Ginger Root (updated final draft!)

When The Comment Becomes The Post

Gotta admit, you're living the Life Of Riley for street bums. Free food, free booze, only get rolled once in a while, mostly every thing free-free-free until another bum takes the T-bird awayyyyy .... Only thing being sacrificed is ... musical progress and the respect of the kind of people who might help you attain that -Alex In California

There's Alex...

I am hoping to address the above comment from the garlic capital of the world, implicitly through the following post...
 
Start With A Penny...
Yesterday, I left the library after posting and drank an apple juice instead of a Hurricane Lager.
I had to use my newly acquired and activated food stamp card for its purchase, as I had a total of one penny in my rear left pocket.
I walked down Royal Street, stopping briefly at Rouses Market, in front of which were playing about 2/7 ths of The Hokum High Rollers.
It was the washboard player, upright bassists/singer and resonator guitarist/singer combo.
My Resolve Not To Smoke Or Drink
After walking past my habitual first stop, The Unique Boutique, sipping the apple juice, and not smoking, I started to sense a feeling of wellness welling up in me.
At Rouses Market, I decided to get an energy drink to set beside me at the Bourbon Street spot as a surrogate to the can of Steel Reserve Lager, which might "normally" be there.

Before I get to the part about the attractive young woman, a sidebar on The Hokum High Rollers...

Four Out Of Seven Ain't Bad...

I Tipped Them A Dollar

It is Tuesday Morning and the editor is working very slowly, perhaps because of the embedded video.
The Hokum High Rollers
The reason I am fingerpicking at twice the speed of, say, a year ago is that I am watching these guys play at least once per night.

They are definitely the "second string" players at the spots that Doreens Jazz Band, and Tanya and Dorise vacate between Sunday and Friday.
I have only recently come to appreciate them; I used to get no closer than 50 feet from their vocals; which tend to be of the gruff, shouted variety.
They didn't have microphones when that old-timey music was composed; so; in keeping with tradition, neither do these guys.

Sing Me The Song "Curtis Lowe"

Saturday night, at the Bourbon Street spot, across from Barnaby's condo, a couple approached, and asked me to play Bob Dylan, while I was in the middle of playing something else...
They started to walk past, but stopped and the man repeated "Bob Dylan!"
I changed to "Like A Rolling Stone," and, after the few seconds that it took them to recognize the piece, they returned and listened to a few verses, while throwing a few dollars in my case.
Then, they told me that the song that they really wanted to hear, was "Curtis Lowe," by Lynyrd Skynyrd, and the guy added that "I ALWAYS throw a tip whenever I hear someone playing that song..."

"I ALWAYS throw a tipe whenever I hear someone playing that song..."

I had heard the song before, especially when I lived in Jacksonville, Florida, the birthplace of Lynyrd Skynyr; but never tried to play it.

I hurriedly strummed an E major chord to put them into the key that I thought the song was in; and to make sure they wouldn't start singing it in the key of G sharp with myself trying to follow along.
As they sang, I managed to sound out the chords, so that by the third verse (when they chucked ol' Curtis in the clay) I had the harmony worked out, to include the "turnaround" (VI7) chord which is important because it is over this chord that we learn through the vocals that "them people all were fools."
They thanked me and said that they had had fun.
"Well, I learned a new song," I said, which seemed to please the guy (he changed the world, in his small way and will bring "Curtis Lowe" to the ears of new listeners and The People, in general, helping to keep it "alive").
I looked in my case to see the distinctive yellowish hue of a ten dollar bill, nestled next to my plastic piggie bank.
"Oh, thank you," I said; already stuffing the bill in my pocket to keep it from the-guy-who-grabs-money-out-of-your-case-and-runs-away-with-it.
I got about 15 bucks during that one song, making me think ...if I could just play 100 songs per day....
The rest of Saturday night went pretty much the same.
Upspringing And Outpouring
Sunday, as I have already posted, there was a magical upspringing and outpouring of generosity which took the form of free drinks and food and tobacco and money.
I knocked off at the curfew hour of about 8 p.m., thinking that I might return after the 
patrols rode through, and went towards Rouses Market where there was playing one of the "Old-Timey" bands across the street. The best one, in my opinion, called The High Rollers (left).
"People who don't like them call them 'Hillbilly bands," according to Paul, of Doreens Jazz Band.
Then, I spotted the distinctive aqua marine hue of Tanyas jacket out of the corner of my eye, disappearing into the store on the corner that the Old Timey band was playing in front of.
The aqua marine and dandilion-yellow clad figure with the flowing black hair had its back to me, but there could be no mistaking it to be none other than Tanya Huang.
She was sniffing tubes of something.
I went into the little store and stood a few feet away from her and began picking up random things and sniffing them; things with no fragrance, like ashtrays or salt shakers.
She held out two tubes for me to sniff, telling me that she had narrowed the fragrances down to those, out of the dozen or so tubes of whatever it was; which was to be her Mothers Day gift.
"Did you work tonight?" she asked.
"Yes, I did, and people actually gave me money!"
"And then you quit?" she asked, with a smile.
"Yeah, I played my best stuff; and then...well, I get lonely, I guess....It would be easier with a partner, to sit there all day; it would be like having a fishing buddy to sit in the boat with you for hours..."
"Yeah, I would hate to have to sit there all day by myself," agreed Tanya.
She seemed amused that I could earn my daily bread in a couple hours, and be done with it.
I guess we both make our "living" with our music.
Sometimes I play until enough people have told me that I sound good; and then; satisfied that I sound good; I quit playing.....
It's just that "a living" to her extends to having the means to buy tubes of fragrant lotions and potions on Mothers Day, and such.
If her hair wasn't so silky and shiny and her skin so smooth and succulent and redolent with her favorite fragrance with everything manicured and pedicured; she might deem that she wasn't making "a living" with her music, and would probably just play longer hours....
My requirements aren't quite so stringent.
She was going into Rouses Market and she asked me if I wanted anything.
"I actually got everything I need; someone gave me some jambalaya..."
"Do you want some chicken to go on top of it?"
"Sure."
She emerged with some baked chicken, which I put on top of the jambalaya and ate, along with the bottle of red wine which Barnaby had given me.
She seemed in a hurry to perhaps give her mother the gift, so I didn't invite her to sit with me on the sidewalk to eat chicken with our hands and pass the wine bottle back and forth while listening to the hillbilly band...