Don't Call Me Dunk!

Yes, and so...
"Am I Ever Familiar With You!?!"

As precariously laid are my plans to travel, as is the triple deck-er that I rigged up this afternoon.

Cleansing was an idea that seemed to resonate, and so, I finally hoisted the two upper tables onto the lower one, giving me an excuse to wipe them all down real good while I had everything off them.

I had forgotten the bag of kitty litter at the Family Dollar, perhaps because the manager had snapped at me "I don't disrespect you!" after I had told her that the machine was telling me "Waiting for cashier," and then adding, for humor's sake: "It say's: Waiting for Dunk."

She had "dunk" (lower case intentional) tatooed on one of her robust black arms. She is a squat kind of solidly built black lady probably around 45 years old.

I had thought it would be funny (and kind poking fun at how technologically driven society is becoming) if the machine, were to read on its screen: "Here we go waitin' for ol' dunk again, Daniel; Sorry," or something similar.

So, I left the 7 pound bag of kitty litter sitting by the register on my way out. My mind was racing with ways that I could be non-reactive to the thought structure which I could have taken personally.

"Am I familiar with you?!?" she had barked at me.

Then she informed me that the tattoo was "personal" and that she considered that to be off limits to Family Dollar customers, I guess.

She basically was telling me to please not refer to her as "dunk," and that she would be alright with that -alright going back to being the manager of the dollar store who won't be "familiar" toward me.

That is fine with me, except I forgot the litter.

I still did the tables and swept the rug. I am envisioning, and subconsciously preparing for Wayne, my neighbor, letting himself in to put food and water out for Harold, for a few weeks, whom he might then lock inside for "the night" or let back outside.

The former would require that Harold's litter box be maintained, though. A dollar bag of litter every 4 days, times about 7, that would be.

I know that I am subconsciously preparing myself for the trip.

I went out last (Monday) night and was able to make 28 bucks on a, well, on a Monday night. And, I had gotten there at the decent time of about 10:30 PM, I recall.

I woke up thinking that I had socked away enough for one full-fledged day off.
I had bought a sack of kratom from The Unique Grocery in the heart of the hood which is the Canal and Royal Street section. It is where, like a kingsnake, David the Water Jug Player will live his entire life within 50 yards of.

That location is where I discovered kratom about 14 months ago now, after having asked "What is that stuff?' of the mid 20's, intelligent Egyptian cashier who works there.

He is a college student, yet can be seen working behind the register of The Unique Grocery at so many odd hours of a given week, he must have to study back there in between customers, or not sleep much.

As intelligent as the guy is who, if David is to be believed, works 12 hours a day for 5 dollars an hour, in exchange for room and board, and room and board (on floors right above The Unique Grocery, how cool is that?) he is just as industrious. That is one of the byproducts of being devoutly religious and sober all the time.

If you think about it: What is Joe Blow going to have spent 88% of his paycheck on, after the dust clears, if not things that could fall under the category of "room and board?"

Even buying a new freezer, so he can save money by buying meat by the frozen chunk, gets put under "room and board" on my ledger, at least.

Working for 5 dollars an hour, yet having no bills at all, versus making a decent 12 bucks an hour, and forking over 20 hours a weeks worth of it, to the landlady, well, that puts you at just one dollar per hour over the Egyptian, who is probably having his college education provided for, somehow.

People must be willing to invest in young, bright, non smoking, not drinking, non kratom taking young men, who demonstrate their willingness to delay the gratification of being a college degree holding, much more than 5 dollar an hour making, guy.

So, it was with some mirth that I explained to the Egyptian guy, whom I've seen almost every night of my life the past 6 years, that a "shot" of kratom, as dispensed at the Uxi Duxi, is based upon the powdered weight (5 gm.) of the kratom involved, regardless of how much liquid it is dissolved in.

After I told him that 10 of the capsules in the kratom that they sell there would make for "one shot" of it, he seemed to cling to the notion that 10 capsules would therefore yield "50ml" of kratom.

If kratom bars wanted to follow alcoholic bars' convention, then they might indeed serve kratom in that thick muddy sludge-like preparation which would come from dissolving 5 grams in only 50 milliliters of water.

