Grabbers (or How Does That Grab You?)

I am ducking and dodging The Law. I'm in St. Augustine, where my life is "worthless."
"My love is strong, and it pushes me onward"
I came back to grab whatever wasn't grabbed, when Karrie and I left here.
I discovered that everything which we hadn't grabbed HAD been grabbed (by someone.)
This is "par for the course" in St. Augustine.
I'm leaving on the last yellow bus out of town, -don't know when I'll be back again-
"I Don't Know What To Tell You"
I saw Larry briefly, last night, while keeping an "eye out," for the bike cops.
I told him I needed a place to lay my head, and maybe a blanket; I had missed the last yellow bus out...
"I don't know what to tell you, we've been staying at Dee Dee's for the past couple of weeks..."
I know what you can tell me, Larry; you can tell me: "I remember that night when we were staying off of the canal in Mandarin and I was curled up and shivering on the ground under a flimsey blanket, and you came and threw one of your two sleeping bags over me, whereupon I relaxed into a comfortable sleep." You might have said something along those lines...
This was God's way of telling me "See, there's nothing here for you in St. Augustine," for those of you who believe in Him.

Photos Arrive

The Ocala pictures arrived from the Lidgeley's.

More on them, and more of them, later...

All Shook Up

Plus, more on John's Wedding, which he decided NOT to have performed by an Elvis impersonator, even though he "thought about it." He thought about it??? He's joking, isn't he??

Elvis: "Do you John, promise to not be cruel, and to love Ester "tender?"

John: "I do"

Elvis: "Ester, if John is in sickness, or poorer, or the Kentucky rain is pouring down; Is that alright, Mama?"

Ester: "It is."

Elvis: "John, are you a hunk of burnin' love for Ester?"

John: "I am."

Elvis "Will you be Ester's teddy bear?"

John: "I will."

Elvis: "Then, by the power invested in me, as the King of Rock -n- Roll I now pronounce you all hooked up! (hey, hey hey!)

I Hesitate

It is Monday. We have about 10 days before the ticket to Ocala expires worthless, or not.
The highway ramps have been lucrative. They make Saint Augustine seem like a joke (the city, not the saint)
I feel sorry for Larry and I hesitate to tell him how much money is out there on the ramps, for fear of seeing him on my favorite ramp, playing Neal Young.

Life Without Karrie

The Pork Loin Eaten By Karrie!
Yesterday, I played upon my spot at the Visitor's Center, and didn't make anything.
I went back to camp as the sun was setting, after stopping at the market for some side-dishes which go well with pork loin.
Reaching the camp, I found it empty of Karrie and found the wrappings from the pork loin discarded into the trash. The pork loin was gone!
I did my best to prepare a meal of spaghetti with blackeye peas, chili beans and collard greens.
Larry and Jim showed up for a visit and were still visiting when Karrie appeared and answered an inquiry about the fate of the pork loin with "I ate it."
Karrie Arrested and Jailed
Late this morning, as Karrie and I were napping in the tent after a breakfast of more spagghetti with tomato and green chilis, two officers showed up and arrested Karrie on 10 outstanding warrants for failuure to appear on open container charges. They said that she was at the top of their list, kind of like St. John's County's Most Wanted Drinker.She could be in jail for a long time, but, "It depends upon the judge," is all anyone can ever tell you on subjects like that.
Life Without Karrie
So now, I ponder life without Karrie around.

12 Days And 12 Nights In Jacsonville

A S"Karrie" Experience
"The Purple Bus Snafu"

We Arrived in Jacksonville on that Saturday night that we hitch-hike ed there, after being mis-informed of the schedule of the purple bus, (which goes all the way to Jacksonville for only a dollar,) by one of their own drivers. It was the driver of the red bus who told us when and where to catch the purple bus all the way to Jacsonville in time to arrive at Altel Stadium for the letting out of the Florida/Georgia crowd (of drunken college kids with their parent's money, and alumni, with the money which was left over.


We worked the game. It was the most pathetic Florida/Georgia game as far as tips which I have ever seen in my 2 years of playing guitar outside of Florida/Georgia games, as noted in the prvious entry which I did in downtown Jacksonville, after having wrapped my guitar in plastic and hidden it in the deep woods of Mandarin in the palmettos, as guitars are not allowed in the Jacksonville downtown branch.


After the game, we eventually made it back to the camp, which was pretty much the way that Larry and I had left it, months before, with the exception of one large plant, which had resisted Larry's attempts to raise (translated: kill) it.

We slept on our brand new cardboard which Karrie carried on top of her head, right up San Jose blvd, through the most "posh" part of Mandarin, and over the creek and to the camp, with that total lack of shame of which she has made a science . I walked along beside ber, carrying my guitar, proud of her, and of science. Mandarin; the classiest, richest part of the city. Even the forests offer the homeless the finest of hardwood, privacy, closeness to nature with a rich variety of songbirds and interesting racoons, water and convenience to shopping, etc.


