Somewhat secure in the knowledge that Travis was willing to hop a bus over to Gretna to rescue me, should my plasma be rejected, I walked to the plasma lab.
I Lose 4 Pounds
When I weighed in, I found out I had lost 4 pounds over the 4 days since I had last donated; days and nights spent in delirium, having feverish dreams; waking up with the lights on and the radio playing, realizing that I had been dreaming about things like gunmen shooting people at a Country Music festival and another weird one where the musician Tom Petty had died; only to catch the actual news on the next loop.
I passed the initial sign in, and was soon giving plasma, while catching up on reading such things as Alex In California's blog, which used to be about busking in Silicon Valley, but, since Alex changes the subject of his blog like he does socks (assuming that he changes his socks at least once a month) it was about constructing cat water bottle holders, to be marketed internationally on E-bay, or something.
I can only read stuff while donating, because one of my typing arms is strapped to the machine and so I can only click and scroll.
It was informative, in the sense that I gathered, through what I was doing, that a lot of my 40 readers worldwide, who check in at least once a month, a fact that I know because they are not "unique" visitors to the pages; probably do the same as I, and come to this blog maybe once a week and then skim through a whole week's worth of posts.
One Post Per Week Moving Forward?
This reopened an internal dialogue over whether I should start to do one post per week, maybe every Monday, and make it a distillation of the entire week's events. That way it, in theory, could be one long and well thought out post, complete with maybe pictures, drawings or cartoons -things that I often don't have the time or energy to include every day; but which exponentially increase the quality of the post, I think.
The drawback might be that, hindsight wouldn't benefit me. How could I write about my hopes that something might happen in a way that might raise the hopes of readers, right along with me, when I'm writing it knowing that it didn't?
But, the "Readers Digest Condensed" version of a whole week's activity would have been pruned of mundanities, such as "I heated up some instant coffee in the microwave and then sat at my coffee table and sipped it."Unless the oven malfunctioned and threw sparks, causing Sacred Heart Apartments to burn to the ground -that would probably make it to the final draft.
But, if there are indeed 40 or so people who read my stuff, then I suspect it is because they, like The Jerry Seinfeld Show aficionados, might enjoy reading a lot of stuff about "nothing," because there are enough essays about me sitting at my coffee table, to back up that notion.
So, the issue of mundanities had some light shed upon it in that, I do appreciate such things in Alex's blog, such as which bus he took, where he got off, etc.
I have a sort of mental map of the neighborhood where he lives and, when I have the time someday will probably Google-Map the area. Then, if I ever do make it out to California, I will know which post office or which Starbucks is a good busking spot; if Rabbit Trumpet Man hasn't already grabbed the spot...
My image of Alex in California is of his being similar to a certain cartoon character. I'm not well versed in cartoons and am not sure if it is that rooster (Foghorn Leghorn?) that I am thinking of, with maybe a nod to The Three Stooges, but he would be a character that is up with the sun and trying some new thing just about every day.
The opening scene would show the big rooster reading a copy of Entrepreneur Magazine, and then sitting and thinking. It would then follow him into a workshop where he would become a whirling dervish, with elbows flying, tools being used, dust being raised and some curious thing resulting.
Then, would arrive the diminutive rooster.
"What's that?" it would ask.
"Why, this here thing, is a cat water bottle holder, son. Here's how it works!"
Then, he would place the thing down and say "Here, kitty, kitty kitty" whereupon a cat would come along and, thinking it was a scratching post, would tear it up. Then it would be back to the drawing board.
Then he would be seen carrying lengths of PVC tubes.
"Where are you going with those?' would ask the little rooster.
"You'll see, son. You'll see..."
Then after a similar process, the big rooster would be ready to say:
"This here, son is a PVC tube trumpet! The trumpet is one of the first musical instruments ever made; it will never go out of style!"
Then, he would blast a not on the thing and, in cartoon style, maybe the roof would fall in, and the two roosters would be shown scurrying out of the cloud of dust.
Then the sun would come up on a new day.
"What's that?" would ask the little rooster.
"This here is a piece of plywood, and this is some paint. People like signs, son, have you noticed signs everywhere, son? Well, I have!" etc.
That is how I have come to think of Alex in California, after having caught up with his blog, like a Foghorn Leghorn, with maybe a nod to Homer Simpson, like in the episode where Homer opened up his own "computer store."
"This is where all the money is nowadays; computers!!"
The Continuing Story: The Abyss
I finished being drained of plasma, after about a 2 hour ordeal, which included seeing myself referred to as a "scumsucker" on the above mentioned blog.
I then walked to the Gretna Wal-Mart, where I probably doubled the number of white people inside upon entering the place.
