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• Miserable Thursday Night Busking Prompts Change

The Howard Portrait

The biggest thorn in my side was having only one pencil and one crappy sharpener which wouldn't give it a sharp point; to work with -the eraser on its other end became crucial.

I basically could do what I do now when I was in third grade (I could also play a guitar at a level that I never improved upon until I was in my late teens) but I never developed it further.
There was a suggestion from perhaps the nun that taught 3rd grade; that I perhaps be sent to some kind of art school, but that was quashed by my dad who foresaw me using the college fund that he had already started for a degree in chemistry (the idea in 1970) or computer science (by 1980)

I understand and appreciate my dad's looking out for me that way; especially now that I am studying American History, and can see how by having acquiesced to his plan I could be on easy street now.
A "valuable" education could have ensured the preservation of  my middle class status and given me an advantage over those kids whose dads couldn't, or wouldn't afford 4 years of education at Worcester Polytechnic College..."anybody can draw or strum a guitar; do you really want to have to compete against them all?"
This was my chance to leapfrog all of the future skeezers of the world who, behind a panorama of excuses would never become degreed. I understand that now. My dad just drew the short straw in having that rare son who was destined to wind up singing "The Carcass Song" on Bourbon Street -kind of hard to see that coming in a youth of 7 years; and the aptitude tests aren't much help there, either....
America was all about "giving your kids all the advantages that you can."
Wasn't college enrollment even one of the disqualifiers for the draft (the "conscription" if you're college educated) that helped send 57,000 to their deaths in places with names that they couldn't pronounce? (I haven't gotten that far in the American History tomb; I'm up to 1947 now [and I hope none of you readers think that I am spreading communistic ideas in this blog, by the way...]).
Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that I just couldn't see the whole picture when I was young and become dead serious about life.

Why I'm Not A Portrait Artist

I could never force a person to sit for hours while I erase and redo and perform nose jobs on them; and then there are changing light situations; and -probably what the real pros practice- how to make the subject look "better' by basically becoming, also, a makeup artist -false graphite eyelashes? Sure...

I have done exactly one real oil painting. It was after I got an insurance settlement after a motorcycle accident and could buy all of the necessary materials to include an easel.

By the time I had finished it, I had learned 80% of what they probably teach in oil painting class, by trial and error. I did have a lot of people stop to look at the work in progress and most were very complimentary; though it was a small town with not much else going on.

The subject was a 1870's era Victorian house that was octagonal in shape -probably got photographed a lot- and I remember the little girl who lived there, the 8 year old daughter of my music teacher, coming out once and interrogating my on: "Why are you drawing our house?!?"

[*10 Seconds with Google Maps and voila! There is the house (left). I painted it from an aspect to the far left, where the crosswalk; which wasn't there then; leads to].

That house reminds me...

Coming soon: More of  the story of that house, which was a huge part of my life when I was 25. It looks like it is on the market and has been, at the time of this photo, long enough for the sidewalk cracks to have become overgrown with grass; and the bushes in the back yard are definitely not being held to the standards of the family that once lived there. I think they have moved into the brick mansion that was owned by the father in law of my music teacher, Diane Cushing. 

I have had the idea of setting up an art display beside me as I busk -an array of famous musicians copied from famous photos of them? -just drawings of Jerry Garcia, so I might profit from the collateral: "Do you play any dead songs...I see you like to draw Jerry?" But, I think only the originals would have any value; and I really don't have any "style," unless it would be: "photorealism."

But, if people want to give me a photo, I would be happy to basically reproduce it, at my leisure; complete with the mistakes that we all love because it makes us human LOL

Hangs by the clock

Yes, the final touch on the drawing to the left was to have her holding a magnifying glass to her right eye; to explain why it is larger than her other eye.

Thursday, I left the apartment before sundown; hoping to make it to the music store in time to buy strings. Had I not made it there in time, I would have come back home. That would have been a blessing.
I got to the Lilly Pad and put the new strings on and began to play; happy that I could still use the harmonica if I kept the melody within the range of the holes that worked; and ultimately disappointed that I couldn't play as freely and had to abort some melodies, which was embarrassing.
At one point, I didn't feel like playing at all. I couldn't think of a song that's message I wanted to put out there; "Imagine," by John Lennon even seemed a shallow meaningless parlay. I had gotten "medium" strings, which were making it harder to play and hurting my fingers on certain chords.
The weed I had smoked 5 hours earlier was just putting me to sleep.
I was ready to leave. I checked the time: 10:08 PM. You've got to be kidding me; this is the time that I often start and already I feel like leaving....
I took a short break and then forced myself to go back at it. Most of the 9 dollars that I would wind up making came from that second set.