The next morning, we awoke to the sound of birds chirping; quality birds only found in the most affluent areas, not like the ghetto birds that you hear downtown, by any stretch of the imagination. I told Karrie about the boat ramp and it's private restrooms with running water, and soon, we were running ourselves, towards them, laden with soaps and lotions and potions of the most exotic order. Karrie had her full arsenal, right down to the foot scrubber!

We arrived at the boat ramp and were greeted by a Jacksonville Sheriff's Officer, who wanted to know where we were going and where we had come from and if we had ID. I resisted an impulse to be a smart-ass, but not totally. I told him that we were going northward on San Jose Boulevard, "just like you see."




When asked what we were doing, I told him that we were enjoying our constitutional rights as United States citezens to walk down a public way without fear of unreasonable harrassment.
He (they) handed us flyers which gave the addresses of all the homeless shelters downtown, and told us that if we were seen sleeping on the sidewalks in front of businesses then we would be arrested.


The Jaguars Game




Having spent the week in Jacksonville, and finding that the people in Mandarin were generally generous (on several occasions, cars pulled up and windows were rolled down and money handed out, with "Have you eaten today?" or something similar said), we passed the week this way; I had moderate success playing at the Barnes and Noble, and then Sunday came, and we headed for the Jaguar's game. They were playing the Kansas City Chiefs, who's stadium is shown above, and there was a sparse crowd, due to the fact that the Jaguars are not doing much better than the Kansas City Chiefs.

It was a miserable experience. I sat and played and made about 9 dollars from at least 2,000 who walked past.

Karrie asked a Chinese man if he had any money that she could have. He handed her 20 dollars. I fought the urge to be jealous or resentful. I suppose one of my ulterior motives in bringing her with me, was her ability to solicit money from Chinese men. "At least now, we can get some liquour," said Karrie, alluding to the biggest counter-motive against bringing Karrie with me. Yeah, and a bus ride out of this ghetto before the sun sets, I didn't say.


Taxes To Be Filed As Self-Employed Street Musician...
Now I am at the library on the following Wednesday. It rained all morning. We had neglected to safeguard our clothing from such an act of God, and so, spent the morning at the laundromat, where no lizards crawled out of our stuff, and we dried the clothing. Karrie occupied the ladies' room in a state of near-nakedness while her clothes spun in the drier. Still, with the temperatures forcast to be in the 40's tonight, neither one of us is equipped to do anything except sit in front of a fire or curl up in a sleeping bag.
I am about to work on a spreadsheet which will document my earnings for the past two years, so that the IRS can pore over them and hopefully send my "earned income" credit in the form of a hefty check.

To Be continued...

Feels Like A Wasted Trip

Florida Georgia Game NonProductive



I thought about going to the Florida/Georgia game by myself, but decided to invite Karrie at the last minute. I figured that might give us two "incomes," as Karrie would be in her element panhandling the college kids. I actually thought that she might make a hundred or more bucks off of them, as similar takes have been bragged about by lesser beggers than her. I was being a little selfish.



We were misinformed by the driver of the red bus that the purple bus (which goes to Jacksonville) would be departing from a certain spot at a certain time. At about one hour past the certain time, we left the certain spot, in disbelief that one of the drivers of the Sunshine Bus Line could be so unable to read their own schedule.



We decided to hitch-hike. Karrie stood out first, unsure of how to hold her thumb, and after about 15 minutes, was sure that we were never going to get a ride, and blamed it on herself. We shortly thereafter got into the back of a pickup truck, driven by a guy who already had a passenger sitting next to him whom he had picked up.
After he dropped the first guy off we got into the front with him, and he told us that we were in luck, because he was going to a place right by the stadium himself. It turned out that he was a person who sacrificed much of himself to help other people, a Christian, and we found out through a conversation that he had on his cellphone that he really wasn't going near the stadium and had gone out of his way, both literally and figuratively, to make us feel that we weren't imposing upon him.



He dropped us off about a mile from The Landing. We walked there, via the beer store, and I set up and started playing. Almost immediately, the black guy who plays the saxophone started playing nearby and drowning me out. He had done the same thing last year, forcing me to move to another spot, where I had made pretty good money. This year, I moved to the same spot and watched college kids walk past, oblivious to my music, as well as to the vendors selling 7 dollar hamburgers. They seemed to be broke and angry about it.
There was a huge yaught docked in front of me, as an affront to me in my futility, which I was tried to bounce sound off of. I sounded terrible, being rusty from the 76 days in jail. It was embarrassing. Even the yaught seemed subdued. It was called The Gallant Lady, and here is a picture of the thing.


The night went miserably, both for myself, playing, and Karrie, walking around asking people for money.


We walked over the bridge into San Marco to sleep in a spot which I had used before and which was more suited to single occupancy. I woke up squashed between Karrie and a wooden fence, wherupon I moved to another spot close by. When I woke up at daybreak, she was gone. I had very few ideas about where she would have gone, but I checked both stores which sell beer. No luck.


I eventually found her at the spot where I had played, after checking every other spot where we had been; not methodically nor especially hoping to find her, but just in the course of my travels.
The Gallant Lady was still there, as was Karrie. We went to the Winn Dixie and I used my food card to buy a lot of food, which we ate behind the store. A good portion were things that she alone liked, I couldn't help noting.

