Potato Days

• Days Sober: 12
• Friday Night Off From Busking
• Algiers Trip Planned

I sit here, early Saturday morning, with a bag by my feet containing freshly pulled beets, olives, a can of cat food, and bananas, and an energy drink.
The beets are to go with the potato diet that I am about to extend to a second day. Yesterday, I started the day around noon with a lot of boiled potatoes with sauerkraut on the side, and doctored up with salt and black pepper and cayenne pepper and mustard and a dash of olive oil and minced garlic; all mashed together.
This power meal helped me to work on music all afternoon. I however, tired towards the evening, and chose to stay in and take a hot bath and work on more music, and watch a movie, perhaps.
I had some popcorn later on in the evening, before getting to sleep at the "normal" time of about 11 PM.
A Running Program
That is why I was up with the sun, and have already taken my 450 yard run, on my way to the store for the above. I run from the corner of the fence out front, to the awning over the sidewalk leading to a certain business. I picked that distance because it is the distance at which I had felt sufficiently winded upon my first foray into jogging a few days ago, to have stopped running there, and resumed walking.
By pacing it off, feeling silly and walking like a referee stepping off a penalty, I have come up with 450 as being the distance of what I am going to make my "daily" run, beginning with these first couple of them. I figure that I can reduce my time from about 2:20 to about 1:45.
What bugs me is that, based upon the distance, which is within feet of being a quarter mile; my velocity, I have calculated at 9:20 per mile. I ran the fastest mile of my life at about the age of 20; at 5:03
I ran the course in 2:24.32 today, which is 3 and a quarter seconds slower than yesterday.
Could the potatoes be slowing me down? Probably not; probably the potatoes minus some kind of protein to go with them.
Eating Solid Food
I have only been eating solid food for the past couple days, after a 10 day juice/water fast. This kept me sober, once again, and I am working on my13th day "dry," as the AA people would refer to it.
They don't consider one "sober" until he overwrites the whole thought process that resulted in his drinking; and no longer even desires a drink.
I don't desire a drink. That might change if, at some point, I add certain foods to my diet, which might make me crave wine; like baked sole with a green salad on the side...
The Patriots are playing a playoff game today, and I will schedule around that, in order to place me in front of a TV somewhere; preferably where I can even hear the audio, the Royal Sonesta on Bourbon Street comes to mind. It used to be one of the first "nightclubs" in the nation, back in the 20's.
I go back to the room now to cook some potatoes, perhaps make headway on a song, and then to hit the quarter early enough to busk a little bit before the game starts. I will probably stay there throughout the course of both games today, and then play at the Lilly Pad from the time that the second game ends, until maybe 2 AM. The weather is pretty nice for January 16th, at about 60 degrees and partly cloudy. The coldest night of the year should occur during the next 30 days or so, and then it should be busking weather from then on until fall.
Algiers Trip
I really want to fish for catfish; the type of catfish that I have seen in the hands of people who had just caught them out of the Mississippi River, over by the spot where Howard used to live in a tent in a stand of trees.
I just need to get some high-test fishing line, and tie it to an empty milk jug with the cap on it, and then put a sinker and a hook with some chicken liver on it, on the other end, toss it out there and then wait, I suppose, for the milk jug to begin an erratic dance on top of the water, bobbing and whirling and trying to go under.
Those fish were over 2 feet long and weighed over 10 pounds.
I want to bring a cooler with some ice in it and come back here with enough catfish to fill my freezer and save me at least 20 bucks per month...yup...
And I want to locate Howard.
Starting at his former camp spot, it will be easy to trace a path to the nearest McDonalds, and of course the library. If he is living over in Algiers, either in a house that he has already bought out of the inheritance that he recently acquired, or with the friends that he had made over there, he would still probably be going to the library, probably every single morning, like he used to do.
He would complain about having read every book in the library that he is interested in reading. He used to read 2 or 3 per day, so it is easy to imagine him exhausting the supply of a small library like the one in Algiers, especially in his preferred genres.

