A Rash Of Setbacks

So, Jacob let me hold on to fifty bucks last week.

You make eight dollars any way you can, these days...

I then ran out of cash, but was on my way to get 45 bucks from the plasma place the next day so, no problem, I borrowed against it for cigarettes and cat food and a shot of kratom.

The money went onto the plastic plasma Mastercard, and the cash dwindled.

That's OK, I would busk Saturday night, and then would play outside the Saints game on Sunday, and then busk that night, surely, I would make enough to replace what I spent out of the fifty.

Then, the toothache came, swelling the side of my face so that playing a harmonica was difficult and painful, and then the thunderstorms came before the game kicked off.

All the while, Jacob was trying to set up another jam session at his place, but I told him that I needed to try to make some money doing the above things. I wound up doing neither. Yikes.

Last night, I played from about 11 PM until 1 AM, and made 8 dollars. Some of which came from "the final frontier."

Then, this Tuesday morning, I was up bright and early, aided by the clocks having been moved back one hour.

I thought about the 15 dollars that I would get from selling blood plasma, something I would mostly do so that I could go back Friday and get the 45 dollars from the "second donation in one week" bonus being added to the 25 bucks normally given for that second time...

Then, I considered going out to busk instead of making the plasma trip. I would have been able to be at the Lilly Pad at the unheard of hour of noontime, and could theoretically play until I had made back the money I owe Jacob, even if it took me until midnight.

This seemed to be the way to go for a person who embraces uncertainty, with the sky being the limit -who knows what my tip jar would yield- as opposed to the fixed amount of 15 dollars that I would settle for at the plasma place?
The prospect was much more compelling to a rambling, gambling come-what-may street musician like myself and I felt exhilarated.

I would have a chance to see how the other half lived, those who come out when the sun is on this side of the planet.

Perhaps Lilly would even sally forth through her gate, on her way to bring the Chihuahua to the vet (it needs to be hydrated; something to do with its kidneys, she told me on the phone) or something, and I could talk to her.

One of my best tips for a single song (43 dollars while playing "The Entertainer," by Billy Joel) came at around 2 in the afternoon, one of the few times I have played there at that hour.

I was ready to roll the dice and gamble upon myself, rather than make the plasma run; but then it started raining.

It was minutes after I had looked at my phone and saw that it was 66 degrees with a "0 percent" chance of rain that I heard the first few drops pelting my windows.

But then, I checked my mailbox on the way to get my bike.

There was a letter from my mom, who sometimes puts money in her correspondences.

It was another picture from my past that she had found while cleaning out her house, but no money. I wouldn't be saved by the bell this time. Disappointment number 3. "I feel like she is disowning me," I told Jacob. Getting rid of pictures of me and getting me used to her no longer sending money. I knew that was bound to happen; but at the tender age of 56?!?

That hope dashed, riding to the bus stop to catch the plasma bus with my umbrella over my head seemed to be the thing incumbent upon me to do.

I would sacrifice some comfort, getting wet for the fifteen bucks and then hope to stave off Jacob until Friday, when I could add to whatever I might make busking -eight bucks so far on Monday- the forty five from my next donation.

An Idea From Alex In California

In the future, I will take the ferry across the river.

I had forgotten about the ferry as a mode of transportation soon after they started charging 2 bucks for passage. But the probably not too surprising fact is that, after they started charging that, the ferry became an all Caucasian vessel. Such a low price for exclusivity in New Orleans -charge two dollars and ward off the riff-Raff kind of thing, I guess...

"And it doesn't drop you off in the ghetto," added Ken, the boyfriend of Berta, who was waiting, along with Howard and I, to hear the news from Berta's latest doctor visit, about spots on her liver.

The idea of the ferry came to me when I was pondering a comment that Alex in California, blog reader, made about avoiding annoying black people.

Since the bus is all African American with me being the only white guy on it, with maybe a couple Latinos, whose fine vehicles might be in the shop that day, it can be an ordeal taking it.

I blogged about the one small older black guy who ran his mouth aloud about none other than me the entire trip across the river, after he had pushed his way past me as I stood putting my money in the machine.

In defense of him, I admit that I did say: "Uh, that will be a dollar twenty-five," as he made his way down the aisle without having put any money of his own in the machine. That might have warranted his running his mouth the entire trip, devoting all his energy to me...

The same guy was on the bus the next time I took it; the time that I had been wondering just how I could avoid annoying black people in Gretna, and had had the epiphany of the image of the ferry floating through my mind apropos of Alex's comment.

The guy had his back turned to me and didn't notice me, but was busy ranting about some "Caucasian" that had been on the bus at some point, and was lecturing upon the thoughts and motives of that particular Caucasian, and actually had used the word "Caucasian" as much as some other blacks use "nigga."

