It is Monday morning, July 17th.
I realized last night that I have recently fallen out of the habit of going online at least once every other day.
Part of this is from the dread that I feel in leaving my apartment for the Sacred Heart computer room, which is an annex of the "hanging around out front trying to bum stuff off people" set.
Another part, I would have to guess, is because I've been using kratom as my "morning cup of coffee." After my last 30 dollar busking night (almost a week ago, now) I went and bought an ounce of the stuff, saving a ton of money on 3 dollar shots for the next few days. More on that later.
The Roots Of The Dread
The computer room has pretty much a regular set of characters, having been boiled down to those who like computers yet don't own one.
There is one guy who plays chess against the computer, usually drunk and often yelling things like: "I got you; where you gonna go now, huh, where you gonna go now?!?" at the machine, for example.
There would be some resentment directed at me over my owning a laptop, with some of them probably actually believing that I brought it out just to show it off, or to make myself seem smarter. There are just people who believe that everything done by others is directed at them. I think it is called schizophrenia.
But mostly, I would see figures appear in my peripheral vision, and look up just in time to see them checking the reflex of opening their mouths to beg, as scowls supplant their panhandling expressions; along with the recognition that I am someone who doesn't give away things for free at my own expense; and perhaps walking past me shaking their heads in a manner, I suppose, meant to convey disgust over the fact that I don't support them.
For me to sit there and demonstrate that I very well could support them (as evidenced by what they would see as my "expensive" laptop) but that apparently I choose not to, out of selfishness, greed (and especially, racism) -well that just makes them hate myself and all other whites even more.
That's almost enough to bring a nigga' to the boiling point, as drunk as some of them come in at night; to see that I've, once again, positioned myself and my laptop in a room that they would have to walk past, just to remind them that I have nice things because I'm white; and that they don't. That would be pretty egregious of me, and a great length to go to, just to put the black man down, whose only joy is getting intoxicated nightly.
One of these days, one of them is going to grab that laptop and smash it on the floor, just to take that expression of "superiority" off my face...type of thing.
So, I have been balking at the idea of walking the 250 feet to plug in and go on line, lately, and so the blog posts have slowed to almost a halt.
There is most likely a kratom connection, too.
At first, the stuff seemed to help spawn creativity, making it easier to accomplish things like writing for 12 hours non-stop; playing the guitar with machine-like precision; producing visual art, etc.
But now, I'm starting to think that that facility comes at the expense of having emotions blunted, so that I'm not driven as much by a sense of wonder and purpose and connection to my fellow man, but more by a cold work ethic, and a belief in the cause and effect of; I play music and if people like it they tip me -there is no god, I'm not fulfilling my destiny; not doing what I've been put on earth to do, not expressing love, and there is no greater purpose. All that stuff is a pot thinking; I've moved on to kratom, now.
It actually makes me feel more like I envision Tanya Huang to be.
She used to play stuff that would have people in tears, but when informed that it had been a very "heartfelt" rendition that she had just delivered herself of, she would shrug and say something like "I was just trying to get through it so I could get back to my sandwich," or something to that effect.
Whereas, I could have my whole night made by a person who complements one of my songs.
But now that some of the "emotional" aspect of music has been shunted, I am turning my thoughts towards perhaps playing with that very personage in the near future.
I plan upon calling Dorise to see if she might not even lend me some of the gear that she used to use when they played together.
A lot will most-likely depend upon the nature of their break up, and would Dorise be willing to help Tanya (and of course myself) out in that way.
The crowds around Tanya alone seem to be roughly a third of what the duo usually attracted.
I'm not pretentious enough to consider myself a replacement for Dorise, but it is possible that Tanya playing along with any other human being would be better than the "karaoke" style that she is doing now, with backup tracks.
One concern I have though, is raised by the choice of music that she is using as her backup tracks. It's not T&D material at all; tending more towards classical and other high-minded "world" music. That also has something to do with the thinner crowds around her.
The question would be, would she even want to do a couple sets with me of the Eagles, ABBA, Beatles and Carol King type of stuff which fills tip jars, faster than the Phillip Glass* stuff that she's doing now, or does she see her break from Dorise as an emancipation from ever having to play Hotel California again as long as she lives?