She Even Ate The Yucca Root

Then next morning, we took a bus to Mandarin and got off where Curtis used to hang around. Someone told us that Curtis had died. We had a long walk back to where Larry and I used to camp and then a fitful night's sleep, realizing that the sleeping bag was just not big enough for the two of us. Karrie had also developed the habit of throwing things into the shopping cart "behind my back," things like 5 dollar pieces of cheese. This morning, she was up early, attacking a bottle of vodka, which she had spent her last dime on, and eating all of the food which we had bought the previous evening, even the yucca root which I had baked. She was cantankerous in the morning, told me quite frankly as she handed me an energy drink that it was my last one "I drank the other" and that she had eaten all the food "Everything that I saw in front of me." Even the yucca root. She hadn't eaten ALL of the food, though. She had forgotten that I (or should I say "she") had raisin bread and real butter in my backpack. In protecting it against raccoons, I guess I had done the same against her. When she recalled that we indeed had had some raisin bread and butter, she asked me about it, and if she could eat it. She put some bread on the grate and spread butter on it with her fingers.
Our First Spat
I told her that using fingers as a butter knife is not a good practice in the woods because of the higher than average probability that one's hands might be dirty. She told me to "find a new girlfriend." She then became pretty belligerent, mentioning that she could fight pretty good. That was close to being our first spat, close enough for me. She looked at the few remaining drops of vodka and then asked me how much money "we" had left.


Now I am downtown. I came down to donate plasma for 15 bucks, to be followed up with another 25 dollar donation on Friday. The place is under new management and I would have to come in as a "new" donor, bringing ID, Social Security Card and a piece of recent mail, showing my address. A pretty tall order. My SS card is in St. Augustine. I guess I won't be getting drained any time soon.
I made about 7 bucks last night at the Barnes and Noble, which was OK, considering I am just getting my fingers and my voice back into shape. I was horrible at the Florida Georgia game. Karrie made about 20 during the same period, standing on the side of the road with a sign that read: "Homeless. God Bless." I never claimed that she had originality...
To her credit, she gave me three of the dollars and spent the rest on vodka; though she asked me to spend the same three dollars on beer the following morning, after I had already spent it on aluminum foil.
It feels almost like a wasted trip so far. (Karrie has been wasted the whole time.)
One more task; to check upon the tax return situation and see if I can get credit for the past 3 years as a self-employed street musician.

Larry Will Be On My Spot

I am going up to Jacksonville to play for the Florida Georgia game, if I catch my bus in an half hour. First I have to go get my backpack from Karrie, who is guarding it at the campsite. Last year, I made pretty good money, but this year I am coming off of 3 months without playing much and my guitar needs some kind of adjustment. I think the cops were playing redneck music on it in the property room to impress the female officers....

I hope I don't travel up there to find Larry on my spot, smiling and saying "I must have made about 100 bucks already."

E Flat

Friday was a good day for most everyone, moneywise. The lady that carts around in an electric wheel chair and sells flowers was making a killing, for example.When I sat down to play, the first dozen people coming by threw me tips. Then Larry showed up and, inexplicably (though maybe not, because it is Larry) started playing his guitar at the same time as me. I think he thought that he was playing along with me, not realising that I tune my guitar down one step to E flat. He was playing in E and not noticing that we sounded like crap together. Maybe he is more tone-deaf than I had surmised. The tips dried up during that spell. I told Larry that he was (Henry) "Blacking me out," as Henry used to do the same -sit next to you and play absolute garbage over what you were doing. Larry seemed offended, but I needed to get "back to work," and he took the hint.
I went to my church spot later on and did pretty well, though I gave Karrie money so that she could get a 12 pack of beer. We slept on Henry Black's Porch and were up early and left before the owner showed up.
Today promises to be good, though, one can never tell when one is a street performer.

A Job on the Horizon?
Today, I went to the Nanak's Landscaping place to try to get a job; something that I haven't had since January of 2006. I had run into one of their foremen, in the parking lot of the Taco Bell, near the social security place, a couple of days ago, after obtaining a copy of my social security print-out. I got the print out so that I could look for a job. I saw the guy in his Nanak's truck and approached him and basically asked him if they were hiring. He told me that they were desperately short-handed and they were all working extra long hours because of that situation. So, today, I rode my bike up there. It took about 25 minutes to get there. This is not bad, compared to how long I rode to get to the labor pool in Jacksonville.
The guy handed me an application and told me to bring it back tommorow.
The Ratdog Concert
Last night, the band Ratdog played at the ampitheater. They consist of the surviving members of the Grateful Dead, who's music I specialize in. This would have been a great opportunity for my to make very good money, as, all the people walking past would have been in tune with what I was doing. I am not a phoney; I learned to play, basically, by listening to the Grateful Dead.
However, oblivious to what was going on at the venue and not being privy to it until I read the review on the front page of today's paper; I sat and drank beer with Karrie. She keeps asking me if she is a distraction and is hindering my goals. I keep telling her "No, I choose to be with you; if I didn't want to be with you, I wouldn't be."
Now I wonder....
I could have made enough money so that when I start my job at Nanak's, I would be able to weather the waiting period before the first check arrives; all in one night.
Karrie and I
Things are chaotic. Larry is off with his girlfriend in an apartment which she rented. I don't see him on the street, which means that he is most probably not contributing any money. She has kicked him out twice and then changed her mind twice. He has not been seen at the camp. I use his tent to get away from Karrie when she is having her episodes of thrashing about and pushing me into the corner of our tent. Larry's tent is larger and has no thrashers.