3 Day Juice Fast

• Days Sober: 3
• Days Off From Busking: 2
• Howard Gone
• I Run Into Johnny B.

I hadn't really gotten to that "physically weak, spiritually strong," feeling last (Wednesday) night as I neared my third day without a drop of alcohol.
I am marking the "days" at about 2 AM each morning, as that was about the time, last Monday morning, that I ran out to the store to spend the last of my money on one last pretty much unnecessary beer, in an attempt to get it through my head, when I woke up broke and hung over the next morning, that the drinking had to stop.
That worked.
Only making 6 cents Monday night was a blessing in disguise.
I took Tuesday and last night off, as the temperatures and the reports coming back from the Quarter of it being "a ghost town" were the same as on the 6 cent Monday.
Howard Gone
Howard has vanished abruptly, after telling me about a week ago that his stepfather had passed away, and to his surprise, left he and his sister the proceeds from the sale of his condo. I guess the condo sold, and I can only estimate, based upon average real estate prices that Howard must have come into oh, at least 80 thousand bucks; assuming that it was a tiny, run down condo; and upwards of who knows how much if it was a nice one.
He had his stuff all in boxes and his fish out of its aquarium and in a baggie of water. He told me that he had to invest the money within a year or they would "tax the hell out of it."
That gave him some time to think, but apparently he only thought for a few days (unless he had seen the money coming a long time ago; maybe even as long ago as when we were homeless together here and in Baton Rouge and I couldn't understand how he could while away his life reading books as if trying to pass time for the rest of his life -he may have been waiting for the place to sell...)
Out of time got to go.

Next: I get a new tiposaurus...

30 Dollar Wednesday

Wednesday morning, after waking up with about 8 of the 9 dollars, which I had made the previous night ($14 total, after a black guy, who had a wad of cash, handed me 5 dollars when I was in the Wal-Greens, buying a bag of chips and a half gallon of prune juice at 2 AM, on my way to the sign spot; he may have seen the prune juice and felt sorry for me ...I've been constipated before, dude, and it's no fun...) I went to the Starbucks to blog.

I left the prune juice at the sign spot; effectively postponing my Dr. Christophers' 3 day fast and cleanse and mucous free diet project; for at least one more day.

I ran into David the water jug player, who had asked me if I had any weed.

"No, if I spend 5 bucks on a "nick," it will only leave me 3 dollars for beer."

Having at least enough beer money to get drunk is to me what that blanket was to Linus in the Peanuts comics -something which David understood perfectly. "Go about your business, man! To tell you the truth, I'm already high and have drank 2 half pints of vodka, already!"

Music

As I blogged yesterdays post, I was listening to one of the albums which I had burned onto my stick at the library, then transferred to my laptop.

It is convenient for me to check out 2 (my maximum) CD's upon each visit to the library, and burn them to the stick, while I blog on the library computer; then transfer them at Starbucks.

I am starting with the "A" section of the libraries CD rack, and working my way through the alphabet. Yesterday, I burned a Brian Adams disc, and a Greg Allman one.

Record Review

The Brian Adams disc, entitled "The Tracks Of My Years," is full of cover songs, which were meaningful to Brian, back in the 70's; and which had become "engrained" in him, as he put it in the liner notes.

I was immediately impressed by 2 things: The amount of energy the guy puts into his vocals -he really is a "belter,"- and the sound quality, which stirred up insecurity in me about my potential to approach his sonic level, even with the snowball microphone. It really is a "good sounding" album, even if you hate the songs and/or hate Bryan Adams.

A Sound Comparison

Johnny B.'s CD, which he played for me in his apartment, sounded as good as Bryans.

"I spent $30,000 on that CD; It'd better sound good. Plus, my brother is one of the top engineers in the business," said Johnny B., about it.