*I use Phillip Glass as a generic term to represent any music that one can ascertain, at a cerebral level, to be very good music, very well composed and played by very good musicians, but that one still doesn't like much.
The couple of minutes of Phil's music that I heard in 1989 had me thinking: "This is 'that' kind of music." People often seem compelled to volunteer information, such as: "He wrote the entire score himself" to go with such music.
"He was the youngest person to ever graduate from Julliard," -anything to make you give it a closer listen; now that you know that it is you, and not Phillip Glass, who isn't up to speed.
35 Dollar Saturday
Saturday night, I made about 35 bucks in about 2 hours of playing. There was a 20 dollar tip in there, otherwise; it could have been just another "scraping by" amount of money.
Scraping by means being put in a position where I have to choose amongst which unnecessary and harmful things to buy, and which ones to skimp on..
As an alcoholic, it used to be a simple matter of the alcohol coming first, and everything else being acquired using the special powers that the alcohol will endow; like those which give a man the ability to boldly pick ashtrays and pull unfinished drinks from trash bins, while not caving in to any "societal" pressure imparted by anyone who might witness it and evince revulsion over his actions.
"There's perfectly good tobacco here (someone tried to light the wrong end and then tossed it in the ashtray after realizing his mistake) but these people have too much pride to reach over and avail themselves to it," says the alcoholic.
This goes too for the bagging up of scraps of fillet mignon from the trash can outside some 5 star steak joint, where the butcher/chefs inside hastily hack off the lion's share of the precious meat, trying to keep up with the pace of their late dinner rush, and wind up tossing a few pounds (or a couple $40 steaks worth) of it over the course of a night.
Someone might drive by, shaking their heads at this disgusting homeless guy, who is going to dine on flame broiled fillet mignon, on their way home to heat up some leftover macaroni and cheese.
I'm sure I blogged about this, but one time there were a couple of 20 dollar bills on the sidewalk, practically at the feet of a group of 4 or 5 very well dressed people. None of them deigned to bend down and pick it up. It was as if they all saw it as some kind of test to see which one of them might betray themselves as being low born enough to do so.
And if the "money" had turned out to be fake, as part of a religious tract, then the person might have sabotaged a daughter's chances of marrying into the (insert prestigious name here) family all for nothing; well; except a nice prayer that they can recite. I imagined they feared becoming the target of a comment such as: "Did you see Frank scavenging off the sidewalk? God; I always wondered about Frank..."
So, that time, I picked up the 40 dollars without any of them even pretending to notice the sidewalk scavenger.
6 Dollar Sunday
I believed Sunday (July 9th) that, if I bought an ounce of kratom for 16 bucks, then I could go without cigarettes ($8/day) and weed ($5/day) and even energy drinks ($4/day) and so, that is what I did. The stuff is used by people trying to kick heroin, after all.
Plus, I would become a more productive "machine" as far as busking and writing and recording and drawing and other hobbies are concerned.
It's hard to think of what the highlight of Saturday, July 8th, 2017 might be...let me ponder and come back
....
....
I stayed up, after coming in Friday night, with 17 bucks, working a bit on XML programming (pretty soon I will be able to hand tweak this blog's "template," which is currently one of the ones that Blogger makes available to Joe Blow, the blogger, to give his blog a cool look. Someone else's cool look.
Since there are a limited number of cool looks offered, applying any one of them has the side effect of making the blog look like a lot of other blogs. It's the "rented tux" of the blogosphere.
I knew just enough "CSS" ten years ago, that I was able to go in and alter most of the default settings, enough to give my blog a bit of individuality.
I'm pretty sure that I am going to gravitate towards some day having my own "domain" and hosting my blog via a paid service, for maybe 50 bucks a year.
This would allow me to have a blog that would present the visitor with an animated page that would cycle through a mini video while perhaps a "Street Musician Daniel," theme plays, while it loads in the background.
The trouble with that arrangement is that it would be hard to get the server to continue to publish posts over the next 8 thousand years, like Blogger is scheduled to do; if the 50 bucks per year stops being remitted.