I don't have a picture of Karrie, but the one to the right is close enough to what she probably looked like at 11!

Week In Review

A Whole week in review

This is monday, and I haven't updated this blog in one week.
They will tell you that, to keep and audience, you must post frequently, and keep your posts short. I have failed on both counts, and that is why you are not reading this...
The Pot and the Kettle
The past week saw the re-emergence of "Karrie," whom I had not seen in about 3 weeks.
She is kind of my girlfriend, by all outward appearances, but we have not really been able to carry on a traditional relationship, probably because of all the hard liquor that Karrie drinks throughout the day. She is way worse than me in the alcoholic category. She is the kettle in this scenario.
The money has started to flow. I don't know if this is because of the spots that I am choosing to play, along with the hours played there, or if I am playing much better. I can't compare notes with Larry, because Larry's girlfriend has procured an apartment and is moving Larry in with her. Ironically, the first night that Karrie spent out at the camp was the last night that Larry did.
I'll have to finish this review later, as the time on the library computer is ticking down (like a bomb)

And Now, Henry Black

Henry Black, age 72 and only 3 hours out of jail yesterday, was found dead yesterday, in a spot where he sleeps often.
Henry was a friend, and the guy mentioned in the "lost blog" a few times. He would sit and listen to music by Larry or myself, drinking, and eventually passing out at the foot of the musician. He was old enough to remember the "Old South" and all that culture back then, down here, and as such, had an interesting perspective on life.
The first time I saw Henry, he was using his cane to retrieve coins from out of a wishing-well type of fountain, one of many in this Oldest City. I remember handing him 50 cents and telling him, "you don't even have to dry these off."
Henry sat next to me a few times and was very appreciative of the music, and for my part, I found it really easy to relax and do music that was bizarre and funny, knowing that Henry practically laughed "at everything."
Henry will be missed, especially by Larry, who, though he wouldn't perhaps admit it, liked Henry and "put up with him" a lot.
By the end of yesterday, there were a bunch of cards and flowers laid by the porch and secret (wink wink) spot, where Henry has slept many times.

Since losing my blog because I used an infected computer at the homeless shelter, during a week of almost constant rainfall which relegated me to that place, as a "sensible" alternative to laying out at the campsite and getting saturated, events have been pretty much divisible into a few categories.
Nine days ago, my Mongoose was stolen from in front of the church where I play. I had gone behind the building to finish a beer, which I had consumed only half of, and, in the time that it took to accomplish that feat, the Mongoose had disappeared. It was probably stolen by one of the bums that sit across the street and listen to me play. Mongoose (right)
Faced with a 3 mile walk to the campsite at the end of every evening, I basically opted for finding a place to sleep nearby The Old City. The Old Fort proved to be comfortable enough with its ocean breezes, though, a few mosquitos and things that they call "noseeums" ('cause you can't see-um, but you can feel them biting you in places like the forehead) were able to out-muscle the sea breezes and find their way to my forehead, or my cheeks; both equally annoying.
Sleeping close to town meant that I was up with the sun, dodging the park rangers, and had nothing better to do than to set up and start playing on Hypolita St., for example, even before the first tourist had ventured forth from her bed and breakfast for a stroll through the oldest city. This was a source of consternation for Larry, who, I am sure, was always determined to beat me into the city every morning and set up on the "best" spot. It was the "best spot" for Larry, not so much such for the tourists whom might have wanted to hear good music...
I had the goal of making enough money to take the yellow bus up to Jacksonville to retrieve the racer, which Curtis had given me. Curtis gave it to me because the back tire kept going flat on him, creating complications surrounding his daily quest for a half gallon of whiskey. I found that there was indeed a problem with the rim, and had to buy special tubes, which cost dearly...
My plan was to take the yellow bus up to Jacksonville, take the L7 to Baymeadows, take the SS9 to the spot where the racer was hidden in the woods, take the back tire off of the racer which was hidden in the woods, using the wrench, which I bought at Big-Lots, which was hidden in the woods, and then carry the tire to the bike shop, buy the tube, take the tire to the Gate, insert the tube and then pump it up with free air, go back to the woods and attach the inflated tire, and then ride the 3 miles to where Bruce and Chelsea now have an apartment, hoping to spend at least a night.
Everything went according to plan, except that it wasn't Bruce and Chelsea, it was Bruce and Taylor. "Oh, Chelsea is history...I'm with a fox now," said Bruce, when I met him at his workplace, Lowes on Phillips Highway...
I can't remember the point now, but, losing the bike was both a hardship and a blessing.
I Try To Call Mom
After fixing the bike and riding it to Bruce's workplace and then having him toss it into the back of his pick-up truck ("I have a truck now, dude!") and drive us to his new apartment, and then spending the night with him and Taylor, whom I find to be less affable towards Bruce's older street musician friends than the nice Chelsea was, I awoke the next morning almost broke, having bought the cigarettes for the lot of us. Bruce works, but doesn't get paid "until Friday." There was a morning "ritual,' whereby Taylor picked clothing out for Bruce which she deemed "cute." Bruce was soon clad in white pants ("I don't know about white," said he) and his Ramones shirt. We were ready to show ourselves to the world outside.
I got a ride from them to the Barnes and Noble. They dropped me off and then went to go get money from Bruce's parents. Luckily, the Barnes and Noble patrons seemed to love me. They hadn't seen me in a couple of months. Money poured in, and, had I been of the mindset of Larry, for example, I would have played every minute and wrung about 100 dollars out of them. I was worried about the cop that arrested me last time, on the warrant of "failure to pay a fine." I imagined him coming up and telling me "I thought I told you not to come back here," who, though he didn't, not having grounds to do so, would have been in a position to assert his authority and make trouble for me. As soon as I made ten bucks, I took a break and then came back later and made another 20. I was hoping that the cop would show up, having gotten "wind" of me being there, probably from some other off-duty cop chowing down on steak and beer at the Ale House, and, not finding me there, would go off to find other downtrodden people to kick.
Then, I dialed my mom on a payphone. As soon as I dialed the number the phone ejected a bunch of change. I thought this was a sign, but she wasn't home and I got a bunch of static and could hardly hear the answering machine.
Now I am at the library in South Mandarin, consuming some of my tips and staying out of trouble. I might play at the Barnes and Noble after I leave here. It is almost 9pm, though.
I am faced with the ordeal of riding the racer back to St. Augustine sometime. The money is so good at Barnes and Noble that I might just extend my stay, even though it means sleeping "wherever I lay my head."