4 Out Of 5 Stars

The downside of Bryan's album is that, there are some songs which he belts out; where his voice sounds a bit cracked and, perhaps, damaged after years of performing. 

And, it is as the album progresses that the rasp intensifies, as if he recorded them all in that order, in one session. In fact, in the last few, he sounds irritatingly (to me) like Rod Stewart. I have hated Rod's voice ever since hearing "Maggie Mae," when I was in the 8th grade. It wasn't every schoolboy's dream to sing like him. He sounded (and sounds) "horse."

I never pressed Johnny B. for more information, to satisfy my mild curiosity about which famous artists his famous brother has engineered.

He once told me that he, himself, has had songs "on the radio." 

I keep asking him his last name; then keep forgetting it (probably because I brush by him at 2 AM, at the end of my night, and well into a "blackout" stage, often).

I started to show Johnny the snowball mic and extoll its virtues; and he cut me off with: "Dude, there are 15 thousand dollar mics out there; I'm not going to be impressed by any 50 dollar job, out of Radio Shack!"

So be it.

Nice Recording, Daniel!

Maybe I can aim for "1950's Chuck Berry" quality recordings to get me started. Hey, that was good enough to get The Fonz and Pinky Tuscadero Rocking at the hop...

I had stopped at the Veaux Carre Baptist church on Dauphine Street before going to Starbucks to blog; trying to get some more thermal protection out of their clothing room.

I got the two extra tee shirts, and the wool socks; and a barrage of questions from Luke, who was the one who had handed them to me.

He wanted to know if I was "saved," told me that I didn't sound too "sure" after I said: "Sure," and, I was eventually able to escape with the shirts and socks; after being prayed over.

I made a beeline for The Unique Grocery, and my first beer of the evening, feeling like an immoral heathen (the cost of free clothes from a church) every step of the way. Nothing makes you feel like a beer more than having someone trying to convince you that you don't need one for a half hour.

I drank the beer before updating the blog, and then another, as I walked down Royal Street.

The second beer had only cost me 25 cents, after I had handed the Ethiopian guy 2 dollars for a $1.25 can, whereupon he asked me: "Why did you give me 2 dollars?," handed one of them back to me, plus 75 cents, out of 4 quarters, which he (magically?) had in his hand. I normally would have pointed out the mistake to him; but being so broke....

He will remind me tonight, if he noticed; and I will unflinchingly apologize for my oversight and give him a buck.

Maybe the prayers were working...

I had 5 dollars left, and detoured to Sydneys for one more beer, before going to the Lilly spot.

The first hour or so produced no money for the tiposaurus at all, but rather, some sarcastic comments made by some types who reminded me of the kids I went to Catholic high school with. "You're awesome, man! Keep rocking!" Like a kid who is insecure and jealous.

I kept my cool, and tried to push any thoughts out of my head that I was being punished by God for drinking beer after having been prayed for.

Lilly came by and we talked for a while about where I had been; and I regaled her with The Leslie Thompson Story.

I took a break and spent myself down to almost nothing at Sydneys, and then returned, thus fortified, to play some more.

After almost another hour of being either ignored, or hearing more juvenile heckling, by people who all seemed to be of the same ilk from the same cheap country, and with the all the beer gone; my mood began to darken; and I started to slip lyrics like: "What if you worked all night and didn't get paid?," and "It's alright, I don't have to eat tonight" into my improvs.

The "Point Of Quitting" Effect

At the point when I had just about had enough, and had packed up the tiposaurus, but not the guitar yet; a kid of about 18 or so, sat down about 4 feet to my left.

I deemed him a "traveling kid,' by dint of his backpack and attire, though he seemed to have perfect teeth.

I grabbed my ax, and went into kind of a crunchy metal type rhythm and vented my anger lyrically; kind of feeling like I, at least, had the perfect audience, in him (and before he could ask me to play some Sublime or Radiohead).