At least with Blogger, I have the opportunity to become a celebrity, hundreds of years from now, after it becomes known that I continue to post from beyond the grave. I have even included Nostradamus type of predictions that will pop up every thousand years or so.
Of course, I'm not naive enough to think that I will be the only dead person who will have a blog; I'm sure there will be competition.
Almost every other idea that I have thought up; someone else has put into practice. Like putting out blog posts a thousand years from now.
Tuesday evening
An Amazing Thing
I was just at the Family Dollar, where I discovered that my green card balance is somehow 6 cents.
But, my friend, Lancaster from building C had just bought a new set of D'Adario strings, which are a "premium" string, costing about 40 percent more than the garden variety ones, and he didn't like them. He gave them to me.
So, I went to Family Dollar to spent 3 bucks on dish washing liquid, cat food and batteries for my spotlight, when I learned that the balance was 6 cents.
But then, one of the employees there covered it for me.
I am in there almost every day, but, since the store is in a kind of ghetto location, the employees have to put up a front of being short tempered and ready to be rude as the situation warrants; and it was surprising.
Written Wednesday, July 12th
Skeezers are bad tonight.
One black guy from our building (who never talks to me unless to ask for something) was on the corner near the building and wanted me to stop and let him use my phone.
He said it was "just to call my girlfriend to see if her phone is on," or something which I assumed was a lie.
I don't like letting people use my phone, because:
It's just more trouble than it's worth to let someone use your phone, anymore.
And what is it "worth?," a "Thanks, man, 'preciate it," after he hands the thing back 10 minutes later, after the "couple minutes" have finally passed?
Plus, if I was his only hope of being able to make a phone call, than that say's something...
Wednesday, 2 AM, July 12th
I went out yesterday, and made about 5 bucks on what has become too typical a Tuesday night.
I went out on the following Wednesday night and made about 7 dollars. I sold a bud that I had paid Lancaster 4 dollars for; for 20 dollars. So now I'm making more as a drug dealer than a busker. Great.
Friday Morning, 8 AM
I didn't busk last night, although I could have.
I had been up all day, and decided to sleep for what amounted to perhaps 7 hours. I woke up at around 1:30 and went out to get Harold the cat, who is usually expecting me around that time.
My bike is parked outside, and that is my biggest concern right now. I had left it there, ready to go out busking on, but, after I fell asleep, it sat out there the whole 7 hours. I don't want to give some skeezer that long to get up his courage to push it out through the front lobby, lifting the back wheel which is locked to the seat; making it impossible to ride, but not to push like a wheelbarrow.
The skeezer would be ready to tell anyone that a friend called and asked him if he, the skeezer, would bring him his bike, which is in the parking lot. The skeezer accidentally mistook mine for his (don't call him a thief).
If a skeezer wakes up shaking from alcohol withdrawals then looks out the window and sees...just a minute; I'm going to go get my bike and bring it inside...
Alternative Money Sources Sought
It is Monday morning, July 17th.
A 6 dollar Sunday was followed by a 5 dollar Monday, and I am faced with crushing up my aluminum cans, turning them in, and then investigating selling my blood plasma for 50 bucks a week, or whatever, and checking CraigsList under the employment section.
I'm playing too well for what I'm getting paid now, that is the bottom line.
I have just realized that I have fallen out of the habit of posting here or even going online at least once every couple days. I could say that I am busy with a bunch of things, though I don't have a bunch of things to show for that fact...
Until I find a new direction or theme for this, it might kind of stagnate. Taking a road trip and then blogging about it would have been fodder for a revitalized blog; but it has been the same old story of wanting to leave here because it is slow, and not being able to come up with the money to do so, for the same reason.
Pretty soon, the season will come where it will start to get cold up north, and I won't want to travel there; and then it will become foolish to think about leaving here because Mardi Gras and all that will be on the horizon.
I have a feeling that next year's Mardi Gras, might make it official that New Orleans has fallen out of favor with world travelers.
I dread going to the Sacred Heart Apartments computer room, and, since my Starbucks money has run out; I don't go there either.
Plus, I haven't been making enough lately to load any on my card, so, I don't even have the enticement of online shopping to get me into the computer room.