Annie, Get Your Harp

We Go To The Festival

Larry said that he had always wanted to go to the Springing the Blues festival. It is on the day that they open the beach. He said that he had always been working or something previous years and had missed it. I told him that, in the worst case, it would only cost us each 4 dollars to go (two busses each way) and that if we couldn't make any money, we could just come back and only be out a little bit of money.

We went to "Springing the Blues."Larry and I came out to the beach to play our guitars as street musicians and be like those little fish that swim next to sharks and feed upon the little morsels which escape the sharks mouths, playing in front of a closed business just down the street; "Tears in Heaven," by Eric Clapton..over and over and...over (If it aint broke why fix it?) I made about 60 bucks in two hours. One girl came and sat next to me with tears in her eyes and sang along. I never felt more connected to the rest of humanity than then.


The next morning, after missing the last bus out and only getting 3 hours of sleep, disturbed by seagulls, we sat in front of Freebirds while yet another blues band began to to play.


"I wonder what that girl looks like?" I asked Larry. "Sounds like a skinny black girl to me," I said.


"I don't know," said Larry. "Let me go see."

He didn't come back for a while, which meant something.

"No, a white girl."

"A fat one with blonde hair in a black rhinestone dress, standing with her legs two feet apart and belting out vocals?" I asked.

"No, one with dark, kind of frizzy hair," said Larry.

"Kind of Cuban looking?" I asked. This was during the second number.

"No, kind of frizzy in a Polish or Russian way....well, why don't you come check it out...that's her playing the harp"

"That's HER, playing the harp??" (There aren't many female blues harp players)

That was the best advice Larry has ever given me, to check them out. I was trying to catch a nap before playing in front of the Texaco station, but, it's hard to sleep through a blues festival.My life is changed forever after I watch Annie Raines and Paul Rishelle perform



We "checked it out" and I wound up with tears coming from my eyes when watching them do a song where Annie held one note for 2 minutes and 37 seconds.


When 22-year-old harmonica ace Annie Raines first sat in with 42-year-old country blues guitarist Paul Rishell in a Boston bar in 1992, few in the crowd suspected that they were witnessing the beginning of a musical partnership that would span the next fifteen years and counting.

Paul sat down the whole time as did Annie, who only stood when soloing. It was like watching a grandfather and daughter.

When Paul started stomping his foot is when I finally understood the whole universe.

"Despite the difference in their ages, Paul and Annie are equally passionate about their craft and devoted to the study and performance of a wide range of blues styles, from the syncopated acoustic guitar wizardry of Blind Lemon Jefferson and Son House to Chicagoan “Little” Walter Jacob’s swinging amplified harmonica. Paul has reached what Boston Phoenix writer Ted Drozdowski called “a place deep and resonant as Robert Johnson’s crossroads, where authenticity, soul, and a sense of purpose and commitment ring out in every note he sings and plays.” Annie has added vocals, mandolin, piano, and other instruments to her musical arsenal, while being recognized by top professionals and fans worldwide as the “queen of the blues harmonica.” Says blues legend Pinetop Perkins, “She plays so good it hurts!”


