consumer Confidence Dips

I've stopped trying to get up early (i.e. after less than 7 hours of sleep).

It often seems like I might be able to do so as I lay down, still brimming with enthusiasm for whatever I might have been working on before trying to sleep; feeling that it will have me hopping out of bed like a rabbit, after just a cat nap of 5 hours or so, to get right back at it.

Backup guitar to become functional

Harmonica And Pins Arrive

The harmonica in the key of A has arrived. I need to break it in gently at the apartment. I am debating fiercely over whether or not to get a pack of blank CDs for 6 dollars that I can burn music in the harmonica key of A onto.

I quickly found a website which divides Neil Young's musical catalogue based upon the key of harmonica that he played on the track.

There were about a dozen songs under the heading of "key of A" harmonica, none of which I believe I am familiar with.

Getting the blank CDs and burning songs like:

Are There Anymore Real Cowboys?

Depression Blues

Find Another Shoulder

Home on the Range

Let It Shine

Midnight on the Bay

Mother Earth

Oh, Lonesome Me

Out on the Weekend

Traces

onto a blank CD, and then sitting in my room and learning at least pieces (choruses and other things that the listener might recognize as belonging to a cool Neil Young song) of any or all of the above songs, which Neil uses basically the same hardware that I now posses to play, would be a smart move for me. But, after a...
  
1 Dollar Thursday

My Second Fiddle

...I have very low consumer confidence.

I made only a dollar at the Lilly Pad, playing from about 10 until about midnight.

There was very light pedestrian traffic; I could count less than a dozen people in the couple blocks down the street with the glances I took every so often, and the ones who were there, seemed to have the knack for walking past me as soon as I stopped to light a cigarette, or had started a song, only to abandon it after changing my mind, but had not chosen an alternate tune yet.

Those are the breaks; I just tell myself that it's better to be playing with feeling, even if you have to wait for that feeling to arrive while tourists who might tip if you were playing, walk past.

First off, the tourists that tip just because you are playing (i.e. doing something) are just a minor subgroup of the tourists that tip just because you are "playing," (i.e. set up and obviously doing so, though not right at that second). There are those that walk over holding money when you are on break and rib you with: "C'mon, you gotta at least pluck a couple notes..."

 it's better to be playing with feeling, even if you have to wait for that feeling to arrive while tourists who might tip if you were playing, walk past.

And the guys who offer 20 dollars if they can play a song on your guitar are actually going to happy to see that you have taken a break and that they won't have to wait indefinitely for an opportunity to pose their request.

But, it boils down to; if the guy plays when he is good and ready, then it is just going to be better for the whole planet, on every level.

But, I have about 34 bucks on my plastic card, the one that I dream of using to buy some kind of recording device, after it has about another 100 on it; and I bristle at the thought of taking 6 dollars off it to get blank CD's that will be an investment in my music business (It's only a matter of time before a hard core Neil Young fan comes along and is reduced to tears by my rendition of "Mother Earth," with the harmonica notes in place, and tips me 50 bucks, as much to profess his adoration of Neil publicly i.e. in front of the friends he is with; as a statement of his identity; as any other reason) but the purchase of which comes during a personal economic depression of sorts.

But, part of me wants to sit on the 34 bucks that I have, seeing at least if it is going to grow on this Friday night with a brand new harp in the key of A in play, though just not playing any songs from deep within Neil Young's catalogue.

We are between the raindrops, for now...

Plus, if I'm going to buy cigarettes and cat food and an energy drink, yikes, another 6 bucks is going to go right to my jugular...

But, then again, playing a new harp on a Friday night, with an energy drink by my side (sugar free so it won't gum the harmonica up) plenty of smokes, weed and new strings and knowing that one of Harold's favorite flavors is in my bag; portends well.

Well, I don't have time to burn the music and learn the songs now; it's about 5:30 PM and my gig starts in 4 hours...