I don't like most African Americans for the simple reason that they seem to have no sense of humor, and will take a lot of things literally and not laugh, smile or even respond in any way when I try to make a joke.
Some of my friends are black (for lack of a better cliche) so I'm not racist.
I checked the balance on my Octapharma Plasma card.
"As of September 30th, your balance is negative one dollar and forty four cents..."
Wow.
When I had bought that last shot of kratom off the thing, having throw some change into the transaction, in careful not to exceed the amount that was on it, I must not have been careful enough." was one of the thoughts that raced through my mind.
Why couldn't the machine at the Uxi Duxi have just declined the sale, rather than overdrawing the card and then tacking on a 35 dollar? insufficient fund fee?
I wondered if the plasma place had "forgotten" to log my donation, convenient to them, since I was in line for the big bonus for having made 7 trips to the place for the month. A lot of the other 99% black patrons will harangue the staff on their way out with: "Yo, you logged me in, right, you got me, right? Right?"
"Yeah, it's in there"
But, I had just made my donation, and hadn't hounded them. Maybe I should have, given how critical it was that I get the 40 dollars.
I had a gnawing hunger in my stomach, as I sat in front of the Wal-Mart with no money in my pocket, nor on any plastic card in my possession.
Of course all the people milling about, none of whom I would ask for even a penny, seemed to be a mockery to me, pushing their carts of stuff to their cars.
Let some skeezer come up to me and ask me for a dollar right now; that would put the exclamation point on the occasion, I thought.
Was I actually going to call Travis?
Was I going to walk 4 miles to the house where Howard Westra lives? Howard hadn't returned from his cruise to Alaska, but his housemates, Berta and Ken would probably let me sleep there and feed me. Then, I could call the plasma place in the morning and see if they had accidental lost my paperwork, or something.
I had run out of gas with the notion of "everything happens for a reason," and actually started to wonder: "What have I done to deserve this?"
Ravenously hungry, broke, weak from having been sick then having had my blood platelets drained; I came as close to despairing as I have in a long time. I was ready to stop believing in God. I hate this; I really hate this. If I were to die then, I would really have to wonder, why the hell did I ever live?
I Jump Off The G.N.O. Bridge And Plummet 100 Feet, But Survive Miraculously
What are the odds that a barge loaded with hay would just happen to be.....
Just kidding, I didn't jump off the bridge. LOL!
Just before calling Travis to see if he would come get me, I decided to triple check the balance on my plasma card. My experience with computerized things is that, if you do the same thing, you will get the same result; over and over and....
"As of Septmeber 30th..." Here we go again,
"your balance is 38 dollars and 56 cents..."
I should have breathed a sigh of relief, but just felt numb. I guess, having resigned myself to whatever crappy fate I was dealing with, I resignedly just accepted the fact that it must have
taken the money a little longer this time, to appear on my card. I thanked the same God, whose existence I had been starting to doubt, and then went into the Wal-Mart.
So hungry that I didn't know where to start, I grabbed a mango and some bananas and a frozen can of mixed berry juice. A Rock Star energy drink would be my first dose of caffeine in a couple days, and Harold the Cat would be getting the special treat of a can of Salmon Florentine Fancy Feast food.
After getting an all day bus pass, I got back to Canal Street with just 23 of the 38 bucks left.
A pack of American Spirit cigarettes, some batteries for my spotlight, etc and I was down to 6 dollars. I really need to re-evaluate money, and stop thinking that a 20 dollar tip, for example, is what it used to be.
I grabbed my gear, after feeding Harold the Cat, and went out and made 21 dollars in about 2 hours.
That was a low amount, but it came from sources like an Australian couple who stopped and listened, with the guy having pulled his own harmonica out and jammed along.
They had thrown a dollar in my jar, but I could tell by their body language, with the lady having whispered something to him, that they really felt like they were tipping me well by throwing another 3 or 4 bucks in my jar.
It was like that biblical verse where Jesus said that the poor lady who had given only a farthing had given more than the rich man, because of her financial situation. They hadn't been here long enough to know the value, or lack thereof, of a dollar...
I was happy with the 21 dollars, but most of all happy because I had regained my desire to play music, had gotten over the fever, and had improvised lyrics over a chord change that really seemed to connect to people, as I got a steady flow of one dollar bills throughout the 15 minutes that I played the thing. Just making up words out of my head, but trying to tell a story. I might be on to something.
CD Idea
My latest idea for making a CD, besides calling Dorise Blackman to see if, along with all the properties she rents out, she might have something that I could use as a "rehearsal space," is to overcome another problem I have which is hard to qualify; but the solution is that I'm going to envision 12 different people that I know and kind of make one song with each of them in mind.
In other words, I don't want to record the whole thing thinking that, for example, Tanya Huang the violinist is going to hear it, or to make the whole think fit for the likes of Tim, my caseworker..