I decided that I cannot smoke weed during the day and expect to have any useable energy by 10 PM at night.

I've also decided that, given the state of financial emergency that I am in; that I had better learn how to sit there and play anything, whether I am "feeling it" or not; just to put the time in and collect tips from people with the "I always give the musicians a couple dollars" attitude.

It is almost 7 PM on this Friday, it just rained for about 20 minutes, and then stopped. It will be getting dark outside soon; and I prepared to go out there and go through the motions at the bare minimum; and maybe have someone come along and request an original and tip me enough for a new harmonica at the most...
Insult to injury:

I ran into Jay The Really Loud Singer, who had apparently been drinking as evidenced by the almost empty Hand Grenade sitting next to him.

He had given up on making any money off of the same cheap tourists that I must have encountered and was singing out, making fun of them; strumming a blues progression and singing things like: "Oh, I'm a dork from Michigan and my wife wears ugly shoes...etc" when a guy with a Michigan sweatshirt on walked past with a wife wearing unusual shoes.

He continued on; apparently not caring if he made a tip or not and, quite frankly, getting away with stuff because he is large and mean looking, that other buskers might have had their guitar kicked in for.

I appreciated seeing someone else freestyling like I do myself and I wound up breaking my guitar out and jamming with him.

I was singing funny lyrics and he was singing whatever popped into his drunken head, and people were actually pausing to listen.

A guy gave Jay a 100 dollar bill.

I hadn't heard what the guy said to him while he was handing it to him; it could have been: "Can you break this and give your partner 50?"

Jay showed it to me, as he seems compelled to show off such things and said: "Look at what that guy just gave me!" and then quickly explained that the guy had remembered him from last year, or something. From his tone of voice it was clear that he was anticipating me trying to claim some of it. I could have ran after the tourist and said: "Excuse me, was that tip just for Jay, because he said it was; or for the both of us?"

Even if the guy had then said, "No, I told him to break it and give you half..." he might have argued that he would have gotten the money anyways.

All I know was that, he was sitting there insulting people. One guy walked up and asked him if he played any "Metallica," and then walked off with a "sorry to bother you" expression after Jay had just stared back at him without saying anything.

Then we jammed together and it turned from insulting to kind of comic; prompting Jay to say that we could make a lot of money together; and then the 102 dollars instantly materialized on a night that had been so slow as to have Jay pissed off and insulting people.

I would have given that thought a passing consideration if he had at least offered me one dollar to go with the 9 that I had made the whole night. That would have given me an even 10 dollars and, he still would have had about $135.

It would have been easy for him to have pocketed the 100 and not shown it to me.

I would have done that; rather than feel like the 10 year old kid: "Look what I got! And you can't have any!!! Ha ha!!"

It's funny now to recall that after I had first met Jay about 3 years ago, I had deemed him to be selfish and didn't really hang around him much. After having walked past him 900 times since, there had been a gradual eroding away of that opinion.

It is not such a big deal to me; especially given the fact that Jay pays rent somewhere; and has child support issues and has frequent encounters with crystal meth -the times that he will play all night until the sun comes up and then all that day until the sun goes down and then all night until the sun comes up..which puts into a different perspective his typical boasts of "...that all you made? I made 300 yesterday and 220 the day before!!"

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).

Not Working Is Not Working

Watching Others Play

Yesterday (Sunday), I woke up at the sign spot (left), after having spent a second night there.
I had bought a bag of unsalted peanuts; which I fed to the pigeons that haven't seen me in almost 3 weeks, while I sipped cold instant coffee.
After the football games kicked off, I headed for Bourbon Street, to see which games were visible from sidewalks. I stopped for a can of malt liquor on the way.

At halftime, and on my second can; I went to Rouses Market where Doreen's Jazz Band were playing out front; showcasing Doreen's vocabulary of Christmas jazz riffs; and guitarist Paul's amazing consistency accompanying her.
At times it was just his guitar, her clarinet and a drummer.
Paul's job is to sink into the background, yet still be the "backbone" of the music. You are only going to notice him if he makes a mistake; and thus; he goes basically unnoticed.
Paul's Advice
His suggestion to me has been to "keep doing what you're doing; Elvis Costello songs and you're "Weird Al Yankovich type originals," and to get a used Telecaster and a decent amp and mic.

