It is Saturday evening and the sun is already about to go down.
It is June 1st, and the greater population of Sacred Heart have received their money from the government to compensate them for their disabilities.
They have the tendency to make a show of smoking cigarettes and drinking fine liquor in front of me at this time.
As I go past them on my way out to make an average of 25 dollars, and they are standing there with "hundreds of dollars" on them, they actually exude a smugness and might say sarcastically: "Goin' out to make that big money, eh?" perhaps trying to rub my nose in the fact that I don't get a check for $743 on the first of every month, and to suggest that my life sucks compared to theirs in that regard.
I have to go out there and work every night, or I won't have anything.
Of, course, by the 8th day of the typical month, their attitudes will have changed and they will regret having been so smug, because, at that point they are all out of everything and will have to hustle their way through the last three quarters of the month.
If one of them ever turned to me on the night of the first day of the month, as he stood out front next to those waiting for the crack dealer to drive through, waiting for a cab to come and take him to a nice restaurant where he will drop a third of his monthly check in one evening on lobster and Hennessy ("I just like to treat myself just once every month; my one special night; I feel that I'm entitled to at least that!") and said something like: "Are you alright, do you need a cigarette?" then that would be a person whom I would do the same for when the 8th day of the month rolled around, and his attitude has changed and it seems like not so much of a curse upon me, that I have to ride into the Quarter and busk for 3 hours every night, instead of going out for lobster and Hennessy...
But, it is a stalemate between them trying to rub my nose in the fact that they get a check and flaunt their wealth in front of me, and then me trying to rub their noses in the fact that they run out of it a quarter of the way through the month, while I keep "going out to make that big money," which they mock me for.
The Daniel And Jacob Show
Last night, Jacob and I busked at the Lilly Pad for almost 3 hours and made just about 75 bucks.
One couple, who came along and ruined the first 45 minutes of our stereo recording (made by running both of our phones simultaneously on "audio recorder") by requesting songs and singing along over them, tipped us 50 bucks in three installments of 20,20, then 10.
They were the dream tourists in that, the guy just happened to request songs that I did all the time, like "Misty Mountain Hop," by Led Zeppelin, "While MY (harmonica) Gently Weeps," the Beatles song, and then "House of the Rising Sun."
Jacob is a good at comping along on the acoustic bass, and so we entertained that couple.
Tonight would be a second consecutive night of busking together, should we make it out there.
It is also a test of how dedicated a busker is, whether or not he/she wants to take time off to enjoy the money or to go another round.
There was a slight problem with skeezers on Thursday night, when I only got out there at midnight and a large, smelly guy with a beard had already laid down and was sleeping on the other side of the staircase from where I play.
I could understand him thinking that I wasn't going to make it when I wasn't there by 11:30.
But then another skeezer, a skinny effeminate guy, who made sure I knew that he went by the name "Butterfly" came along and was obviously faking a limp (How the hell was he ever able to walk to here from wherever he came from with a limp that bad?!?) and just had to sit down and rest immediately. He couldn't make it another 33 feet to the other stoop where I wasn't playing.
It was almost 1:30 AM and, so I wasn't being very territorial over the spot; something that proved to be a mistake. He insinuated himself onto the stoop and began rattling off a dialogue that I had heard before; word for word. It was through that that I realized that I had "seen" him there before.
"They stole my guitar," he said once again.
Then he wanted to show me how to play "Hotel California" on my guitar, just like he had done about six months ago.
He repeated that, most people play "the first three notes" wrong, but that he alone had the secret knowledge about them.
Then he started yammering about how he didn't get his check until the 3rd of the month, like some do, rather than the first, making me pretty sure that it had been the first or second of whatever month it was the last time he had done his exact same little performance.
There weren't many tourists out, and I decided that I would just let him have the stoop.
This was after I had said: "You know, I've been playing here for 7 years and I never make any money when my friends are hanging out with me," using that term as a way of giving him the benefit of the doubt that I considered him a friend. It was going to make it look like the three of us were together and that we were probably spending the proceeds on whatever made the fat guy with the beard pass out; and that I was just the one who played guitar.