The truth is that a lot of it sinks to the bottom, no matter how much water it has to sink through. Now that I think of it, capsule form is probably the way to go when consuming kratom, swallowed down with a beverage that you really enjoy, like freshly pressed apple juice.

Once you break the capsules open then the race is on to disguise or bury the greenish-blue flavor of the stuff.

Chocolate works.

Teas are popular, with some sort of citrus fruit added.

I read somewhere that citric acid helps to "kick in" the kratom. The same website, though, had information about making a preparation of kratom and Deet, the mosquito repellent stuff, with maybe even some grapefruit juice squeezed in for good measure, to turn it into a pseudo heroin, for those more adventurous souls. And, of course you can poison yourself if you're not a very good chemist.

I had American Spirit cigarettes and a good chunk of weed, 32.5 grams of "maeng da" kratom, a half gallon of "Simply Apple," the best juice under the sun (for which I rationalized that the almost 5 bucks I spent on it would take care of the entire "food" category, as it was my intention to embark upon a juice fast, which might turn into a water fast) and I had air in my bike tires. What was lacking?, I might have wondered.

Right, or above, depending upon your browser: The work of "Jim," who is an artist who displays along the gate in front of the clock on the steeple of St. Joseph's Catholic Church. I wondered, when I saw this if that was in fact, Lilly in the red dress with the white spots. Jim is right along Lillian's route, and has undoubtedly seen her a thousand times.
He didn't recognize the name of Lilly, though, and so couldn't confirm or deny if that is Lilly. Lilly is a prettier in the face than the woman depicted, but there is a resemblance. She traces her roots from the north of Spain all the way up to wherever Celtic people hail from.

The effect of the juice fast, which I had in effect began that morning after having had only apple juice that whole day, was almost instantaneous.

I had the feeling that I was not going to wake up the next morning with a knot in my upper back between the shoulder blades and the neck -one which would tighten to the point that I would become aware enough of it to consciously take a deep breath and try to relax, as soon as certain thoughts crossed my mind.

Thoughts like: "This is the pit that they are going to find my dead body in if I die in my sleep tonight," you know, just regular ol' thoughts. Regular for the guy who goes hog-wild with his diet before laying down to sleep, perhaps.

But, I think, not for the guy who just has apple juice the evening before.
I woke up with no stiffness or pain in the previously described area, and there were no pessimistic thoughts beating at the door to my mind.

I had weakened towards the morning hours and eaten a can of sweet corn (so I could satisfy a sudden urge for salt, by adding it) and about half a can of "beans," pinto, I believe.

 "You know I'll feed Harold!,"

I ran into Wayne, my neighbor at the back door who said: "You know I'll feed Harold!," as if there never should have been any doubt, after I told him of my upcoming journey.

I might just let him have my key and even tell him that it's OK if he lets anyone crash there in exchange of a bit of rent (I can picture him, who seems pretty adept socially, being at a party and saying: "Look, if you need a couch to crash on for a couple nights, etc" to someone, especially an attractive woman) which might compensate him even further for doing litter box detail. I've known him for like 4 years and trust him.

So, that takes care of Harold.

I need to try to get him to the discount veterinarian that Wayne told me about, about his skin problems. He has scaly bumps on his skin which detach themselves along with a bit of fir if scratched off. There doesn't seem to be any pain involved, as Harold will mimic the action of cleaning himself, bitting gently upon the hand that I'm using to rake off the little scabs, as if getting some relief out of it.

Wayne's World

Wayne sits in his apartment behind his computer with headphones on and works for hours giving technical support to people who have bought Apple products and don't know how to use them.

Assuming it's 12 bucks an hour he is making, he is probably bringing in enough money to warrant his incurring the burden of some of his rent payment being taken out of it.

I would perhaps work 8 hours a day, and have to pay some of my rent, if the result would be my putting a grand in my pocket each month. Otherwise, I would rather take my chances busking. The putting of 250 dollars a week in my pocket regularly is just a little further down the yellow brick road.

Excerpt From "How To Succeed at Busking in New Orleans:"

I haven't even approached it (busking) in the manner of how it would be advised to do in some "How to succeed in busking in New Orleans," book that I might write some day.