Inside Or Bust
I am determined to get into the abandoned "rectory" building that is part of the whole complex here. The plywood covering one particular door which is shielded pretty well from view from almost every angle is only fastened by heavy screws. There is no way of telling if the door behind it is secured tightly, or if the plywood was put up to cover busted out panes of glass. If I can get inside once through that door, then I can possibly find another way in and out, allowing me to seal that one back up.
The optimal situation would be to find a door on the side opposite us and actually put my own lock on it, so that I could let myself in and out using a key, and be able to have my guitar and pack on me as I go in and out.
The people most likely to observe me on that side would be the guests of the India House hostel, and they aren't going to question someone who has a key to the place.
I just need a place where I can record music, without the incessant, un-mutable hiss of the air conditioner/heater in my apartment, and without having to be "considerate" of my neighbors.
I just feel my creativity being stifled in my apartment. I know it's "all" in my head, and part of me thinks that I need to rise up and overcome this phobia? -just belt out my music in a care-free way, and not be "shy" about it, show some audacity, if you will.
But, I think of a singer who was being interviewed by David Letterman, the latter asking him what he did to warm up his voice.
The singer told him that he had a regimen of exercises that he ran through.
Letterman asked him if he would do one.
"No way, absolutely not. You don't want to hear my vocal warm ups, trust me, it's not a pleasant sound!," said the singer, and it was clear that just the thought was making the guy blush.
He offered the information that it was "a series of syllables, vowels and guttural sounds" -different ways of stretching the palate and vocal chords; some of which probably produce sounds like bleating goats, or worse...
So, if the great (whatever his name was) was too shy to run through his vocal exercises on national television; can you blame me for wanting to go into an empty, well closed off building and up to the third floor of which, in order to try to put my voice through its paces?
Not hearing other residents bleeding through my door saying things like: "We don't want to hear that hill-billy shit.." or the occasional thump of a foot against my door, as a way of saying: "You're in there, ignoring us; you should be out here, sharing what you've got; you know, participating in society...you want to shut us out and try to become lost in your music, well, here's a little thump, just to let you know that we know that you know..."
These things are manifestations of the "crab" mentatlity; which I have blogged about.
Part of this is from the dread that I feel in leaving my apartment for the Sacred Heart computer room, which is an annex of the "hanging around out front trying to bum stuff off people" set.
Another part, I would have to guess, is because I've been using kratom as my "morning cup of coffee." After my last 30 dollar busking night (almost a week ago, now) I went and bought an ounce of the stuff, saving a ton of money on 3 dollar shots for the next few days. More on that later.
The Roots Of The Dread
The computer room has pretty much a regular set of characters, having been boiled down to those who like computers yet don't own one.
There is one guy who plays chess against the computer, usually drunk and often yelling things like: "I got you; where you gonna go now, huh, where you gonna go now?!?" at the machine, for example.
There would be some resentment directed at me over my owning a laptop, with some of them probably actually believing that I brought it out just to show it off, or to make myself seem smarter. There are just people who believe that everything done by others is directed at them. I think it is called schizophrenia.
But mostly, I would see figures appear in my peripheral vision, and look up just in time to see them checking the reflex of opening their mouths to beg, as scowls supplant their panhandling expressions; along with the recognition that I am someone who doesn't give away things for free at my own expense; and perhaps walking past me shaking their heads in a manner, I suppose, meant to convey disgust over the fact that I don't support them.
For me to sit there and demonstrate that I very well could support them (as evidenced by what they would see as my "expensive" laptop) but that apparently I choose not to, out of selfishness, greed (and especially, racism) -well that just makes them hate myself and all other whites even more.
That's almost enough to bring a nigga' to the boiling point, as drunk as some of them come in at night; to see that I've, once again, positioned myself and my laptop in a room that they would have to walk past, just to remind them that I have nice things because I'm white; and that they don't. That would be pretty egregious of me, and a great length to go to, just to put the black man down, whose only joy is getting intoxicated nightly.
One of these days, one of them is going to grab that laptop and smash it on the floor, just to take that expression of "superiority" off my face...type of thing.
So, I have been balking at the idea of walking the 250 feet to plug in and go on line, lately, and so the blog posts have slowed to almost a halt.