He told me that he had to sit there to "watch" the sleeping guy.
This was just an exercise for me in "humility," and being able to look at the big picture and not make a stink over a situation where I only stood to see maybe a dozen more tourists the rest of the night; not worth even bothering Lilly over, but...
But as I was packing up, Butterfly became cocky (I hate it when gay guys become that) and, displaying his version, I guess, of chest thumping, said: "Oh, I'm running you off, what a pity, yuck, yuck" in a sarcastic tone of voice.
Then, of course, came a triumphant: "See ya! Wouldn't want to be ya!" as I was half way to my bike.
I had to text Lilly to see if she would at least open her window and say something that would make him leave or, better yet, come outside and recognize him and say: "I thought I told you you weren't welcome here," or something.
Lilly tends to welcome confrontation.
"It's late, we're sleeping; please don't call this late unless it's an emergency," she wrote back.
She was right. It was 1:30 AM on a Friday morning -a school night for her college student daughter, Angelique, plus, there weren't many tourists out, and it had been merely my ego that wanted to vanquish the fake limping fag from "my" playing spot.
But, then, as I stood by my bike, ready to ride off after Lilly's reply, up walked a couple of guys who were each a bit bigger than me.
One of them asked me about my guitar.
This led to him wanting to hear me play, which led to me telling him that I would have been playing "on the stoop over there, except..." then explaining what had happened.
The guy seemed outraged, and insisted that we go over to the stoop and, in effect, reclaim it for me.
He had grown up in the neighborhood, and believed that a skeezer should never interfere with a busker, or words to that effect.
We walked over.
Butterfly had flitted off the stoop and moved to the other side of the sleeping guy at some point when I was conversing with the local; probably right after I had gestured towards him to the guy and his friend, and they had turned and looked at him. It was the "Don't look now, but..." thing in reverse. Do look now, so he will know I am talking about him without his ears having to itch...
He was sitting at the foot of the sleeping guy, with his back against the wall, on the other side of which Angelique was getting her beauty rest, and had propped his feet on my milk crate, which I had left there, not totally sure if I was indeed going to knock off or try to play more.
"Um, that's my milk crate," I said to him, and he turned it over without a word.
His whole demeanor had changed, with him acting more meek.
One more song was played before I concluded that it actually did want to knock off.
The next (Friday) afternoon, I called Lilly and apologized for having disturbed her, and all things seemed to return to the way they had been. She said that she knew about the guy with the beard who slept there, and that he always waved to her. I had figured that that was part of the reason she hadn't come out -not wanting to run off a guy that was nice and who waved. It was a conflict of interest. As far as Butterfly is concerned, I will tell the bearded guy that, if I have to complain about him then he (the bearded guy) would probably lose his sleeping spot, if Lilly runs them off wholesale.
$4.37 Reduced To 51 Cents
Jacob and I got there at around 9:45 PM, Friday night. Good and early. Nobody sleeping there..
We played and made the 75 dollars, and the 3 hours went by rather quickly, as we played well enough to entertain ourselves; plus we knew that, at the very least, we would each have a stereo recording that we could do something with, in our studios. The soundbites of what tourists say are especially appealing to Jacob, who can make a whole song out of a phrase. Monday night's session started with a young lady saying: "The only things I don't like are snakes and bears..." as she walked past. And so, that became the "snakes and bears" session.
Jacob's phone seems to capture better audio (more bass) than mine.
But, maybe there is an app available that will optimize the phone's audio for music, rather than voice...
Jacob and I discussed ordering a lot of kratom, taking advantage of the quantity discounts offered by AuthenticKratom, through which he orders it. If we were to come up with 100 dollars, we could each wind up with 3 and a half ounces, for 50 bucks out of pocket. This works out to the "shot" which is sold for $4.37 at Uxi Duxi costing us 51 cents.
But, right now, I want to hop on my bike and go get an energy drink and stop by the Unique Store to see if Samson has the JUUL vaporizer that he said he would give me today, after I was about to spend 20 bucks on one to replace mine, which I must have let fall out of my bag somewhere.
I might just buy an ounce of kratom at retail, and hope that any money that we* make tonight could go towards the big order at a discount price.
