Sunday, January 29, 2017

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...

1 comment:

alex carter said...

Bill Gates was never in any type of squalor. He was from a wealthy family, that's how he got to play with computers at age 11 or 12. Hardly anyone had a computer terminal in their house when he was a kid. That got him well ahead of the pack, and what helped even more is he was expected to become a corporate lawyer making millions a year. A Gates could shoot someone in the town square in Redmond, WA and no one would say a peep. Except maybe how rude it was of the victim to inconvenience a Gates. Well, Bill got into computers because they were fun, and started making little operating systems for the micro-computers that were coming out at the time like the MITS Altair. Gates actually moved out to New Mexico to be closer to the MITS company, and he already had employees, at something like the age of 17.

He did tend to do things like skip meals, but no more than any other college student studying something that's going to make them millions of dollars.