I'll "gear" each song to different people, based upon what I think each might appreciate. That way, every piece won't have to display technical mastery, nor will the whole disc have to be a "comedy" disc....
Yup, today, we're going to organize our thoughts on a CD, son!
I Lose 4 Pounds
I passed the initial sign in, and was soon giving plasma, while catching up on reading such things as Alex In California's blog, which used to be about busking in Silicon Valley, but, since Alex changes the subject of his blog like he does socks (assuming that he changes his socks at least once a month) it was about constructing cat water bottle holders, to be marketed internationally on E-bay, or something.
I can only read stuff while donating, because one of my typing arms is strapped to the machine and so I can only click and scroll.
It was informative, in the sense that I gathered, through what I was doing, that a lot of my 40 readers worldwide, who check in at least once a month, a fact that I know because they are not "unique" visitors to the pages; probably do the same as I, and come to this blog maybe once a week and then skim through a whole week's worth of posts.
One Post Per Week Moving Forward?
This reopened an internal dialogue over whether I should start to do one post per week, maybe every Monday, and make it a distillation of the entire week's events. That way it, in theory, could be one long and well thought out post, complete with maybe pictures, drawings or cartoons -things that I often don't have the time or energy to include every day; but which exponentially increase the quality of the post, I think.
The drawback might be that, hindsight wouldn't benefit me. How could I write about my hopes that something might happen in a way that might raise the hopes of readers, right along with me, when I'm writing it knowing that it didn't?
But, the "Readers Digest Condensed" version of a whole week's activity would have been pruned of mundanities, such as "I heated up some instant coffee in the microwave and then sat at my coffee table and sipped it."Unless the oven malfunctioned and threw sparks, causing Sacred Heart Apartments to burn to the ground -that would probably make it to the final draft.
But, if there are indeed 40 or so people who read my stuff, then I suspect it is because they, like The Jerry Seinfeld Show aficionados, might enjoy reading a lot of stuff about "nothing," because there are enough essays about me sitting at my coffee table, to back up that notion.
So, the issue of mundanities had some light shed upon it in that, I do appreciate such things in Alex's blog, such as which bus he took, where he got off, etc.
I have a sort of mental map of the neighborhood where he lives and, when I have the time someday will probably Google-Map the area. Then, if I ever do make it out to California, I will know which post office or which Starbucks is a good busking spot; if Rabbit Trumpet Man hasn't already grabbed the spot...
My image of Alex in California is of his being similar to a certain cartoon character. I'm not well versed in cartoons and am not sure if it is that rooster (Foghorn Leghorn?) that I am thinking of, with maybe a nod to The Three Stooges, but he would be a character that is up with the sun and trying some new thing just about every day.
The opening scene would show the big rooster reading a copy of Entrepreneur Magazine, and then sitting and thinking. It would then follow him into a workshop where he would become a whirling dervish, with elbows flying, tools being used, dust being raised and some curious thing resulting.
Then, would arrive the diminutive rooster.
"What's that?" it would ask.
"Why, this here thing, is a cat water bottle holder, son. Here's how it works!"
Then, he would place the thing down and say "Here, kitty, kitty kitty" whereupon a cat would come along and, thinking it was a scratching post, would tear it up. Then it would be back to the drawing board.
Then he would be seen carrying lengths of PVC tubes.
"Where are you going with those?' would ask the little rooster.
"You'll see, son. You'll see..."
Then after a similar process, the big rooster would be ready to say:
"This here, son is a PVC tube trumpet! The trumpet is one of the first musical instruments ever made; it will never go out of style!"
Then, he would blast a not on the thing and, in cartoon style, maybe the roof would fall in, and the two roosters would be shown scurrying out of the cloud of dust.
Then the sun would come up on a new day.
"What's that?" would ask the little rooster.
"This here is a piece of plywood, and this is some paint. People like signs, son, have you noticed signs everywhere, son? Well, I have!" etc.
That is how I have come to think of Alex in California, after having caught up with his blog, like a Foghorn Leghorn, with maybe a nod to Homer Simpson, like in the episode where Homer opened up his own "computer store."
"This is where all the money is nowadays; computers!!"
The Continuing Story: The Abyss
I finished being drained of plasma, after about a 2 hour ordeal, which included seeing myself referred to as a "scumsucker" on the above mentioned blog.
I then walked to the Gretna Wal-Mart, where I probably doubled the number of white people inside upon entering the place.
I don't like most African Americans for the simple reason that they seem to have no sense of humor, and will take a lot of things literally and not laugh, smile or even respond in any way when I try to make a joke.
Some of my friends are black (for lack of a better cliche) so I'm not racist.
