On Not Drinking

• New Old Song
• 60 Dollar Thursday
• 164 Days Sober

I Report, You Decide

The "164 days sober" is still up and running, I didn't drink yesterday.

I had woken up with a depressed feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Something Told Me" (click to hear)" -one of the more listenable songs that I have from the era of being able to record...
The above is a link to a song that I recorded back when I had the means to record; it wasn't ready to go on a CD but I'm using it to motivate myself to get back the means to record; based upon its sound quality alone. It was done within minutes of having found the harmonica in my mailbox which turned out to have been sent by The Lidgleys, of London.
Last night a couple named Sean and Lucy, who were from England stopped and listened and tipped me well. Sean worked in Leeds and lived 15 miles away from it...

That (the depressed feeling mentioned above) used to happen at times when I was in jail and my fate hadn't been decided; maybe the prosecutor was pushing to give me a 5 year sentence as a "habitual" urinator in public or something; and maybe my public defender was telling me that "It could go either way; it depends upon the judge," and maybe I had been having a pleasant dream about my childhood in the days of wine and roses and woken out of it.

The feeling in the pit of the stomach (which is, for some reason, revisiting me lately) always had its onset when I awoke, even before I had opened my eyes. Opening my eyes vindicated my feeling of dread and it hit like a punch in the stomach, with some bile in the throat for good measure, when my eyes opened to reveal the 9 by 12 cell with the stainless steel toilet, and the mismatched-in-size shower shoes placed neatly at the head of my bed.

On Shower Shoes

Mismatched in size because in the massive daily shuffle of inmates they just don't have the time or patience or concern to go through the box to find a matching set to throw through the portal behind which they sit at the new arrival. Once one has been serving 5 year sentence and has made a couple of months of progress upon it, will come the realization to the staff that he isn't going anywhere soon, and then one of them might say: "Let me see if I can get you some shower shoes that are both the same size."

Placed neatly by my head to mark them as my property and to potential guard them against theft by another inmate whose mismatched pair includes one in the same size as one of mine.

Shower shoes because they A: Encourage showering and B: Discourage fighting. It's hard to keep them from flying off your feet when performing most Kung Fu moves, and I believe that Joe Frazier would have won the famous "Thrilla In Manilla" boxing match had Mohammed Ali entered the ring wearing shower shoes.

The shower shoes also, for some reason, always became a reminder to me that mankind has evolved to walk upright on two legs. That was always a tenuous hope to cling to in jail.

And, since todays post might as well at this point become entitled "Shower Shoes," I will add, for mere catharsis, that one time in jail, I had the song "Haitian Divorce," by Steely Dan "stuck in my head," on constant rotation, and when the line in the song "...no tears and no hearts breaking; no remarks" came around, I was impelled to stare at my mismatched shower shoes at that moment, as they stood there at attention at the head of my bunk, and their image filled the role of a video for that part of that song, especially the "no remarks" part.

I think that I was sensing a silliness in a society that in some quarters will take offense at perhaps a remark made by someone, contrasted with the ways of a more coarser set who needs to at least urinate in public in order to draw the ire of others.

I remember smiling to myself and deciding that when another inmate asked me the inevitable "What are you in here for?" question, I was going to facetiously reply: "I made the wrong remark." What could he do to me; in shower shoes, anyways.

On Depression

But, I am not waking up in a cell that is very real and that I really can't leave. I'm waking up in my apartment that I am fortunate to have and in which there are no shower shoes.
So, the feeling probably has its roots in the fact that I feel that my fate is out of my hands, out of my control.
This comes with the buskers territory. I can't go out and pick 5 bushels of blackberries and then take them to the market to exchange for the going market rate. I can only go out and pick the guitar and perhaps make 0 dollars, while spending $2.50 for the trolley ride to and from the badlands.

So, I went out yesterday afternoon with all 8 of my dollars and was going to get a half pint of tequila. I was thinking of travelling up the east coast, drinking and busking along the way; being "happy" and thinking also: "Why do I have to go on my blog and tell everyone that I am sober; that's not something worth staying sober over?"

But, I got to the store at the bottom of the street just as, from out of which, issued forth a corpulent lady whom I have never seen doing anything other than skeezing and whom has never said anything to me which wasn't a direct or veiled skeeze.

She was in the company of an older, crusty looking white man who was walking with the help of an aluminum, rubber gripped, tennis ball supported walker. I think the company that sells those, markets that model as: "The Skeeze-Along."

The corpulent lady was mumbling something to the guy out of which I heard the word "drinking," and not much else.