At first, the stuff seemed to help spawn creativity, making it easier to accomplish things like writing for 12 hours non-stop; playing the guitar with machine-like precision; producing visual art, etc.
But now, I'm starting to think that that facility comes at the expense of having emotions blunted, so that I'm not driven as much by a sense of wonder and purpose and connection to my fellow man, but more by a cold work ethic, and a belief in the cause and effect of; I play music and if people like it they tip me -there is no god, I'm not fulfilling my destiny; not doing what I've been put on earth to do, not expressing love, and there is no greater purpose. All that stuff is a pot thinking; I've moved on to kratom, now.
It actually makes me feel more like I envision Tanya Huang to be.
She used to play stuff that would have people in tears, but when informed that it had been a very "heartfelt" rendition that she had just delivered herself of, she would shrug and say something like "I was just trying to get through it so I could get back to my sandwich," or something to that effect.
Whereas, I could have my whole night made by a person who complements one of my songs.
But now that some of the "emotional" aspect of music has been shunted, I am turning my thoughts towards perhaps playing with that very personage in the near future.
I plan upon calling Dorise to see if she might not even lend me some of the gear that she used to use when they played together.
A lot will most-likely depend upon the nature of their break up, and would Dorise be willing to help Tanya (and of course myself) out in that way.
The crowds around Tanya alone seem to be roughly a third of what the duo usually attracted.
I'm not pretentious enough to consider myself a replacement for Dorise, but it is possible that Tanya playing along with any other human being would be better than the "karaoke" style that she is doing now, with backup tracks.
One concern I have though, is raised by the choice of music that she is using as her backup tracks. It's not T&D material at all; tending more towards classical and other high-minded "world" music. That also has something to do with the thinner crowds around her.
The question would be, would she even want to do a couple sets with me of the Eagles, ABBA, Beatles and Carol King type of stuff which fills tip jars, faster than the Phillip Glass* stuff that she's doing now, or does she see her break from Dorise as an emancipation from ever having to play Hotel California again as long as she lives?
*I use Phillip Glass as a generic term to represent any music that one can ascertain, at a cerebral level, to be very good music, very well composed and played by very good musicians, but that one still doesn't like much.
The couple of minutes of Phil's music that I heard in 1989 had me thinking: "This is 'that' kind of music." People often seem compelled to volunteer information, such as: "He wrote the entire score himself" to go with such music.
"He was the youngest person to ever graduate from Julliard," -anything to make you give it a closer listen; now that you know that it is you, and not Phillip Glass, who isn't up to speed.
35 Dollar Saturday
Saturday night, I made about 35 bucks in about 2 hours of playing. There was a 20 dollar tip in there, otherwise; it could have been just another "scraping by" amount of money.
Scraping by means being put in a position where I have to choose amongst which unnecessary and harmful things to buy, and which ones to skimp on..
As an alcoholic, it used to be a simple matter of the alcohol coming first, and everything else being acquired using the special powers that the alcohol will endow; like those which give a man the ability to boldly pick ashtrays and pull unfinished drinks from trash bins, while not caving in to any "societal" pressure imparted by anyone who might witness it and evince revulsion over his actions.
"There's perfectly good tobacco here (someone tried to light the wrong end and then tossed it in the ashtray after realizing his mistake) but these people have too much pride to reach over and avail themselves to it," says the alcoholic.
This goes too for the bagging up of scraps of fillet mignon from the trash can outside some 5 star steak joint, where the butcher/chefs inside hastily hack off the lion's share of the precious meat, trying to keep up with the pace of their late dinner rush, and wind up tossing a few pounds (or a couple $40 steaks worth) of it over the course of a night.
 |
| The Kratom Bar |
I'm sure I blogged about this, but one time there were a couple of 20 dollar bills on the sidewalk, practically at the feet of a group of 4 or 5 very well dressed people. None of them deigned to bend down and pick it up. It was as if they all saw it as some kind of test to see which one of them might betray themselves as being low born enough to do so.
And if the "money" had turned out to be fake, as part of a religious tract, then the person might have sabotaged a daughter's chances of marrying into the (insert prestigious name here) family all for nothing; well; except a nice prayer that they can recite. I imagined they feared becoming the target of a comment such as: "Did you see Frank scavenging off the sidewalk? God; I always wondered about Frank..."