I made a mental note to investigate the ferry schedule for future reference, should busking fail to pick up enough so that I am left to even consider the sale of my vital fluids for 60 bucks a week. (Minus the 4 dollars for the ferry rides).

I got to the plasma place and rolled up my sleeve to have my blood pressure taken and both the technician and I stared at a small rash that was in the crux of my elbow, which I hadn't been aware of until then.

It was in the area of where they stick their needle, and might have been related to that, perhaps when they stuck the needle in they introduced some iodine into my bloodstream, or maybe they changed the kind of bandage they use to wrap the site, which may have a different kind of adhesive, maybe one made from soy...

I was sent in to see a nurse, who asked me if the rash was from my last plasma donation. I didn't think it was, and said that it might have been from taking too hot a shower, which was apparently the wrong answer.

"If it's not from donating, then we can't let you donate," said the nurse.

I wasn't sure if she wouldn't have said the same thing if I had told her that it was from donating.

She told me that I couldn't come back until the rash was "all cleared up."

So, leaving there, I thought it ironic that I had been complaining about going through "all that" for just 15 dollars and was winding up leaving with 0 dollars.

I went to Howard Westra's, to ask him for a loan of ten or twenty dollars.

Berta, the lady who owns the house where Howard lives had been in "a pretty bad car wreck" a week or so ago, he told me. Then, when she was having the injury to her chest checked out, the spots were noticed on her liver, which could have been malignant -she is a breast cancer survivor.

Jacob had told me the night before that Kevin Bape, our drummer/rapper had also been in a car wreak, and I told Howard about that, pointing out the coincidence. In Kevin's case, they seemed to be pouncing upon an opportunity to rack up a hefty remittance from some insurance company, as they had sent him to all kinds of specialists and tested him in every way.

Berta was hit broadside by a young lady who was borrowing a car from a friend, one who had good insurance, and had no license when she hit Berta.
Berta has already been low-balled by some big insurance company that had no other option but to admit fault on the part of the other driver.
A telephone pole had stopped Berta's SUV from being pushed over the precipice of a steep hill, that it most likely would have rolled down, flipping over a few times.

Then Howard told me that he had lost his wallet a few days before.

I told him about how my bike seat has pushed my wallet out of my back pocket, depositing it on the road once, and on the sidewalk the next time. That only happens when I wear a certain pair of jeans, which I am thinking of marking somehow to remind me of that, or of just getting rid of.

Howard said that when he was in China, he would lose cash often due to his wearing his shirt tails out and pushing some of the shirt into his pocket with the cash, enveloping it and preparing to pull it out.

He thinks something similar happened to his wallet. He lamented about having to wait a whole week for his debit card to be replaced, and had even had to borrow money from Ken.

"Boy, I guess this is not a good time to ask to borrow ten bucks..." I said to him.

Due to his deafness, he thought that I was talking about the cost of streaming television vs. "firestick" television, which had been the topic of discussion.

He did lend me ten bucks out of the money that he himself had borrowed from Ken, to help me replace the money that I had borrowed from Jacob.

Ben "neither a lender nor borrower be" Franklin would frown upon us all.

I, in appreciation, am going to conduct a full investigation into whether an Amazon "firestick" would be a better option for Howard than "streaming" TV.

This matter, I will refer to Jacob, who, if anyone would, would have insight upon the subject.

Howard has a Firestick, but thinks that a fee must be paid to Amazon in order to use it. I tended to think that the stick is kind of like a password into the library of titles available through Amazon. Anyone can go to their website, but with the stick inserted, one can actually access stuff on it.

Streaming TV is forty bucks a month.

Howard loves "lawyer shows," with "Boston Public," and "The Good Wife" being among his favorites. He can get them on DVD at 30 cents on the dollar from China, if he wants to wait 6 months for them. "The Good Fight," a spinoff of the latter is in its 3rd season, Howard is in its second, type of thing...

I also offered to assemble a couple chairs that Howard bought Berta for Christmas (already?!?) but we both know that know-it-all Ken would not stand by idly while I did so. He will expertly assemble them; sometime before Christmas would be nice, as the expression goes.

So that is where it stands. Whatever I make on this Tuesday night will heavily factor into how things come out money-wise for me.

I told Howard that I would be by for dinner Thursday evening, as that will give the rash a couple days of busking to clear up. Then I can get the bonus perhaps on Sunday, making the trips fall on days when there is football on TV.

It is 11:10 PM, but I am beyond thinking that it will ever be too late to go out to play. A big tip at 2 AM is not out of the realm of possibility, and I would be climbing the walls at home, worrying about money and not getting much done otherwise. Tomorrow might be the day I show up in the early afternoon to start.