Then I heard the clink of a glass bottle coming from the black plastic bag which was hanging from one of the grips of the guy's walker. I think the glass clinked because he was removing the bag in order to hand it to the lady so that he wouldn't have to perform the circus feat of walking along with the weight of the bag unbalancing his rig.

I imagined their conversation to have been something like:

Lady: "Are you sure you got it? You're sure? Here, let me carry the bag, you got enough to worry about with that walker. I just don't want it to fall, that would suck!"

Guy: "Ok, here's the bag. You got it? You sure?"

Lady: "Here, let me wrap it around my wrist. You told them to double bag it, right? Always ask them to double bag it if it's a half gallon bottle. I don't trust these bags."
Clink!

The sound triggered something in me; perhaps the clinking of glasses in the proposal of a toast in a social drinking setting; or perhaps the sight of the skeezers made a bell go off in my head and there never was an actual sound from their bag.

I envisioned the corpulent lady saying: "You're just as bad as us!" to me in the near future, should I have gone in the store and bought tequila.

On Zebra Food

I went into the Quarter, started playing at 10:45 exactly and made 60 dollars in 4 and a half hours in which I probably only played half of the time.

At least 3 groups of people came along, hung out and talked and tipped.

I came away feeling like I sit there at the Lilly Pad with a pile of zebra food in front of me, sometimes going totally ignored. But then on nights like last night, up walk people who are holding reins with zebras on the other ends. My original music is the zebra food in the analogy. 

Let's Drink Ourselves To Death

Every Banana

Last evening, I had 7 dollar bills on the coffee table in front of my bed...should I move my bed...is the arrangement of the furniture contributing to my depression?..maybe more open space...Do I even want to go out and play on a Wednesday night?

I had 5 cigarettes and one little bud of weed, and was considering staying in.

But while I stay in, I continue to "consume."

Every banana that I smear with peanut butter and eat probably costs me 40 cents. With coconut milk and jam, it probably sets me back a dollar. Add a 10 cent cup of coffee and a 35 cent cigarette afterwards, while Harold munches down 50 cents worth of cat food as my radio drains pennies off its batteries; and it is easy to surmise that it may just be the "night off" that has been sinking me financially, lately. That, and having 9 dollar nights.

Another 9 Dollar Night

So bad it has been for busking that, I left the apartment feeling like I was gambling that I would make at least enough to cover the expense of the outing. My goal was to wake up the next (this) morning with at least the same 7 dollars, 5 more cigarettes, and a little bud of weed.

I got to the Lilly Pad at exactly 9:30 PM.

I knocked off an hour and 20 minutes later, after playing in 90 degree humid air that reminded me of the "C.O.P.D." attack that I had had a couple years ago. I was light headed and dizzy the whole time and just plain out of breath at other times. I did learn how to divert some air into my lungs through my nose during the notes when I am drawing air into the harp rather than blowing it out.

I had a brand new harmonica and brand new strings and really felt like I was wasting them. I gave the one tourist with the 20 or 50 or 100 dollar bill an hour and 20 minutes to show up, who never did.

I am basically right back to where I started last night, money-wise, but I did learn a few things.

I think I will go out and play "just because." I did get a 45 dollar tip from one couple last Wednesday...

I Think I'll Drink

I want to get a pint of tequila when I get to Broad Avenue a little later. 163 days sober is enough. I'll chalk up the experiment as a failure, in general.

I know that alcoholics often relapse at times when they realize that, despite their sobriety, their circumstances have taken a turn for the worse. It isn't a far stretch to wonder if it is actually because of his sobriety.

The tequila would take up just about all the money that I have and I will have to walk into the Quarter, something I haven't had to do in months. But I feel like I deserve that. Then, if I see Leslie Thompson I will tell him: "You win. Let's drink ourselves to death."

I'm not going to wait around for life to deal me my demise. I'm going to take control. Life is worthless now, in 2016.

Working On Third Day Sober

Playing Sober
Monday night, I went out and played totally sober at the Lilly Pad, knowing that my food card would be charged at midnight with 194 bucks, and that Tiffany would be there at Rouses Market willing and able to buy any amount off the thing in exchange for 50 cents on the dollar; a loser's deal; a junkie's deal...