The latter is the standing advice to all who want to busk on Royal Street with an acoustic guitar.

Paul and I talked football for a while during their break, then I went off down Royal Street, to get my 3rd beer of the day; passing Tanya and Dorise along the way; and stopping to chat with Jay, the really loud singer.
Jay was just wrapping up one of the (8?) songs which he plays, "Turn The Page," by Bob Seger.
I have heard him sing it about 25 times as I have passed by.
He sounds like Johnny Cash on steroids (or crystal meth) singing in the same low register, and he always omits a certain G chord, which is kind of a "false cadence," musically speaking, and one of the "hooks" in that song, which is so simple that it can use all the hooks it can get.
It's the chord which falls right before the titular words "turn the page," as a matter of fact.

I am repeating from a previous post here, but, when I pointed out to him that there was one more chord at that point in the song, he pulled a wad of cash out of his back pocket and, fanning it in front of me said: "I don't need no extra chords, bro!"
So be it.
A guy who had been standing nearby walked over and put a 20 dollar bill in Jay's case, saying "Thanks for the song; that was awesome!" He never mentioned the missing chord.
"Business as usual," said Jay, as he scooped up the bill and pocketed it; leaving about 7 singles in the case. ...easy song, easy money...

He keeps arguing to me that an amp and a mic are the way to go on Royal Street.
I walked away, envisioning a time in the future when I might be playing that very spot with a mic and an amp and being thrown 20 dollar tips, and he might think: "I never should have given him the idea...darn it!"

On my 4th beer, and with the Sunday Night Football game about to start, I encountered Tanya and Dorise again; and we chatted. I hadn't seen them for almost 3 weeks.

I am always amazed to see them still playing after I might have been doing other things for 3 or 4 or 5 hours. Sometimes, after I play the Lilly spot for 5 hours or so (a long set for me) they are still at it when I walk past them; headed "home" for the night. They might have reached their 12 hour mark, at that point.
Is it easier to go that long when you are making enough money to take 4 days off and live in luxury? Probably.
Is it easier to go that long when you are playing a nylon string Bluebird guitar which requires hardly any pressure to get the notes to sound?
Probably.
Is it easier to go that long when you are totally sober, don't smoke anything, and are eating vegan food out of a health food store (and maybe some chicken or salmon in Tanya's case)?
Even more probable.
Is it true that China is a nation of a billion people who all work 16 hours, 7 days a week?
Possibly.

We talked about music; and I was able to sing a few melodies in Tanya's ear, to refresh her memory of certain songs like "Reminiscing," by The Little River Band, and "Taking It To The Streets," by The Doobie Brothers.
That was fun, but as I recounted my woes revolving around my living arrangement, and told them that I was back on the street ("and will probably be seeing you more often") I started to suspect that Dorise, who owns property, and is known to rent to musicians at reasonable rates, was holding her tongue on that matter.
Not Working Not Working
And the deciding factor was probably the fact that, for all appearances, I just didn't work enough.
I walked past them 3 times that night, a little more drunk each time.
Granted that Sunday is the one day of the week which I try to take off to watch football and had been doing just that all day; but I get the feeling that Dorise helps those who help themselves, and she was just finishing a stretch of 3 days when they had squeezed 40+ hours of busking into; and wasn't in the mood to be sympathetic to a guy who was walking around with a guitar on his back, but not playing it, and lamenting to all he encountered that he was homeless and broke.
Fair enough.
One of the carrots in front of my nose is the thought of her someday congratulating me upon an extended "dry" period, and noting that I looked better; spoke more coherently, had myself a little amp/mic rig, and was making ("75 dollars is good, for 3 hours") good money.
To The Present
I encountered Jim last night, as I was watching the end of the Sunday Night Football game, too drunk to entertain notions of playing in the almost empty streets.
He invited me to crash at his place; which I did.
Jim has Parkinson's Disease and his right arm shakes a lot.
He used to be a musician, and had 3 acoustic guitars at his place.
His place was not far from the Unity office; and so I went there this morning and left a message for my caseworker; telling him where he could find me and adding that I was a veteran; something which I hadn't thought important enough to mention previously.
I then walked here to the big Rouses Market where I am laying the groundwork for another juice fast and cleanse and period of abstinence from alcohol and tobacco.
The time is right; the writing is on the wall.