It was a life-changing experience; the whole weekend, actually.



The previous night, we had run into a guy who had a harmonica when we were on our way to find a spot in the dunes to sleep.
He seemed surprised that we were calling it quits, as it was "only" about midnight.


I decided to jam with him. We sat on a bench and I played one of my songs in the same key as his harp. A man came and put a 20 dollar bill in my case within two minutes. The harp player didn't care about the money; he had a regular job.

Then, at the Texaco station, I was talking to the cashier. He was from Cairo, Egypt.

He asked me "Why don't you sit in front of the store and play like they do in New York City, maybe make some money?"

What a far cry from being run off!

I decided that I would do just that the next day.

The next day came and, after being mesmerised by Paul Rishelle and Annie Raines, we went over to the Texaco and I achieved a mile-stone when I played without having even one beer first, to loosen up.

A lady who looked like my mother came and put 3 dollars in my case. It was my first tip playing sober. I think I could actually play that way, even though it hurts.

Poor Larry didn't really make that much money and it began to seem probable that most of his tips at the Kangaroo are from people who have sympathy and wonder how the poor guy could ever make a living. It's not that he is THAT bad, but, not ready for the big time Springing The Blues festival.
I dipped into my money and basically supported him the whole time. I was happy to do it, even though he can go through ten bucks at McDonalds like ringing a bell.


Now, we are arguing.

His Kangaroo finally ran him off, citing "customer complaints" about "the guitar guys out front."

It was probably O.L. calling the police on him. O.L. has been seen in the area, fresh out of jail. He stole 20 bucks from Larry and is afraid of running into him now. It seems like something he would do.


Now I have the best spot in Mandarin. It is at the store where I used to work. They let me sit anywhere in front. They bring me out the extra food at the "end" of the night (7pm). I think they like the added security. I let Larry play there the night that he got run off. He was appreciative, but now, despite all the money I spent on him, he has a negative attitude.

Again, I don't know if I want to take him with me this summer, on my tour up the coast.

I've made about 400 bucks with the F-310 Yamaha, and about a dozen sincere compliments along with two people who want to take lessons from me.


And to think that I spent 3 years at the labor pool shovelling dirt!

I used to ride a Kawasaki, now I play a Yamaha
Here is a picture of my guitar, which I got on Thursday.
Larry and I went downtown, right in the ghetto where items are fenced that have questionable origins. I didn't think I would find a guitar after we got down there, because there were only about 12 of them, out of all the 5 pawn shops. But, there was this Yamaha, which they wanted 100 bucks for. I offered the guy 80 bucks and he said "no." Then, I realized that it came with a case, which is a 20 dollar value. I went back and asked him if I could give him 100 dollars even, (he would cover the $6.50 in tax) He went for it. They don't call me the Donald Trump of Mandarin for nothing!
Well, the guitar is a very fine instrument. Yamaha's are the ones that the whole folk group at St. Bernards strummed. It is because they are about the lowest priced guitars that are still quality instuments that are available. And so, I now own a Yamaha F-310. There is one on e-bay which they started the bidding for at $129.00.
Mine is just about brand new.
We (Larry and I) went down to the landing to play. Larry couldn't keep his hands off of my new guitar. He seems to like to play it whenever he gets a chance.
Right now, I have made $40 in tips playing the thing.
I will be mailing mom the first dollar that I made with it; I kept it.
Well, the library is closing, but I had to at least post something to say that I got the money and, things are working out fine. I am to go back to the Barnes and Noble after I leave here, and play some more. I made 14 bucks in about 2 hours. -very slow, but I have my whole life ahead of me!
Um, yeah, so here is another picture of the Calico cat, and I will do more later.
Big Tree Falls Almost On Us
A huge pine tree, which we knew was ready to fall, fell yesterday. It was during a storm which boasted 50 mile per hour winds.
We had been looking at the tree and trying to guess which of our tents it would fall upon and which of us would be squashed like a locust under someone's boot.
I even had tried to use the hatchet to put a notch in the thing and try to encourage it to go the other way.
Well, it fell and misse my tent by about 4 feet. A piece broke off, (about a 700 pound piece) and landed about 6 feet from Larry's. I guess we are blessed.


Here is the picture of the cat, as promised.
They are getting big. We don't have to worry about their survival after we go on tour, they are the 'kings of the jungle' for sure. More later.

It Isn't A Free Lunch

Police Raid Camp

The second raid of the camp in a year and a half took place about a week ago. The police came and told us that we needed to "vacate" the spot. We were allowed to take whatever we wanted with us, and we were not asked for ID or harassed. We grabbed our guitars and clothing and left. We now live about 300 yards away in another spot. Larry's tent no longer exists as pictured to the right. We don't really care too much, as we realized that we didn't have much to lose. They got the calico cat, though, who was friendly enough to walk up to the cops and the crew of prisoners who were bagging up everything and clearing the spot. The black cat was wiser, and we still have him. We don't know the fate of the calico. Hopefully he was brought to the Humane Society, or something.