After playing sober for about an hour in the 44 degree air and struggling to tune the guitar, because of the cold (I thought) I had only made 6 cents.
There were as few people as I have ever seen on Bourbon Street.
"This is all the change I have," said a guy who had a guitar on his own back and was dressed in such a way to indicate that he had had an inside "club gig," as the change went into my tip jar.
I had started the jar out with a 1,000 peso Colombian bill, and 67 cents. I knew that I had that amount, because I was sweating over making at least enough to take the $1.25 trolley home.
If I was going to load up, after midnight, on heavy items like juice for the fast and water for the fast and apple cider vinegar and honey for the cleanse and a can of tuna for Harold the cat, then I didn't want to be toting the 25 pounds of it for 2 miles up Canal Street to get home.
I wanted to make the trolley fare on my own, without involving Tiffany, because she might persuade me, in my weakened state, to trade more food off my card than just the trolley fare. She has 4 kids to feed, and I would even feel guilty just offering her a couple bucks off it; she would pout and probably show me pictures of the little tykes and get her way.
I decided to play from 9:50 PM, when I started, until at least after Tiffany went home at 11. If I hadn't made more than the 6 cents, I would ask another employee at Rouses, Gloria, for a loan of 60 cents so that I wouldn't have to tote my stuff home.
The guy threw the change in my jar, probably thinking that I would assume that it was at least more than 6 cents, unaware that I knew exactly how much change I had in there.
I didn't make another penny, but, it wasn't bothering me, as I had completed my first 24 hours sober and, most importantly, had busked my way through it; busking being about my number one "trigger" to drink.
As I walked towards Rouses Market, my thoughts were, for the first time in weeks, upon spiritual matters and feeling grateful for everything that I did have, rather than being drunk and pissed off over the 6 cent night.
Gloria lent me the 60 cents.
Rachael The Professional Beggar
I had about an hour to kill before my food card would hit, so I went outside to smoke, and found 10 pennies on the sidewalk across the street where "Rachael" the beggar sits with her sign and her dog and her sad puppy eyes.
Rachael must have had a good night (and I had seen a well dressed lady squatting down and holding her hand in conversation with her on my way to my spot; I figured that the lady might be praying for Rachael, and that Rachael would most likely find a way to skeeze something off of her. The lady had no way of knowing that Rachael is one of the pros who consider 100 dollars a bad day for sitting there with the sign and the dog and the sad puppy eyes -do you know how sore your face gets after about 5 hours of that?!?)
Then, when I was walking back to Rouses, there was a dime laying in the middle of St. Peters Street, which hadn't been there when I first walked by -40 more cents, and I would be able to pay Gloria back before I ever got on the trolley.
Louise The Tarot Card Reader
I loaded up with the heavy food, after midnight and then lugged it in my pack down Royal Street, where I passed the figure of Louise, sitting behind her tarot card reading table, wrapped in a woolen blanket with only her eyes and above showing.
I was carrying a can of a cherry flavored ginseng energy drink, my only "food" after a day of juice fasting; and I was feeling so good that I almost wanted to stop and tell Louise that I had just made 23 hours without a drink; but decided not to. She would congratulate me; offer me advice; and then probably begin the process of ingratiating herself towards me which is sure to begin. There are just too many cold nights coming in the next 2 months.
I knew that she would have loved nothing more than to have let me lift her cart onto the trolley for her and then rode it with me to my place where she could take a hot shower and sleep on the couch, rather than tote the thing to her sleeping spot, "somewhere where there used to be a dumpster, but now there's just a little area behind a gate" where she would have to wrap up in the same blanket, and sleep with a crowbar within reach.
I also thought that, I had played a hand in bringing about the disaster that was the 10 days that she had stayed at my place in December, by having binged on alcohol while she did binge on Cherry Garcia and potato salad, both of us "enabling" each other.
As I walked past, the blanket said "Good Night."
"Happy New Year," I said.
"Happy New Year," the blanket replied.
...once bitten; twice shy....

On The Seventh Day, I Rested

3 And Out

Bottle Smashes Dry Spell

I took Sunday off, after having stayed up all night, and then continued to stay up all day listening to football broadcasts and then having recorded music into the evening, broken only by stopping to eat a whole hen, or "pollo entero," from the Ideal Market; along with a "3 days of sobriety smashing" bottle of red wine.

I hadn't slept in 24 hours and it was Sunday and I decided that I wasn't going to play that night, but would rather record music; and a bottle of red wine just seemed too much fun to turn down.

The recording came out just fairly well, and I deleted it this (Monday) morning, but not before jotting down some of the better lyrics that had come spontaneously, and making note of which songs I did, so as to keep them fresh in my mind, and on my plate, so to speak.

Up To 1826

• 34 Dollar Friday
  
• 50 Hours Sober
  

I suppose if 13 days was a relatively abbreviated stretch of time for me to have gone from the commencement of drinking, to quitting once again in disgust over having become broke and depressed, then 2 days of sobriety have brought about an equally quick return to normality.