Leslie Encounter
I encountered Leslie last night in front of The Unique Grocery.
He was all apologies (again) and told me that he had bus fare for me, if I wanted to return to the house of horrors.
Twice bitten, three times shy, was all I could think of.
He was almost to the phase of intoxication when his Jekyl turns into his Hyde, and I could see it just under the surface. He became angry after I simply asked him if he had traded his bongos in on the mandolin.
"I would NEVER trade my bongos in; what are you talking about!?!" he yelled, a bit too loud and a bit too aggressively, and I started to think of a way to give him the shake.
He offered to buy me a beer; which I wisely refused; as that would imply some kind of contract between us to spend time together. It looked like he had very little money left of the 400 dollars which he had gotten; 4 days prior.
Then, the security guard, who is a large, heavyset black man who has been working there the entire 3 years that I have been in New Orleans, came outside and, standing nearby, kicked a bottle cap off of the curb. He then kicked another little piece of debris off the curb.
I believe that he was trying to tell me something.
He then began to lecture Leslie, as I stood next to him, about how sometimes a man just needs to kick someone to the curb, if that person is trouble, and to live life his own way and avoid the person who is trouble.
Leslie was so wasted that he just nodded his head in agreement.
Then, the security guard made reference to the mandolin method book which Leslie was carrying, drawing his attention to it.

Up walked Guitar Jimmy, a skeezer, around this time; who was most assuredly interested in begging Leslie for something; anything; further dividing the guy's attention and providing the "friend" which Leslie seems to sorely need 24/7.
Leslie doesn't have enough attention to be able to divide it, I have found.
This gave me a chance to walk off unnoticed and soon forgotten.
I walked around the block, returning to find no Leslie in sight.
I shook the hand of the security guard. "You gave me a chance to get away from the lunatic," I said.

Now, I need to try to get my phone charger and the little bit of clothing which I left at his house in my hasty retreat.

Second Sober Day

Yesterday morning; I woke up around 11 a.m.

There were no southern flannel moths in sight; and I had about 17 dollars left of the 19 which I had made the previous night (I had spent $1.29 on single serving instant coffee packs).
I would have studied music for an hour or two, but I had to run to a restroom. Instant coffee is a good laxative.
I See Karrie

There, standing by McDonalds was none other than Karrie, with a shavened head and complaining that she had eaten too many doughnuts that morning. I gave her a hug, but could glean that she felt un-huggable. She showed me a radio which she had just gotten, and said: "You probably don't want to touch it because it's been in my ears (the ear buds) when I went to inspect it.

I think that she felt like I rejected and abandoned her when I left Jacksonville for Mobile without her; and doesn't blame me for it.

I'm glad that she is back in town. Neither one of us drink, for the moment..
Blogging Til The Sun Went Down
I blogged until about 6 p.m. at Starbucks, lamenting that Downtown Music (and their 6 dollar packs of guitar strings) would be closed -a rare tactical misstep in my sober state- and I would have to walk all the way to Louisiana Music Factory (11 dollars per pack) and would only be able to afford a single string or two.
I stopped at The Unique Grocery and paid Sam back the 2 dollars which I owed him from the last half pint of vodka that I bought from that store 2 days prior.
David The Water Jug Player
But that was not before running into David the water jug player on the corner. He had the Indiana Scout across his back. Bilal had scratched (yikes) onto the back of it:

Bilal 2014
From Bilal > Daniel > David

I told David that I hadn't drank the previous day and wasn't going to that night, either. I told him that I had only spent $1.25 the entire day.
He was visibly disappointed; and at that point I became convinced that he was another Leslie Thompson. 
He probably was short of his next pint of vodka and hoping that I would go in on it.
"So, you kept yourself some money; Good! I like to wake up every morning with at least 10 bucks on me, myself..."
It was the classic set up for a skeeze: congratulate someone on how well they are doing, and then ask for some.
Before I walked off, he laid a hand on my shoulder and asked "Did you give up weed, too?"
I had kind of decided that I would, and hadn't gotten any. I surmised that, had he 5 dollars, he would have had some.
"I'm going to try to play completely sober tonight," I said, to his further disappointment.
As I walked off, I felt the strongest urge of the day to drink.
I almost went to get some weed, so I could return as a hero to poor David. But then caught myself in the thought process and continued on towards my playing spot. It was too eerily similar to how Leslie T. "made" me feel.
The two can spot a "people please-er" a mile away; and prey upon them. ...look at poor pitiful me with no booze and no weed; darn...I guess nobody loves me....darn...
Jay The Loud Singer

