- 20 Dollar Friday
- Travis Pissed Off
- Inspection Of Apartment Monday (25th)
OK, done.
Dear resident, began the form letter, into which had been inserted Travis Blaine on the blank line after, "according to our records," and before "is nearing the end of his allotment of 10 days per month..."
The notice was on the door when Travis and I got to the place last (Friday the 22nd) evening. Travis was visibly perturbed, at me I assume, yet he projected his anger quite transparently, upon his former roommate who had kicked him out of his last place for being "too old" (at 35).
"I can't believe I have to sit out in the heat for a couple hours when I feel like shit, just because some asshole decided I was too old..." he said.
It was arguably I who "made him" sit out in the heat for a couple hours. I must have known that he was suffering and my actions were clearly callous.
Travis texted me right as I was within a couple blocks of the Uxi Duxi, headed there for what would amount to less than 3 hours to have a shot of kratom or two and use their wi-fi to blog.
Kratom Bar ghost (right)I had brought my power cord (a recent innovation) so that I could plug into the wall while inside, and then would have a fully charged battery, should I choose to remove myself to one of the outside tables after the place closed at 8 PM and continue to blog, treating my readers to maybe 5 full hours of well thought out thoughts...
I Do It For You, Dear Reader
"Can you come and let me in, I feel like shit and just want to lie down" said the text.
I suppose if you look at a picture of a grassy knoll long enough, you will see things, but, doesn't it look like a young woman, half shadow/half real, carrying a glass by the handle? With her left booted foot extended? (left)I go to the corner across from The Holy Ground Irish pub, to wait on the trolley, where I might light up a cigarette, just to draw a bum, so I can be sarcastic at him; who might walk over and say "Excuse me.." only to be cut off in the middle of it by:
"I don't give away cigarettes!"
How 'bout that; I've got you all figured out before you even open your mouth...
This enrages some skeezers, who might counter with: "I wasn't going to ask you for a damned cigarette!"
"Really? Do you lie much?"
I realize that this is a manifestation of the anger that I harbor towards myself over not having managed to quit smoking cigarettes, once and for all, yet.
It pisses me off to be constantly plunking down 7 dollars and change for a pack of the things, realizing that some nights I go all the way to the Lilly Pad to sit and play for a couple hours, with the pack of cigarettes and a bus pass being all have to show. And I vent this anger upon skeezers.
Why give away free cigarettes at my expense to someone who didn't do any thing except walk around all day saying: "Excuse me; can I have a cigarette?"
But still, the expense is right at the top of the list along with the possibility of dying of lung cancer, as the main aggravation that comes from being a smoker. Cigarette skeezers are in the top 5.
I then de-trolley near the GNC, where I spend $3.12 on a Creatine Monohydrate
drink, and another 53 cents on a little pouch of "Energy and Metabolism," powder. I told Travis about the packets of powder that are now 2 for 98 cents; 130 calories each with the full spectrum of vitamins, minerals and stuff like saw palmetto, choline and boron. Come to think of it, though; maybe Travis already gets enough "bore on" in his regular diet. *rimshot*
"I heard that those powders aren't good for you," said Travis after I had turned him on to a way to get 260 calories for a dollar, as well as the means to recover from being drained of plasma in short order.
"That's funny, I've heard that living off dollar store cup of soup, washed down with a soda from the machine at Sacred Heart Apartments* was bad for you..."
*the 12 oz. cans are only 85 cents, so Travis holds off on spending $1.09 anywhere else.
This powder, I pour into the Bang creatine drink, which I then use to dilute my shot of kratom."Get rid of the pot plant, make the bed, maybe vacuum the rug; and try to do something about the smell of cat shit from the poor creature that spends its existence going from the windowsill to the food dish to the litter box and then back...(top photo)"
I then sit and work on this blog before going back to the apartment just long enough to grab my guitar and gear and head directly to the Lilly Pad.
It's a routine that I took years to perfect.
This must be a glorious time for Travis the hermit -when he has the whole place to himself until I return at 2 AM or later..