That would be to get out onto Royal Street and do whatever you do, but at 90 decibels in volume. Using myself as an example, I would be in the market for the same one dollar out of every 13 tourists, using the same formula that I calculated based upon 7 years of Lilly Pad data.

And, there would be 10 times as many tourists, in the literal sense, and so, at first glance, I would be looking at making 180 dollars an hour.

Now, that is right around the amount where my "educated" guess at how much Tanya and Dorise used to make, falls.

Now, I might be having the same effect upon the tourists at the Lilly Pad, under my homemade spotlight, and perhaps appearing homeless, as Tanya and Dorise were having by dazzling and enthralling groups of 40 people who waited with bated breath for Tanya's next note, and then made the ancillary observation that it is nice to see a black girl and a Chinese girl in such harmony with one another, and how only God could have wrought such a union, etc.

I basically think my best tips come from individuals who might be trying to encourage me to think on a much grander scale ("Look, kid, there's money out there. They don't call this the Big Easy for nothing. Look, I'm loaded with it. How does it feel be be handed a hundred dollar bill; feels good, right? You ain't gettin' nowhere playing for these trash barrels. Get yourself some clothes and an amplifier, go knocking on the doors of some of these clubs. That hundred I gave you is nothing to me! You should be thinking like that!" type of thing) and who interact with me on a one-to-one level. That is the kind of work that pays as well as Tanya and Dorise were making.

But, alas, I only get it every 11 months, according to my last calculation. I might have to adjust that rate to one tip of 100 dollars or more every 7 months. I think I've gotten better over just the past year, and can do so.

At 30 hours per week that is a 100+ dollar tip every 200 hours...


But, obviously, I wouldn't have the trash barrels working in my favor, on Royal Street.

I honestly think that if I were to arrive on Royal Street, able to perform at 90 decibels (or whatever good and loud would be) and did it for 3 hours, during the daytime, when Royal Street becomes the lit up (by the sun) attraction that Bourbon Street mimics at night with its neon, I would average 30 dollars an hour. That's my gut feeling tempered by experience.

Or, I could open a bank account, using the social security number of a dead person, and then get the same kind of job as my neighbor Wayne, and....

But then the "Carcass Song" would go unheard, never mind.

Right now I have missed the closing of The Family Dollar, where still waits that bag of kitty litter.

I grabbed a bottle of dish soap and one of hair conditioner (ocean breeze scented) and a roll of toilet paper while forgetting it yesterday. Having made 230 dollars the past 5 days was good. It has "Take your trip to New England" written all over it.

I wonder if I can do highway ramps along the way. I don't see why not. I learned how to select the right ones, while in Florida.

The ideal ones have a wall right behind the busker, and have an average of 6 cars contained with each turning of a light to red.

Most likely the busker is standing on a patch of dirt that the sign holders have worn bare. It is even advisable that the busker wait for the sign holder to take some kind of break and then jump on the spot and start wailing upon the most anthem-like piece of music in his repertoire.

The outpouring of "at least you're doing something, not just standing there holding a sign," I have found to be quite evident, when I did that kind of thing in Jacksonville, Florida and even in Saint Augustine, where I tripled the income that I might have expected to make in the "historic" areas where tourists go, and where buskers are "supposed" to be.

I suppose, when the people in the vehicles are seeing you for the first time, instead of seeing the few skeezers that they have been seeing every day, they can romanticize things like, the guy ran out of gas and is going to rock and roll his way out of trouble, the way Elvis would have, or just that the guy has some important gig to be at somewhere and they want to vicariously touch that audience of people. If they only knew that the concert might not have happened if it wasn't for the 50 bucks I helped the guy out with...type of thing.

Caveat Busker

A good chunk of that money, though, came from people who would roll down their windows and listen for a few seconds before tooting their horn and holding a bill out the window -so, it helps if you can actually play the sign that looks like a guitar. 

By then, I will hopefully have made more use of my smart phone and will be able to post up little video segments from along the way. I am 3 songs into a special repertoire intended for the entertainment of certain people whom I might see while up there.