It became apparent that he had no money; after he complimented my music profusely, and then added the: "I wish I had some money, 'cause I'd hook you up!" which every busker hears, every once in a while.

I played some more, venting more angst; and a guy came and placed 2 dollars on my backpack as, I had been so close to packing up and leaving, that I didn't even have the tiposaurus out, nor my case open.

"The Guy Who Wants To Play Your Guitar" Rears His Head

"Sure, if you put 10 bucks in my case..."

Then, up walked a thin young guy, who had dollar bills pinned to his black tee shirt; advertising that it was his birthday.

He asked me if he could play something on my guitar.

I hesitated and contemplated saying: "Sure, if you tip me 10 bucks, in case you break a string." That is exactly what Jay the really loud singer would have said; I've heard him say that after people merely request a song.

As I hesitated further, he appended: "...or sing along with you," whereupon I agreed, and we both sang "For No One," by The Beatles, as I played.

A lady soon materialized, who was on her phone, trying to locate her husband. She (almost absentmindedly, it seemed) threw a couple bucks to the tiposaurus, which was back out; as I had changed my mind about quitting after having gotten the first tip of the night, which was 2 hours old. The persuasion of 2 dollars...

Now You Can Play

Then, I ceded my guitar to the birthday guy; especially after he had asked a guy, who was wearing a shirt and a tie and carrying a Hurricane drink from Lafitts, and who had quipped: "Sounds good," as he walked past if he would (consequently) throw me a dollar or two. And since, by then, I had placed him with the non-skeezing population of the planet. Even the way that he had asked the gentleman if he would tip me was easy, not skeezy.

The guy threw 2 bucks.

The birthday guy played "Crazy Love," by Van Morrison on the Takamine and we harmonized, while more money went to the tiposaurs. 

Then, after a few verses, I recognized that the chords were the same as those to "The Weight," by The Band, and I broke into that; and the birthday guy knew it; and we sang and harmonized and a splendid time was had.

After he handed the guitar back to me, I played one of my originals, which he liked so much that he pulled one of the dollars off of his birthday shirt and gave it to me.

By then, there was another young lady listening, and I felt like I was playing and singing well enough to welcome her attention, and her 2 dollars. There

"Wow, You Weren't Even Playing!"

It slowed down, traffic-wise, as midnight approached, and the traveling kid and I had a metaphysical discussion about time and mass and energy and the power of love, etc. during which a guy came "from out of nowhere" and put 20 dollars next to the tiposaurus.

"Wow, your weren't even playing!" exclaimed the traveling kid.

Maybe he was tipping our conversation about the power of love...

Skeeze Not, Want Not

To his credit, the traveling kid never tried to skeeze me, and I ultimately asked him if he needed a couple of dollars (out of the 30 or so).

I saw a correlation between the disproportional amount of 2 dollar tips, rather than ones, and the fact that the kid was sitting by me -with perfect teeth; and looking like River Phoenix or Johnny Depp or one of those guys.

I'm not a good judge of beauty in other men; but the predominately gay part of the quarter where I play is...

He didn't need a couple of dollars.

That fact, and the perfect teeth lead me to believe that he was probably the kid of wealthy parents, who was sowing his oats, or going astray, depending upon ones perspective.

Now it is Thursday night, as I wrap this up; it is 6:07 PM.

It is lightly raining. And about 55 degrees. Darn.

The Recovery Is On

I bought razors, showered and shaved at the VA, and am on my way to get batteries for the spotlight; so that I can be illuminated, after 3 weeks of darkness (and ranting, raving lunacy).

The only thing I am missing is patchouli oil (Lilly likes it).

Doctor: "Quit Smoking!"

The Blogger editor is, for the second consequetive day, not letting me use its features....

• Bike Returned
• Monday Not A Money Day

Bike Returned
Sunday, after borrowing 10 bucks from Tanya and taking the ferry across the river; intent upon washing clothes and changing into some of them; I was greeted by Ron, the Surfer.
He said "Your bike's back."