But, here he was texting me because he didn't feel good and he wanted me to drop everything and run back home to let him in, where he would be when I returned; when I might want to record some guitar tracks or run through a new song so that I don't bore myself by playing the same dozen that I do every night.
But, of course, he would then be lying down, feeling miserable and might even have the audacity to ask me: "Dude, could you really not play the guitar now, I've got a splitting headache."
He had enervated me the night before by asking me: "Where did you put the big bag of dry food?"
The implication was that it was "our" big bag of food; even though he had handed it to me, along with the 20 dollars (the only cash that I've seen so far from his now 20 day stay) when he had come to the Uxi Duxi a few days ago.
So, he was, in effect, just making me be the one to tote the big bag of cat food back to the apartment, where it would be used to feed both of our cats. I suppose Harold the cat is still coming out ahead on the deal by getting his half...
I texted him, suggesting that he could call Bobby, in apartment C207, and ask him if he could crash there for a few hours. Bobby's air conditioner works fine and he keeps it about 68 degrees in there and Travis does spend 50 bucks a week on weed with the guy.
"I'm not going to call Bobby, just let me know when you're on your way back," he texted. The poor guy is too socially awkward to ask a favor of anyone.
"You could walk a block up the street and lay down in the park in the shade on the grass; if you feel so bad that you just have to lie down..."
"I walked all the way to Starbucks and their wireless wasn't working; and then to McDonald's where their wireless wasn't working; I'm not going to walk any more!"
I decided that Travis just needed to be a man and suffer through whatever it was.
The reason he walked was because he's too cheap to cough up $1.25 for a trolley ride, plus another quarter for the transfer back home.
He had donated plasma the day before (and gotten $50) and felt weak. So had I.
He hadn't helped his cause much by eating the cheapest junk food from the dollar store; as part of his "recovery effort."
Meanwhile, I had baked fish with broccoli and a can of peas on the side, and then had the creatine drink with the Mega Men vitamin powder added to it; and I feel well enough to be sitting and blogging now, one day later.
I feel guilty sitting on the couch next to him, consuming one of my healthy meals, as he suffers from heartburn 3 feet away. I had opened an Isopure high protein drink that I had gotten from GNC one night. "What is that stuff, anyway? (anywhey?)" he asked.
I told him what it was, and he kind of said "Hmm," in a way that was almost overtly suggesting that I give him a sample of it.
"Yeah, these are almost 4 bucks each, but it's a full day's worth of protein," I said. I hate it when skeezers use the "gee I'd love to try that," line; playing upon people's desire to turn others on to things that they themselves like. "Wow, these are good; I'm gonna have to start buying them!"
"Buying them...right..."
It's not my fault that he got heat stroke from being too cheap to ride the trolley, though he will regularly spend 50 bucks a week on pot; cutting corners everywhere else to facilitate that. And staying stoned 24/7.
He actually brought me the gift of a couple handfuls of sugar packets, all with the McDonald's golden arches on them the other night. It was touching, how thoughtful he had been; and I would never say "You brought me free sugar, big deal!" But, gee, thanks Travis, I think.
I was pretty sure that he wanted to get in the apartment because his weed was in there. He could have just taken a nap in the park, after all. He wanted to shut himself in, get high, and be in his own little world. And wanted me to drop whatever I was doing to come rescue him. I could then return to the Uxi Duxi to resume my day, just 2 hours behind schedule. What are friends for?
Friends are for saying things like: "You know, when I was getting stoned every day, my whole life kind of fell into disarray. I would smoke up and then start working on a poem or something, instead of making it to the food stamp place to straighten out my case, or to make an appointment with the doctor over my stuffed up and ringing ears. My apartment became cluttered and as disorganized as my mind was. It's amazing how, with the mental clarity that came after just 3 or 4 days off the stuff, I just jumped up one morning and cleaned my whole place, did my laundry and then went to the food stamp office where they were able to fix it so I would continue to get food money every month...Plus, it was making me paranoid and socially awkward to the point where I didn't want to go to the laundry room, in case I encountered anyone..."
So, Travis was mad, because I had stayed at the Uxi Duxi all the way up until closing. He didn't say anything as we walked to the apartment.