*assuming Jacob has the energy to play a second night in a row, otherwise, it will just be me.
It is June 1st, and the greater population of Sacred Heart have received their money from the government to compensate them for their disabilities.
They have the tendency to make a show of smoking cigarettes and drinking fine liquor in front of me at this time.
As I go past them on my way out to make an average of 25 dollars, and they are standing there with "hundreds of dollars" on them, they actually exude a smugness and might say sarcastically: "Goin' out to make that big money, eh?" perhaps trying to rub my nose in the fact that I don't get a check for $743 on the first of every month, and to suggest that my life sucks compared to theirs in that regard.
I have to go out there and work every night, or I won't have anything.
Of, course, by the 8th day of the typical month, their attitudes will have changed and they will regret having been so smug, because, at that point they are all out of everything and will have to hustle their way through the last three quarters of the month.
If one of them ever turned to me on the night of the first day of the month, as he stood out front next to those waiting for the crack dealer to drive through, waiting for a cab to come and take him to a nice restaurant where he will drop a third of his monthly check in one evening on lobster and Hennessy ("I just like to treat myself just once every month; my one special night; I feel that I'm entitled to at least that!") and said something like: "Are you alright, do you need a cigarette?" then that would be a person whom I would do the same for when the 8th day of the month rolled around, and his attitude has changed and it seems like not so much of a curse upon me, that I have to ride into the Quarter and busk for 3 hours every night, instead of going out for lobster and Hennessy...
But, it is a stalemate between them trying to rub my nose in the fact that they get a check and flaunt their wealth in front of me, and then me trying to rub their noses in the fact that they run out of it a quarter of the way through the month, while I keep "going out to make that big money," which they mock me for.
The Daniel And Jacob Show
One couple, who came along and ruined the first 45 minutes of our stereo recording (made by running both of our phones simultaneously on "audio recorder") by requesting songs and singing along over them, tipped us 50 bucks in three installments of 20,20, then 10.
They were the dream tourists in that, the guy just happened to request songs that I did all the time, like "Misty Mountain Hop," by Led Zeppelin, "While MY (harmonica) Gently Weeps," the Beatles song, and then "House of the Rising Sun."
Jacob is a good at comping along on the acoustic bass, and so we entertained that couple.
Tonight would be a second consecutive night of busking together, should we make it out there.
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| Done with GIMP editor |
There was a slight problem with skeezers on Thursday night, when I only got out there at midnight and a large, smelly guy with a beard had already laid down and was sleeping on the other side of the staircase from where I play.
I could understand him thinking that I wasn't going to make it when I wasn't there by 11:30.
But then another skeezer, a skinny effeminate guy, who made sure I knew that he went by the name "Butterfly" came along and was obviously faking a limp (How the hell was he ever able to walk to here from wherever he came from with a limp that bad?!?) and just had to sit down and rest immediately. He couldn't make it another 33 feet to the other stoop where I wasn't playing.
It was almost 1:30 AM and, so I wasn't being very territorial over the spot; something that proved to be a mistake. He insinuated himself onto the stoop and began rattling off a dialogue that I had heard before; word for word. It was through that that I realized that I had "seen" him there before.
"They stole my guitar," he said once again.
Then he wanted to show me how to play "Hotel California" on my guitar, just like he had done about six months ago.
He repeated that, most people play "the first three notes" wrong, but that he alone had the secret knowledge about them.
Then he started yammering about how he didn't get his check until the 3rd of the month, like some do, rather than the first, making me pretty sure that it had been the first or second of whatever month it was the last time he had done his exact same little performance.
There weren't many tourists out, and I decided that I would just let him have the stoop.
This was after I had said: "You know, I've been playing here for 7 years and I never make any money when my friends are hanging out with me," using that term as a way of giving him the benefit of the doubt that I considered him a friend. It was going to make it look like the three of us were together and that we were probably spending the proceeds on whatever made the fat guy with the beard pass out; and that I was just the one who played guitar.
He told me that he had to sit there to "watch" the sleeping guy.