Street Musicianship
The job of street musician is more than a full time job. When I am not at the library, getting new material, I am practicing the new material, or playing the new material, or on a bus to go to a spot where there is something going on and the potential for a thousand people to be there...
Saturday, I went to Jacksonville Beach to play music.
There had been several people who had told me that I "needed" to go to the beach in order to make any good money.
That morning I was up with the birds and preparing to go. After two connecting busses, I got there in the late afternoon.
There was a festival going on in the ampetheter and the loud music spilled out into the streets, making it very difficult to set up anywhere and play. I hadn't made a penny by 8 pm. I was at the bus stop, ready to go back to Mandarin, almost broke, and feeling depression setting in, when I decided to go back and try again. It would mean missing the last bus out of the area and having to spend the night there.
I sat in front of a closed business which sold bathing suits and such and began to play. 30 bucks found their way into my guitar case in one hour as group after group of college kids on spring break walked past. Most of them dropped something in the case. I was playing my best 3 songs over and over, since each group only heard me for about 10 seconds.
Then, one of the bartenders from Campeche Bay, a restaurant/bar came out for a cigarette and listened to me while he smoked. He told me that he would give me a free beer if I went into Campeche Bay, which I did. Then, as the evening wound down, and I became more leary about carrying my guitar and a pocket-full of money around, I walked down the beach and found a spot in the dunes to sleep.
I had a hard time sleeping because the temperature went down to about 50 degrees. I had prepared by bringing extra sweatshirts, but they weren't enough. I anticipated the sunrise and the heat that it would bring. I was happy when my portable radio announced the time as 5am. Maybe I can get some sleep as soon as it warms up some...

Easter Sunrise

As soon as the sky brightened, I crawled over to the other side of the dune, to the side facing the ocean. I looked to my left and was surprised to notice a huge group of people on the beach, at 5:30 am. Then I realized that it was Easter Sunday (I had lost track of the days, because I originally wanted to come out to the beach on friday)
So, I wound up watching the sun rise on Easter Sunday morning, not even realizing that people flocked to the beach to do just that. I thought it was cool that I was led there by accident, there because I missed a bus!Easter Sunday, I played for about 1 hour in the same spot. Then, one of the Jacksonville Beach cops stopped and told me to close my case up and leave. He said that they considered it "panhandling" if the musician opens his/her case up, as an invitation to tippers. I stood there and acted as if all of that was news to me. He ran my ID and then let me go. I picked up the 17 bucks or so that I had made in the hour, and left. The cop said "I've been sitting and listening to you play and your music is..." and he never finished the sentence, but he suggested that I go to a certain club where the owner is "a really nice guy" and see if I could play inside the place, legally. (because my music is....)
That is about it from the trip to the beach. It started out dismally and then wound up being a positive experience. Now I "need" to go to St. Augustine, according to the kid at the music store where I get my strings. He said that one of his friends saw me playing at the Regal Theatre, last week, before another cop made me leave there. It took me about 8 days to make the cost of the guitar back. It was slow, because I had to learn where the best spots are. Now I play at the BP station where I used to work. One of the old employees is still there, Dustin, and he lets me play and even brings out food and gave me an umbrella once. He said that "you do have a good sound," also. I estimate that I've made about 180 bucks off of the 100 dollar guitar, in about 2 weeks.

Last night, I went to the BP and noticed that Dustin's truck wasn't there. I wondered who was working and if they would let me play there. I was surprised to see that the foreigners who own the francise are none other than the same foreigners who own the one on the end of Baymeadows Road. A young guy, who I helped with his car battery once, came out and said that I could play wherever I wanted to, and on any Monday, which is his regular shift.
So things have been gradually improving as we prepare to march up the east coast, living on music.
One thing that I have realized, though, is that, even though it is possible to make more money as a street musician than as a laborer, and that it is better because you are doing something that you love, it still takes a lot of hours to make really good money. Each hour can be about 30 songs, and, by the end of the night, you might have played over 100 songs and the fingers are sore.
It is still work.
It isn't a free lunch at all.

This is for the Birds

Larry.