I checked the balance on my Octapharma Plasma card.
"As of September 30th, your balance is negative one dollar and forty four cents..."
Wow.
When I had bought that last shot of kratom off the thing, having throw some change into the transaction, in careful not to exceed the amount that was on it, I must not have been careful enough." was one of the thoughts that raced through my mind.
Why couldn't the machine at the Uxi Duxi have just declined the sale, rather than overdrawing the card and then tacking on a 35 dollar? insufficient fund fee?
I wondered if the plasma place had "forgotten" to log my donation, convenient to them, since I was in line for the big bonus for having made 7 trips to the place for the month. A lot of the other 99% black patrons will harangue the staff on their way out with: "Yo, you logged me in, right, you got me, right? Right?"
"Yeah, it's in there"
But, I had just made my donation, and hadn't hounded them. Maybe I should have, given how critical it was that I get the 40 dollars.
I had a gnawing hunger in my stomach, as I sat in front of the Wal-Mart with no money in my pocket, nor on any plastic card in my possession.
Of course all the people milling about, none of whom I would ask for even a penny, seemed to be a mockery to me, pushing their carts of stuff to their cars.
Let some skeezer come up to me and ask me for a dollar right now; that would put the exclamation point on the occasion, I thought.
Was I actually going to call Travis?
Was I going to walk 4 miles to the house where Howard Westra lives? Howard hadn't returned from his cruise to Alaska, but his housemates, Berta and Ken would probably let me sleep there and feed me. Then, I could call the plasma place in the morning and see if they had accidental lost my paperwork, or something.
I had run out of gas with the notion of "everything happens for a reason," and actually started to wonder: "What have I done to deserve this?"
Ravenously hungry, broke, weak from having been sick then having had my blood platelets drained; I came as close to despairing as I have in a long time. I was ready to stop believing in God. I hate this; I really hate this. If I were to die then, I would really have to wonder, why the hell did I ever live?
What are the odds that a barge loaded with hay would just happen to be.....
Just kidding, I didn't jump off the bridge. LOL!
Just before calling Travis to see if he would come get me, I decided to triple check the balance on my plasma card. My experience with computerized things is that, if you do the same thing, you will get the same result; over and over and....
"As of Septmeber 30th..." Here we go again,
"your balance is 38 dollars and 56 cents..."
I should have breathed a sigh of relief, but just felt numb. I guess, having resigned myself to whatever crappy fate I was dealing with, I resignedly just accepted the fact that it must have
taken the money a little longer this time, to appear on my card. I thanked the same God, whose existence I had been starting to doubt, and then went into the Wal-Mart.
So hungry that I didn't know where to start, I grabbed a mango and some bananas and a frozen can of mixed berry juice. A Rock Star energy drink would be my first dose of caffeine in a couple days, and Harold the Cat would be getting the special treat of a can of Salmon Florentine Fancy Feast food.
After getting an all day bus pass, I got back to Canal Street with just 23 of the 38 bucks left.
A pack of American Spirit cigarettes, some batteries for my spotlight, etc and I was down to 6 dollars. I really need to re-evaluate money, and stop thinking that a 20 dollar tip, for example, is what it used to be.
I grabbed my gear, after feeding Harold the Cat, and went out and made 21 dollars in about 2 hours.
That was a low amount, but it came from sources like an Australian couple who stopped and listened, with the guy having pulled his own harmonica out and jammed along.
They had thrown a dollar in my jar, but I could tell by their body language, with the lady having whispered something to him, that they really felt like they were tipping me well by throwing another 3 or 4 bucks in my jar.
It was like that biblical verse where Jesus said that the poor lady who had given only a farthing had given more than the rich man, because of her financial situation. They hadn't been here long enough to know the value, or lack thereof, of a dollar...
I was happy with the 21 dollars, but most of all happy because I had regained my desire to play music, had gotten over the fever, and had improvised lyrics over a chord change that really seemed to connect to people, as I got a steady flow of one dollar bills throughout the 15 minutes that I played the thing. Just making up words out of my head, but trying to tell a story. I might be on to something.
CD Idea
My latest idea for making a CD, besides calling Dorise Blackman to see if, along with all the properties she rents out, she might have something that I could use as a "rehearsal space," is to overcome another problem I have which is hard to qualify; but the solution is that I'm going to envision 12 different people that I know and kind of make one song with each of them in mind.
In other words, I don't want to record the whole thing thinking that, for example, Tanya Huang the violinist is going to hear it, or to make the whole think fit for the likes of Tim, my caseworker..
I'll "gear" each song to different people, based upon what I think each might appreciate. That way, every piece won't have to display technical mastery, nor will the whole disc have to be a "comedy" disc....
Yup, today, we're going to organize our thoughts on a CD, son!
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