So, that time, I picked up the 40 dollars without any of them even pretending to notice the sidewalk scavenger.
6 Dollar Sunday
I believed Sunday (July 9th) that, if I bought an ounce of kratom for 16 bucks, then I could go without cigarettes ($8/day) and weed ($5/day) and even energy drinks ($4/day) and so, that is what I did. The stuff is used by people trying to kick heroin, after all.
Plus, I would become a more productive "machine" as far as busking and writing and recording and drawing and other hobbies are concerned.
It's hard to think of what the highlight of Saturday, July 8th, 2017 might be...let me ponder and come back
....
....
I stayed up, after coming in Friday night, with 17 bucks, working a bit on XML programming (pretty soon I will be able to hand tweak this blog's "template," which is currently one of the ones that Blogger makes available to Joe Blow, the blogger, to give his blog a cool look. Someone else's cool look.
Since there are a limited number of cool looks offered, applying any one of them has the side effect of making the blog look like a lot of other blogs. It's the "rented tux" of the blogosphere.
I knew just enough "CSS" ten years ago, that I was able to go in and alter most of the default settings, enough to give my blog a bit of individuality.
I'm pretty sure that I am going to gravitate towards some day having my own "domain" and hosting my blog via a paid service, for maybe 50 bucks a year.
This would allow me to have a blog that would present the visitor with an animated page that would cycle through a mini video while perhaps a "Street Musician Daniel," theme plays, while it loads in the background.
The trouble with that arrangement is that it would be hard to get the server to continue to publish posts over the next 8 thousand years, like Blogger is scheduled to do; if the 50 bucks per year stops being remitted.
 |
| Something Else To Show For The Past Week? |
Of course, I'm not naive enough to think that I will be the only dead person who will have a blog; I'm sure there will be competition.
Almost every other idea that I have thought up; someone else has put into practice. Like putting out blog posts a thousand years from now.
Tuesday evening
An Amazing Thing
I was just at the Family Dollar, where I discovered that my green card balance is somehow 6 cents.
But, my friend, Lancaster from building C had just bought a new set of D'Adario strings, which are a "premium" string, costing about 40 percent more than the garden variety ones, and he didn't like them. He gave them to me.
So, I went to Family Dollar to spent 3 bucks on dish washing liquid, cat food and batteries for my spotlight, when I learned that the balance was 6 cents.
But then, one of the employees there covered it for me.
I am in there almost every day, but, since the store is in a kind of ghetto location, the employees have to put up a front of being short tempered and ready to be rude as the situation warrants; and it was surprising.
Written Wednesday, July 12th
Skeezers are bad tonight.
One black guy from our building (who never talks to me unless to ask for something) was on the corner near the building and wanted me to stop and let him use my phone.
He said it was "just to call my girlfriend to see if her phone is on," or something which I assumed was a lie.
I don't like letting people use my phone, because:
- Whomever they try to call, often calls back and I have to deal with them.
- The caller will often ask questions about who the guy was with, or something that would put me in their business, and will sometimes even want me to leave my apartment to go knock on someone's door to give them a message, or something.
- I would then have the number of a likely drug dealer in my phone, so, after they bust the guy and then search his phone looking for his customers or his source, there I would be.
It's just more trouble than it's worth to let someone use your phone, anymore.
And what is it "worth?," a "Thanks, man, 'preciate it," after he hands the thing back 10 minutes later, after the "couple minutes" have finally passed?
Plus, if I was his only hope of being able to make a phone call, than that say's something...
Wednesday, 2 AM, July 12th
I went out yesterday, and made about 5 bucks on what has become too typical a Tuesday night.
I went out on the following Wednesday night and made about 7 dollars. I sold a bud that I had paid Lancaster 4 dollars for; for 20 dollars. So now I'm making more as a drug dealer than a busker. Great.
Friday Morning, 8 AM
I didn't busk last night, although I could have.
I had been up all day, and decided to sleep for what amounted to perhaps 7 hours. I woke up at around 1:30 and went out to get Harold the cat, who is usually expecting me around that time.