I passed Jay, who was upset because The Clean Guy was set up across from the Hotel Monteleone and had his amplifier cranked up. He was looking for another spot to play.
Then, I stopped at Rouses Market for a gallon of distilled water, which would be all that I would have to "eat" that evening.
John The Classical Guitarist
Carrying the water down Royal Street, I came upon John, the classical guitarist, and his dog "slick."
"Well, I'm averaging 5 dollars an hour, so far. The past hour, I haven't made anything," he lamented.
John is the real deal on classical guitar. He complains that his thumb "crapped out" on him; otherwise he would be playing more Bach.
He is about my age, maybe 5 years older, but has a head of long silver hair (and I'm going to try to find a picture of him, rather than put a thousand words here) and was an accomplished french horn player; playing with a Symphony Orchestra at one time until -you guessed it -his lips crapped out on him.
He plays genuine classical guitar by the worlds best composers and tourist, by and large, walk past him as if he is just the background music for whatever they are doing.
"Oh, that's beautiful!" said one lady, as John was playing a beautiful passage. She, of course was talking about the plant draped balcony of the hotel across the street from where John sets up regularly.
"I hear that all the time....'Isn't that pretty?' -and then I look up and they're getting ready to take a picture of the hanging plants" said John.
I left my gallon of water with John and then headed for Louisiana Music Factory, another half mile further.
I bought a single string for 2 bucks and then headed for the Lilly Spot with 8 bucks left over to start my tiposaurus out with.
I was a bit disheartened to hear John say "It's dead out here," when I retrieved my water jug.
48 Dollar Friday
I got to the Lilly spot, fixed my strings, hung my spotlight, set the tiposaurus atop 3 one dollar bills and in front of the sign which states: "The tiposaurus rarely bites."
From there, the night was almost a carbon copy of the ones that I was having the last time that I stopped drinking.
I was still tuning up when a man sat on Lillys stoop and said: "Still tuning up, eh?"
I made conversation, trying to hold his attention as I quickly tuned; accepting that it wouldn't be perfect lest I take too long and lose his interest.
His phone rang, and I heard him directing someone to where he was "I'm hanging out with a street musician..." I tuned frantically while that stalled him.
I played "Best of My Love," by the Eagles -the latest song that I have put into heavy rotation (3 times per night) in order to drill into my memory. He sang along.
When his wife arrived, as per his directions, he said to her: "Give him some money; he sounds good!" and smiled at her.
She smiled back and the guy threw a 20 dollar bill next to the tiposaurus, as he was getting up; and what would end up being a 48 dollar night; (on 2 and a half hours of playing) was off to a good start.
Two Guys From Paris
A couple of guys from Paris stopped and asked me to play "anything" and they were going to improvise in French, which they did.
They returned about an hour later; not wearing shirts and more drunk; and we repeated the performance.
Being sober gave me command over my facilities, and they listened in cross-eyed fascination to what I was playing; especially the harmonica.

I wound up making close to 10 bucks off of them.
The F harmonica was starting to stick a bit and I really had to brute force it into pitch; or thereabouts.
Another 10 Dollars
I made another 10 dollars off a guy who works at Rouses Market by doing him the favor of running to his car for something; before spending $1.19 on a pomegranate juice drink and then taking a circuitous route to the sign spot.
Having the Takamine on my back and 65 dollars in my pocket caused me to heighten my senses, and I made sure I wasn't being followed.
The Anti David
Just as I had decided not to hang out with David the water jug player; a guy, whom I have often seen, because he walks his dog right by the sign spot in the early mornings; has started to leave gifts like a carton of finger sandwiches, a can of Coke, and this morning, another can of Coke next to me as I sleep.
I was awake when he came with the first can of Coke. "Oh, I'm glad to see you moving; I didn't want to freak you out," he said as he gave me the soda. He introduced himself as "David."
It is so easy to imaging New Orleans having David the bad spirit; and David the good spirit; fighting over my soul. As long as I avoid the bad David and his alcohol, the good David will reward me with soda...
Shopping
Today, I was up around noon. I went and bought a new harmonica (key of C) for 13 dollars; and a set of strings ($6) and a set of headphones at the half-price of 13 dollars at Radio Shack; and have 30 bucks left over, minus the coffee that I am drinking.
The headphones sound great; I'm sure the harmonica will, too. I just need batteries for my spotlight and I should be good to go on this Saturday night.