The Gunslinger

Hello, Just a quick message, since I'm at the library. I went to the plasma place and they are backed up, probably a 3 hour ordeal to donate, and so, since they are open til 7 on Thursdays, I decided to put in 4 hours on the computer, and then I will go back right before they close when the crowd has thinned out and they are in a hurry to get everyone out...I'll use their hurried-ness to my advantage; right now they are taking their sweet time.
I worked on Wednesday, even though I was up til midnight (couldn't fall asleep; thoughts from the past racing through my mind, -thinking about things that happened years ago that still bug me- and that somehow wouldn't stop; even though my alarm was set for 3:36am; that happens a lot, worrying about not getting enough sleep instead of falling asleep.)
I got to the pool and the new dispatcher asked me if I wanted to go "gunslinging."
Everytime they yell that they need gunslingers, the whole crowd backs away from the window and words like "hell no" can be heard amongst them. Apparently nobody wanted to go gunslinging. He yelled "(for me)!," and I went up to the window. He asked me if I wanted to go gunslinging and I thought about how I always wanted to try it, and how in the past, things that other people couldn't handle just turned out to be just plain hard work. I told him yes.
They sent me to the van, where there were 3 large black men already sitting there in the bright green gunslinging vests. One of them looked at me and asked me if I was going to Waste Systems. I said yes. He let out a chuckle.
We got to the place and pulled into the parking lot. One of the black men asked me if I was "scared." I honestly said "A little."
Gunslinging is riding on the back of a trash truck, jumping off, throwing people's trash into the truck and mashing the button so that the "hopper" crushes it, then jumping back on and going to the next, and the next, and the next house, untill sometime before the sun goes down, everybody's trash is in the truck. It can wear you out, they say. (after it rains they can be full of water and weigh 100 pounds) We used to call them rubbish men; used to make fun of them as being the epitome of the lowest form of laborer. "..Better study hard in school, or you'll wind up a rubbish man.."
So, I got there and they assigned me a driver named Cory.
We left and went out to a place in Atlantic Beach. He drove and I jumped out and threw the 'yard trash' into the back of the truck.

"Watch out for snakes!"

Wednesday is yard trash day, and so, all the trash consisted of the products of yard work; limbs, clippings, piles of plants that looked like they were from another planet; thorns, spiders, lizards..but not snakes.
"Watch out for snakes," said Cory.
"Snakes aren't going to move into a pile of brush that was just layed there recently, I know snakes," I said.
"Watch out for snakes anyways."
The worst was a lemon tree that had died and been set in front of a house. The man was waiting there for us so he could warn me about the thorns; talk about thorns -like the talons on an eagle - that tree got me and I carry the scab to this day, course it was only yesterday... I threw the trash as energetically as I could. My side only hurt when I twisted a certain way. We finished early.
The man on the radio called and asked Cory how we were doing. He said that we were finished. The man on the radio said that, then, we did good. Cory said that if he had money he would have bought me lunch, because I worked "real good." He said that his back was hurting and that he usually jumped out and helped a lot more, but that I did most of it. He shook my hand and asked me what my name was before I got out, back at the place. They gave me eight hours, even though it took four.
The labor pool was "down a van," and said they couldn't pick me up for an hour, so I walked back, three miles to the pool and got my check.
I guess my legend grows now, as the big black men will say "He went gunslinging, did good."
"For real? that skinny whiteboy? No!"
"Yeah, man..ran Cory's route, they were done by noontime!"
"For real? No way"
"Word up, nigga!" (they really talk like that)
So that was my experience as a gunslinger, the word itself strikes fear into the labor pool. I had avoided it, and it was the one job that I ever turned down at the pool. But, that was when they offered it to me a couple days after being hit by the car, when I couldn't even sit up to go to the bathroom when I woke up, and had to use a bottle. My side had been better. I sneezed on the walk back to the pool (probably got a whiff of pollen or something) and it was sore but didn't seize up into a cramp like it had been doing when I coughed or sneezed.
This morning was a different story. I guess being a hero and gunslinging wasn't good for cracked ribs, because this morning I had taken a step back in recovery, but only back to how it was a week ago. So, I decided to come downtown and give plasma for 20 bucks and then to try to make another 30 or so with the guitar tonight. We are living on the edge and a broken string could beach us like musical whales, but, I could be ready to go tommorow morning, back to the pool, maybe even go gunslinging...and so that is where it is at now.
Temperatures in the low 80's all week, high 60's at night. I have a bunch of things to do online, so I'll go do them now. Larry wants me to download a bunch of sheetmusic and lyrics. I haven't touched my blog in two weeks, but I plan to post something about being a street musician, a top 20 songs list perhaps. I noticed that nobody answered my last mail, but I guess that means that you all are busy and productive. Hope you are all well, first day of summer is coming soon. I plan to hunker down and have a cool shelter by then, perhaps digging something out and covering it with a lot of palmettos. I'll have to do it because Larry is pretty slow in getting motivated. He's been out of work for about two weeks now. At first, I was glad to be able to pay him back by spending my labor pool money on things and making a better life for us both, but now I feel pressure to work everyday, because I know he is dead broke, but my plasma money will have to do for now, he could at least clean up around the house while I'm gone or something; typical roommate squabbles. Something will turn up; hope it's good!

We Want To Go

WE want to go. We want to go from here, the state which is shaped like what it has done to so many here....
We want to go to the Golden State; through the Golden Gate. The Bay Area has been calling me. I went there once. Maybe it is my destiny to die in an earthquake... I would want the refridgerator to topple onto me, snuffing out my life in that scenario.
Of course, we could go, get jobs and an apartment and not have to worry about Sunshine and orange juice and gator bites. In fact, we would only have to worry about the 49'ers running game, getting hit by a trolley car, and getting sick of rice-a-roni.
We talk about things like this all the time, but I am starting to realize that I am the one who would have to be the catalist because right now we are dragging our feet and in danger of something catastrophic happening while we are sitting here making plans.
Life is what happens to you while you're making other plans" -John Lennon
So I am thinking about what I want to do, and if Larry wants to come along; the more the merrier!!