Right Back Out On Sunday

• $20.67 / hr.
• I Get Another Hat

It was more like Monday morning, when I arrived at the Lilly Pad, with 12:39 AM showing on my phone as I unpacked my stuff.

There had been a Saint's game and the Saint's had won by a large margin, and it stood to reason that some of the 70,000 people who had been at the game would be around Lafitt's Blacksmith Shop Bar and Tavern even at midnight; even until almost 3 AM.

I focused upon playing, with one couple from Switzerland stopping to listen at one point for about 3 songs or a half hour, and then there was a rather steady stream of what I figured were one dollar bills going in the basket, after I had pocketed the one five dollar bill that I had seen on top at one point.

But there wound up being 31 dollars and change, mostly in one dollar bills that were layered together in a way that implied that they had gone into the basket in quantities of three or four at a time, rather than one at a time, which made sense, because I had went off expecting to have made about 12 dollars, based upon a peripheral awareness of about a dozen people having thrown something...

This is huge thing, as it answered the question of "is midnight too late to start busking?" in the negative.

I have a vivid memory of the time about 6 six years ago now that I had made 83 dollars after having started at 1:30 AM and gone until almost 4.

Yet, recently I have foregone going out after realizing that I wouldn't get there until around midnight. Maybe because it was a Monday...like tonight...

But, last night proved that the groups of people whom I have always seen while packing up and leaving, whom I have always pointed to as being Murphy's Law of Busking in action, were not mirages.

One of the laws states: As soon as you stop playing and are packing up, the ideal group of tourists will walk past, intoxicated and happily singing in unison the chorus of the song that you were just doing before you packed up. They would have thought it so neat to come around the corner and hear a guy playing the same song that they were already singing that it could have netted the basket a five dollar bill from all 12 of them...

It had been the part of my mind that just wanted to sit on my couch and eat Raisin Bran with peanut butter stirred into the coconut milk with honey slathered on top that was telling me, sure, there are still a bunch of tourists but they obviously aren't the tipping kind, let's go, the coconut milk is ready...

But the reality is that, people who are passing the Lilly Pad at say, 2 AM are mostly of the sort who still feel that the night is young and, after having taken in all of Bourbon Street and, perhaps most importantly, still having money and being in search of more escapades, are on their way to Frenchmen Street. For one reason or another.

But, it is mostly because they want a more "human" experience, where they might encounter people whose every line doesn't sound like a pitch, and where there would be young people trying all sorts of things (anyone looking for mushrooms or designer drugs, for example, is directed there) and where they might hear musicians who are putting a hundred percent into establishing a name for themselves with whatever they do, rather than resting upon laurels.

This has always boded well for myself, as I think I present kind of the bridge between Frenchmen Street and "that culture" and the Bourbon Street that the tourists may have found a bit too crass and commercial for their tastes.

I would be the first person sitting along the side of the road who was not aggressively in their face or in their ears with any kind of appeal to "help me out."

I would have my head bent over the neck of the guitar or into the harmonica and they would get the sense that they could walk by unnoticed by me. This has a good effect upon people who would give to "the street people" if only they felt that they were doing it of their own volition, and not because they are being skeezed by the street person, whose dog may have burned down that same morning, or what have you.

Plus, if they have not been impressed by slick and polished blues and jazz standards played with aplomb for the thousand and something-th time by musicians who live not fueled by adrenaline produced by the artists fear of failure combined with his having put himself in a situation where he might, but rather by the security from the paycheck from the "pirate" bar or the "gator" place and the comfort of knowing the songs inside and out...

Then, they might be fit for the likes of myself playing The Carcass Song and making some of it up as I go along -doing something for the first, and not thousandth, time, type of thing.

I am also a personification of the spirit that wants to withdrawn itself from the maddening crowd and play where it is quiet, even though sacrificing "all the money" that surely must be available towards the "neon" end of the street.

"Why are you playing way down here?"

"Why are you playing way down here?" I am asked by people who are almost invariably putting something in my basket as they do.

So, the tourists who are jumping ship and headed towards the underground world of Frenchmen Street, are ripe for me between midnight and 4 AM, yet, I guess I had to go and prove that all over again to myself. One never knows if the climate has changed in six years, as far as those kind of things.

A Daytime Lilly Pad Busker Rears Head

I did learn that a daytime busker has indeed usurped the block across the street from the bar. He is not literally at the Lilly Pad, but 44 feet away. I could see where the bar might let this go, since their piano player hasn't began to play at that time.

It is a large man with long white hair who plays an electric guitar through and amp, but doesn't sing, according to Michelle, the cashier at The Quartermaster.

Michelle has a daughter who is in her thirties and who sings, and has sung with the large guy with long white hair.

She hinted that the songs her daughter likes are closer to what I do than to the repertoire of the large man.

I have some feelings of envy over whatever money the guy might make. I also know that, were I to show up wanting to play at 3 in the afternoon, then a civil discussion would have to take place between us where I would explain that the block is zoned as residential and as such is off limits to buskers, unless those buskers are occupying the private property of a resident who has given that busker permission to do so, etc. etc.

The guy should, at that point, relinquish the spot, grateful for whatever he might have been making there, and hoping that my showing up at 3 in the afternoon is an anomaly...

Some Makeup To Jacob

I am making sure that my friend Jacob, whom I still owe 44 dollars to, doesn't miss out on any kratom teas due to lack of funds, over the entire period that I owe him anything.
This way it will be like the money was virtually there all the time..
I might be able to pay back the whole amount of $50 that he entrusted me with about 3 weeks ago now, with all being well that ends well...

But, the American Express Serve replacement card came in the mail today. On this, I need to put at least the minimum amount of 20 dollars, so that I can at least order a couple sets of guitar strings, and dream about a new harmonica. I am thinking of the key of F major for the next one, sure am...
F major, being just one step above a ton of other music in existence, might yield the most contrast when switching harps between songs, like night and day, I hope.


I am still waiting on a replacement plasma card, but can go to donate tomorrow, since I'll wind up with the money as soon as the card comes...why not have the thing arrive with sixty something dollars on it already?

Blogging tip #11: Don't have all ugly pictures in your post...

The ID card, I may be able to have paid for by "Catholic Charities," which is one of the organizations that I need to be thankful for for my current situation. I know I  can thank them for Tim Cullen, my "caseworker," also.

Tim might be able to take me to the DMV and then, using "petty cash," be able to justify its expenditure upon me getting a new photo ID, one with my real address on it and not that of the homeless shelter, which is an address that tells any cop, you can do whatever you want to this one.

"Are you feeling well and healthy today, Daniel?"

At least the new address might tell the cops that this one is a veteran who has served the country in the military (and as a result, may suffer from some post traumatic stress syndrome, and you might want to have your weapon at the ready, safety off, better safe than sorry...).

Then, there was the library card...I just thought that I should start going to the library again...I could even blog from there....