I was the one who had connected him with Dorise Blackman, his new landlady, whom he had handed hundreds of dollars, earlier that day, before grabbing a bunch of sugar packets from McDonalds (because he had to take care of me, also, I guess).
The notice on the door about my guest having fished his limit of days to stay there was timely. I was almost glad to kick him when he was down by passing it to him. They had him at "8 days." Not bad for a 20 day stint.
"How am I going to go and give plasma feeling this sick?" he lamented.
Where are you going to sleep Sunday through Wednesday (when Dorise said you could move in?) I didn't say.
I feel bad for the guy, because of the mess he has gotten himself into; but; for one thing, he only discovered the plasma place because of me; and now he is already counting his chickens before they hatch and making plans for the 50 dollars he might get next Tuesday. And that isn't so that he can give his friend Daniel any money; for all he's done for him -no; he's actually pissed off at the guy right now...
It is so he can insure himself of being able to go to New York to make some money, and then to transport some of his stuff back to his new apartment and, of course, to stay stoned on $15/gm. weed the whole time.
I guess it's part of the definition of being self centered that you don't realize you're self centered.
Like I have said. I don't even worry about him reading any of this. I don't believe he would ever check out this blog because he apparently has no interest at all in Daniel McKenna, nor any of his exploits, thoughts, opinions, artwork nor music only that he (Daniel) deems him to be very knowledgeable, cultured, and insightful, and an authority on a lot of things that one, ironically, wouldn't become an authority on by being cloistering away and staying high on pot his whole life.
He loves books; of course he loves books. He became angry when I started to tell him the plot of a Ken Follett novel that I just finished reading.
Most people would smile and say; "Ok, that's enough...you're gonna ruin it for me!," but Travis actually took a deep breath and looked off, as if struggling to control his anger, after I had told him more than just: "It's set in Denmark during World War II."
He loves movies. Of course he loves movies. John Waters, two thumbs up.
He loves Xbox type of games. Of course he loves Xbox type games.
I believe he sees other human beings as just other forms of characters that one might see on a screen, but one's who are harder to deal with; because they can actually physically touch you. I don't think he has learned how to cope with that.
Now, it is Saturday night. It's almost 10 PM, and I have the usual butterflies in the stomach over the prospect of busking.
I had only a 20 dollar Friday night, last night, but it was enough to pay for cigarettes, kratom, energy drink and bus pass; setting me up to go do it all again tonight.
And, I am that much closer to being able to record a CD.
I'm not going to rely upon the "magic" of capturing an inspired performance like lightning in a bottle.
I used to rely upon that, to a fault. It comes from too much Grateful Dead/jam bands where they are making up the music out of thin air and every so often play something that is better than anything they could have sat down and committed to sheet music. But, I don't have enough every so often-s to put together a full length CD.
That is my own log that I need to remove from my eye before I can see to remove the splinter from Travis'.
I'm working hard on the fundamentals of music; the things that can be practiced until they become repeatable; the songs in the Mel Bay Guitar Method books, one through three.
I sat and played through one piece for about 16 minutes the other afternoon (when Travis was gone; otherwise he would have felt that it was required of him to give an oral report about the little piece of music, and that would be all that would be heard for the last hour of the recording) and it took me that long before I had played one "just right." I trimmed away the rest of the session and wound up with a neatly played 35 second version of "In The Evening," from Mel Bay's book 1.
It is the type of thing that might find its way onto the CD, framed as background music behind spoken word, or in some other form.
I'm thinking about doing it like a documentary, with fake interviews of my roadies, managers, other musicians, etc, giving the story behind the songs, kind of thing. It's not original; but almost nothing is original in this day and age. Except my upcoming CD.
As far as Alex In California; he probably won't give me any address where I could mail one, or will tell me that has never played anything so crappy on his new stereo and is afraid the speakers might not be able to handle it...
Vocals will be the main focus. Tim, my caseworker came by and let me listen to some band that he has just discovered called: Japanese Breakfast. He likes them mainly because of the way the lead singer sings; so, yeah that was a heads-up to make vocals the main focus...
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