Light Years Away

I had a pretty strong inclination to see myself as having been lazy or selfish for not going out to busk on this Tuesday night in the middle of April The weather conditions are pretty much perfect. If there was no light breeze, making the 78 degrees feel like 72, then it would be optimal.

And, busking always leaves the door open for lady luck to walk through so that, even on Tuesday nights there are millionaires who have daughters named Amanda ready to throw a few hundred dollar bills in your jar if you are playing the song "Amanda," and he had just gotten a text from her, type of thing...

There has been so much to catch up on lately, here. The identity of whomever left the comment pertaining to Dorise Blackmon's memorial ceremony, has been like a riddle I believe I can solve. The commenter left too many clues...

Before the comment had been left, there had been the party at Tanya Huang's that I hadn't gone to. Because of the timing of the second installment of the comment, I wondered if it was some person that was planning upon confronting me in some way at that party and the frustration of not being able to vent in that, or some other passive aggressive way, drove the person back to his keyboard...

Then, there was the faintest whiff of a "cancel culture mob" in the form of maybe a half dozen transgender looking early 20's aged people who somehow materialized nearby my playing spot, where there was already a mixed race couple of musicians who had taken up the spot under the lamp post, where I started playing 11 years ago until the guy who slept in the bedroom right behind where I sat started to ask me politely, if I would stop playing at 10 PM each evening. 

But, the little gaggle of what looked like teen aged boys that had breasts, seemed to have some connection to the heavyset black kid playing an electric cello through and amp and the skeezer looking white kid with an out of tune acoustic guitar that was also being amplified.

I had politely asked them how long they were planning on playing there, to which the white kid snapped: "We just got here." This kind of belied the fact that a middle aged couple had been sitting on the stoop which used to be owned by Barnaby Chancellor, and applauding and encouraging the duo throughout the 15 minutes or so that I gave the guy to come out and ask them to stop.

It was only when I had grabbed my phone and was about to compose a text message to Ted Broughey that the two musicians kind of hastily jumped up and started scrambling for their gear, and after a quick thank you to the couple on the stoop, who seemed to be telling them to go ahead and play longer and to not worry about whatever guy slept in the room behind the lamp post...

The couple had been very rude to me when, after the cello and guitar guy left, I walked over to tell them about how, I had begun playing there and had had to make an agreement with "the gentleman who lives there" that I would knock off at 10; something that my drunk and stoned mind failed to keep track of on one too many occasions, and, hence I had had to find another spot, and bring my own spotlight in order to create it, type of thing.

The couple was so rude, with the guy basically telling me that he wasn't interested in anything I was saying (I was kind of trying to make the point that A: I had been playing in their new (as in a couple weeks) neighborhood for 10+ years, and so I knew that the young mixed race musicians had been cut some slack by the guy who sleeps behind the lamp post because he had apparently waited until almost a quarter to 11 before rapping politely on the window. Or, the sight of me reaching for my phone might have put the fear of Lilly into them, who may even have encountered her before I'd gotten there -even though they had "just started"-

So, one of the groups of transgender (and hence, not really Lafitt's Blacksmith Shop Tavern") looking youngsters, walked off after I had failed to name any of the gay strip clubs (I think they purposely leave the names off of those clubs to instill a little bit of the tittilation that comes from being inside the loop and, for example, knowing that a certain place is a gay bar and that you know the name of it, even though there is no sign on the place. There is a man dancing almost naked up on what looks like a combination stage and bar, and there are very interesting records playing, usually. At least half of the time it is music by an openly gay artist; and the other times, it coold be almost any song from anywhere and very often is one that makes me say, sometimes above my breath: "I've always thought this was one of the weirdest songs that I couldn't decide whether I liked it or not?   

I had decided to take my time setting up my stuff. It was already past 10 PM, and I hoped that the guy who lived by the lamp post would dispatch with the business of moving the duo down towards the more noisy end of Bourbon. 

As I sat and just listened to them play, the transgender types seemed to become impatient and ultimately, in between going over to the lamp post musicians, apparently to encourage them and, in my mind, to tell them to not stop playing just because some white boy showed up and he's been in the block for 12 years. type of thing, they made a couple forays towards me, asking me during one such venture, if I knew where the gay strip clubs were. After my failure to refer to any of them by name, but only by pointing out "up two blocks" to them; and even starting to wonder out loud: "I wonder why they never have their names on signs or in neon..."

This apparently unacceptable level of unfamiliarity with regard to clubs that I have walked past countless nights; and on some such occasions even paused and glanced in to see what kind of gay guy would be dancing to "Too Shy," that Cazha Googoo song. was what merited me a snubbing and having the information given to me that I, by dint of not having been able to name just one gay club was on "The Gross List."

The young boy with C cup sized breasts, sculpted eye brows and a liberal dose of face makeup's words, not mine...

Feb 28, 2024

Daniel...you are not the intellectual giant you would like to think you are...and you are usually regarded as a joke to most who ACTUALLY know you because of your smug know-it-all ignorance in life in general.

You act like you have something to say, but NOBODY is interested in your inner monologues where you drone on and on about the most inane things ever which is why barely anyone comments on your page here. That and you are a bullshit artist.

I've known Dorise Blackmon for MUCH longer than you did. Really, that probably doesn't matter...but when I was in conversation with her in 2020 your name popped up...and someone else who was there made a comment about your criminal history. She looked you up and went "Ugh...well, I don't need to support that guy anymore."

Later she commented about how she needed to be more careful about who she supported, because she realized that you were (HER WORDS)..."a gross monster."

YOU ARE.

Nobody put words into Dorise's mouth other than her.

So yeah...you probably shouldn't have showed up at her memorial service. I was there too...and many others questioned why you were there, including those closest to Dorise...so yeah you should have shown respect by not showing up!


In other news...

Sheep's Cheese

I got a 2 pound brick of sheep's cheese from the Mediterranean Market.

They seem to have a diet which supports a long and healthy life; though not one as an elite athlete, perhaps.
I'm not really sure in who's footsteps I'm following by eating the sheep's cheese. At the time I bought it, I had thought about the Mediterranean Market out of the blue. The place is a medium length walk to from the apartment, further than the Brown Derby but not as far as the Ideal Market on Broad Ave. 

It is your sheep or goat cheese connection and your grape leaf wrapped delicacy headquarters...

 

But it is light years away from them in that it saves you from having to go overseas just to get some really good local honey -local to some place in the Mediterranean...