My bike is parked outside, and that is my biggest concern right now. I had left it there, ready to go out busking on, but, after I fell asleep, it sat out there the whole 7 hours. I don't want to give some skeezer that long to get up his courage to push it out through the front lobby, lifting the back wheel which is locked to the seat; making it impossible to ride, but not to push like a wheelbarrow.
The skeezer would be ready to tell anyone that a friend called and asked him if he, the skeezer, would bring him his bike, which is in the parking lot. The skeezer accidentally mistook mine for his (don't call him a thief).
If a skeezer wakes up shaking from alcohol withdrawals then looks out the window and sees...just a minute; I'm going to go get my bike and bring it inside...
Alternative Money Sources Sought
It is Monday morning, July 17th.
A 6 dollar Sunday was followed by a 5 dollar Monday, and I am faced with crushing up my aluminum cans, turning them in, and then investigating selling my blood plasma for 50 bucks a week, or whatever, and checking CraigsList under the employment section.
I'm playing too well for what I'm getting paid now, that is the bottom line.
I have just realized that I have fallen out of the habit of posting here or even going online at least once every couple days. I could say that I am busy with a bunch of things, though I don't have a bunch of things to show for that fact...
Until I find a new direction or theme for this, it might kind of stagnate. Taking a road trip and then blogging about it would have been fodder for a revitalized blog; but it has been the same old story of wanting to leave here because it is slow, and not being able to come up with the money to do so, for the same reason.
Pretty soon, the season will come where it will start to get cold up north, and I won't want to travel there; and then it will become foolish to think about leaving here because Mardi Gras and all that will be on the horizon.
I have a feeling that next year's Mardi Gras, might make it official that New Orleans has fallen out of favor with world travelers.
I dread going to the Sacred Heart Apartments computer room, and, since my Starbucks money has run out; I don't go there either.
Plus, I haven't been making enough lately to load any on my card, so, I don't even have the enticement of online shopping to get me into the computer room.
Inside Or Bust
I am determined to get into the abandoned "rectory" building that is part of the whole complex here. The plywood covering one particular door which is shielded pretty well from view from almost every angle is only fastened by heavy screws. There is no way of telling if the door behind it is secured tightly, or if the plywood was put up to cover busted out panes of glass. If I can get inside once through that door, then I can possibly find another way in and out, allowing me to seal that one back up.
The optimal situation would be to find a door on the side opposite us and actually put my own lock on it, so that I could let myself in and out using a key, and be able to have my guitar and pack on me as I go in and out.
The people most likely to observe me on that side would be the guests of the India House hostel, and they aren't going to question someone who has a key to the place.
I just need a place where I can record music, without the incessant, un-mutable hiss of the air conditioner/heater in my apartment, and without having to be "considerate" of my neighbors.
I just feel my creativity being stifled in my apartment. I know it's "all" in my head, and part of me thinks that I need to rise up and overcome this phobia? -just belt out my music in a care-free way, and not be "shy" about it, show some audacity, if you will.
But, I think of a singer who was being interviewed by David Letterman, the latter asking him what he did to warm up his voice.
The singer told him that he had a regimen of exercises that he ran through.
Letterman asked him if he would do one.
"No way, absolutely not. You don't want to hear my vocal warm ups, trust me, it's not a pleasant sound!," said the singer, and it was clear that just the thought was making the guy blush.
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| One Of My Worst, But Am Short Material |
So, if the great (whatever his name was) was too shy to run through his vocal exercises on national television; can you blame me for wanting to go into an empty, well closed off building and up to the third floor of which, in order to try to put my voice through its paces?
Not hearing other residents bleeding through my door saying things like: "We don't want to hear that hill-billy shit.." or the occasional thump of a foot against my door, as a way of saying: "You're in there, ignoring us; you should be out here, sharing what you've got; you know, participating in society...you want to shut us out and try to become lost in your music, well, here's a little thump, just to let you know that we know that you know..."
These things are manifestations of the "crab" mentatlity; which I have blogged about.
I used to have an interest in moving to, or at least visiting, New Orleans but your blog posts have cured that. Too much hassle on a daily basis.
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