This was just an exercise for me in "humility," and being able to look at the big picture and not make a stink over a situation where I only stood to see maybe a dozen more tourists the rest of the night; not worth even bothering Lilly over, but...
But as I was packing up, Butterfly became cocky (I hate it when gay guys become that) and, displaying his version, I guess, of chest thumping, said: "Oh, I'm running you off, what a pity, yuck, yuck" in a sarcastic tone of voice.
Then, of course, came a triumphant: "See ya! Wouldn't want to be ya!" as I was half way to my bike.
I had to text Lilly to see if she would at least open her window and say something that would make him leave or, better yet, come outside and recognize him and say: "I thought I told you you weren't welcome here," or something.
Lilly tends to welcome confrontation.
"It's late, we're sleeping; please don't call this late unless it's an emergency," she wrote back.
She was right. It was 1:30 AM on a Friday morning -a school night for her college student daughter, Angelique, plus, there weren't many tourists out, and it had been merely my ego that wanted to vanquish the fake limping fag from "my" playing spot.
But, then, as I stood by my bike, ready to ride off after Lilly's reply, up walked a couple of guys who were each a bit bigger than me.
One of them asked me about my guitar.
This led to him wanting to hear me play, which led to me telling him that I would have been playing "on the stoop over there, except..." then explaining what had happened.
The guy seemed outraged, and insisted that we go over to the stoop and, in effect, reclaim it for me.
He had grown up in the neighborhood, and believed that a skeezer should never interfere with a busker, or words to that effect.
We walked over.
Butterfly had flitted off the stoop and moved to the other side of the sleeping guy at some point when I was conversing with the local; probably right after I had gestured towards him to the guy and his friend, and they had turned and looked at him. It was the "Don't look now, but..." thing in reverse. Do look now, so he will know I am talking about him without his ears having to itch...
He was sitting at the foot of the sleeping guy, with his back against the wall, on the other side of which Angelique was getting her beauty rest, and had propped his feet on my milk crate, which I had left there, not totally sure if I was indeed going to knock off or try to play more.
"Um, that's my milk crate," I said to him, and he turned it over without a word.
His whole demeanor had changed, with him acting more meek.
One more song was played before I concluded that it actually did want to knock off.
The next (Friday) afternoon, I called Lilly and apologized for having disturbed her, and all things seemed to return to the way they had been. She said that she knew about the guy with the beard who slept there, and that he always waved to her. I had figured that that was part of the reason she hadn't come out -not wanting to run off a guy that was nice and who waved. It was a conflict of interest. As far as Butterfly is concerned, I will tell the bearded guy that, if I have to complain about him then he (the bearded guy) would probably lose his sleeping spot, if Lilly runs them off wholesale.
$4.37 Reduced To 51 Cents
Jacob and I got there at around 9:45 PM, Friday night. Good and early. Nobody sleeping there..
We played and made the 75 dollars, and the 3 hours went by rather quickly, as we played well enough to entertain ourselves; plus we knew that, at the very least, we would each have a stereo recording that we could do something with, in our studios. The soundbites of what tourists say are especially appealing to Jacob, who can make a whole song out of a phrase. Monday night's session started with a young lady saying: "The only things I don't like are snakes and bears..." as she walked past. And so, that became the "snakes and bears" session.
Jacob's phone seems to capture better audio (more bass) than mine.
But, maybe there is an app available that will optimize the phone's audio for music, rather than voice...
Jacob and I discussed ordering a lot of kratom, taking advantage of the quantity discounts offered by AuthenticKratom, through which he orders it. If we were to come up with 100 dollars, we could each wind up with 3 and a half ounces, for 50 bucks out of pocket. This works out to the "shot" which is sold for $4.37 at Uxi Duxi costing us 51 cents.
But, right now, I want to hop on my bike and go get an energy drink and stop by the Unique Store to see if Samson has the JUUL vaporizer that he said he would give me today, after I was about to spend 20 bucks on one to replace mine, which I must have let fall out of my bag somewhere.
I might just buy an ounce of kratom at retail, and hope that any money that we* make tonight could go towards the big order at a discount price.
*assuming Jacob has the energy to play a second night in a row, otherwise, it will just be me.
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