Ramblin' Man

I guess I'll just ramble here....

"Ramblin' Man" -now there is an example of a song that I have played before and that I have kind of forgotten about. It would be a good way to play for "five minutes more," on a given night when I haven't yet made enough money to satisfy me.

I have been reminded lately about the phenomenon whereby, if I look to the left and the right and see no tourists, but launch into a song anyways, some of them are likely to materialize, and those seem to be the ones that tip better -because they know that I didn't see them coming and am not directing my song at them in a begging type of way that they have become sick of, by the time they have reached the 900 block of Bourbon Street.

Simply put, if a busker grabs his instrument and starts playing upon the sight of approaching tourists, then they can reasonably guess that he is trying to get a tip out of them. This might "work" on some tourists, but those tips are likely to be just a dollar, as acknowledgment that the understand that he is trying to make money.

In this case, it is advisable to the busker to not just grab the mandolin and start picking away for that purpose, but to give it a little extra purpose by taking in a cursory glance at those tourists and playing, say, "Country Roads," by John Denver if they are wearing West Virginia tee shirts, or a Lynyrd Skynyrd song, if they are wearing, er, a Lynyrd Skynyrd tee shirt, type of thing. This might make it appear to be more personal than playing just anything, making them feel like just any tourists.

"Almost heaven...West Virginia...Blue Ridge Mountains...clear water streams and such..." Give them a twinge of homesickness and it might yield a five spot.

This is the philosophy of the "dog" skeezers, to a large extent.

Aside from vigorously discouraging cops from hauling them in over the trespassing and the vomit and the dog food all over the place, due to the fact that they would have the moral obligation to make a separate trip to the state run kennel to book the innocent until proven guilty dog on the same charges, and would have to fill out additional paperwork: "...I don't know, just put 'mutt' I guess...it's got a little bit of Shepherd in it, it looks like...scroll down a bit....right there: 'mixed breed;' good enough..." and to worry about being bitten etc., the dog is intended to remind the tourists that, somewhere in West Virginia there is a dog who is feeling sad and abandoned, missing them just as much as they are missing it, and throwing the dog skeezer money, makes them feel like they are doing as much as they can for their dog back home.

Hence, the sarcastic: "Where's your dog?" that I was asked by one particular tourist who passed me.

But, "Ramblin' Man" is a prime example of a song that should go on the list that I have yet to get around to composing and printing out and laminating, itemizing every song that I know how to play. I estimate that that list might have 700 songs on it.

"You know seven hundred songs?!?" asked a skeptical Dorise Blackmon once, when I had mentioned that I needed to get around to making that list, about 4 years ago, now.

I told her something like: "Well, if you know Johnny B. Goode, then you know "Rockin' Around The Clock," and "Back In The U.S.S.R," and a bunch of others; just change the keys.

"Not, really," she had said, referring to the nuances that make "Johnny B. Goode" not "Roll Over Beethoven."

I guess she had a point. But she had always been very nuance-driven; putting in the little trills and R-n-B cliches in songs like "How Sweet It Is (to be loved by you)" as Tanya played the melody on her violin.

15 Dollar Thursday Follows 2 Dollar Wednesday

I remember running about 15 minutes ahead of the previous night when I had made only 2 dollars. Doesn't give me a whole lot of extra time to make it a better night, I thought, as I pedaled towards the Lilly Pad.

And, the "Jesus" clock on St. Joseph's Cathedral, confirmed that I was indeed about that much ahead of myself by reading 11:20 PM, as I rode past it. Tonight, I won't waste the five minutes discussing with The Quartermaster employee why the Coke man shouldn't be pissed at me over his crates, since I return them at the end of each night -which actually safeguards them from skeezers who might take them and then just leave them sitting somewhere after their skeezing is done.

Let There Be Light

The spotlight, which had begun to fade the night before, came on pretty bright from the batteries having recovered a bit from sitting dormant, but it became like the setting sun -part of the hangover from having had a 2 dollar night the night before.

Let There Be Vegetation

I had clipped a bunch of leaves off the pot plant that I have on my windowsill as a houseplant. I might have culled a whole week's worth of growth off it in one fell swoop -it would be gone in 4 days at that rate, but hard times call for drastic measures. Reading about the Arapaho and Cheyenne indians starving on the plains in the 1860's had put me in that mindset.

Let There Be Songs To Fill The Air


Then, as I was tuning up, a string broke -another repercussion of having had a 2 dollar night. It broke in such a way that I couldn't re-string it the normal way. I had to switch the string to a different tuner, that it would reach, and then run the string that had been on that one to the tuner that the string broke on.

The strings were criss-crossed in an ungainly manner, but it held, and I was able to tune up and play.

I spent 3 bucks on cat food, water and one cigar, and then went home, where I was up reading the James A. Michener book until almost noon.

This has set me back time-wise and I now prepare to close up this laptop and try to be at the Lilly Pad before midnight; about the best I can hope for.

But, I did buy new batteries and a bag of kitty litter, and a shot of kratom. I'll pinch more off my plant, dry the leaves quickly in a fry pan with the stove set on low, and see what a Friday night during the slow season might yield. Lord, I was born a Ramblin' man.