I woke up for the final time at 7 PM in the evening, after having been up the entire Thursday night, dealing with the insomnia which typically comes the first few nights that I am not heavily sedated upon laying down.

I wrote yesterdays blog post on my laptop, and then alternately watched episodes of "The Shield," a TV show that I have acquired the entire 4 seasons of, on my hard drive, and read a James Lee Burke novel, called "Last Car To Elysian Fields," which is set in New Orleans, and in which a certain character has an apartment not far from the Lilly Pad, on St. Ann street, near Basin (the guy gets "whacked" in about the 12th chapter) and reading an American History book that I have on my bed, which is quite comprehensive and almost the size of a bread box, commensurate with that fact.

I am up to 1826, and John Quincy Adams has just won the election over Andrew Jackson. I will have to slog my way through about 30 pages devoted to just the Civil War, but look forward to eventually getting to the final chapter, which introduces Lady Gaga, complete with color photos (it is not your grandfather's American History book, almost as big as a breadbox).

I was still feeling kind of depressed when I got up at 7 PM, but a cup of oolong tea got me motivated enough to run my data stick up to the computer room to post to this blog, and then out to the parking lot to grab my 2 solar powered lights from where they had gotten a good dose of radiation over the day that I had taken off, plus this day.

I then embarked upon the 2 mile walk to the Lilly Pad, with about 48 cents on me; driven by will power alone and without the incentive of "that first half pint of whiskey to get me going" waiting for me on Royal Street.

I arrived at the Lilly Pad at about 10:20 PM, set up my extra bright spotlights, placed the remains of a Monster Energy drink that I was drinking, by my side and started playing.

I could almost sense that it was going to be a pretty good night. As per my voice being a bit tight from having taken one night off from performing, the tips kind of croaked their way into the tiposaurus jar, and I had enough of a constant audience so that it was almost an hour before I deemed it prudent to even stop for a few puffs off a cigarette.

Then, along came a couple who sat on Lilly's stoop and who said that they had last heard me a few weeks ago when I had been somewhere along in the 24 day stretch of not drinking.

I had a feeling that they may have been disappointed in me, should I have had to report that I was back on the juice, but I was happy to tell them that I was sober, even if only on my second day of being such.

Another group came along and seemed to enjoy the Bob Dylan song that I played; tipped me well, and then one of them asked if he could play my guitar, and I would accompany him on the harmonica.

We did a rendition of "The Joker," by Steve Miller (in the C harmonica-unfriendly key of E major) and soon there had gathered a small crowd across the street of what turned out to be the group that the guy was with, in town together for something.

They made the unimaginative request for the ubiquitous busking song, known by traveling kids and guitar skeezers worldwide, which was written by Bob Dylan, but popularized by a group which plays the same guitars missing a string and banjos missing a string and tambourines missing a cymbal, which are fit for the likes of the ensembles of traveling kids and skeezers worldwide (called "The Old Crow Medicine Show," I believe...although it might have been "Mumford and Sons,") called "Wagon Wheel."

And, lo and behold, it was in the perfect key for my garden variety harmonica (and would have been even if it had been missing a note) and we nailed it to the satisfaction of his group of friends and about 10 of the 34 dollars which I would end up making went into the jar afterwards.

Another guy came along and sat and talked (for a little bit longer than the 4 or 5 dollars that he threw me warranted, but I enjoyed the conversation, and am equally at fault for starting a new thread of thought just when he was shaking my hand and telling me how he had enjoyed our conversation and was about to leave -my mention of the fact that I had just discovered the music of Tori Amos led to an additional 10 minutes of him gushing over the talents of that lady, especially her live performances).

It was a successful night.

I stopped and spent 75 cents on a Friday paper, 2 bucks on a bottle of iced tea, and then just missed the next trolley when I was inside CVS, getting a small jar of instant coffee, and so just decided to forego waiting a half hour for the next one, and instead spend the half hour walking home.

I fell in with a couple of young guys who were locals, but who also didn't want to wait for the trolley, who lived near me and who were in the movie industry.

We talked about movies, with them basically telling me that I hadn't missed a thing during the 19 years (from 1996 when I took a date to see "Waterworld" in Jacksonville, Florida until the recent past when my caseworker Tim unloaded a variety of movies, old and new, onto my hard drive) when I watched not a single movie.

"I see all of these tabloids in the checkout isle in the supermarket and realise that I have never even seen Angelina Jolie, nor Tom Cruise, nor Brad Pitt, nor Demi Moore, nor Johnny Depp; in "action," I said.

"You haven't missed a thing...just mass produced industrial garbage that cost millions of dollars to make yet fails to invoke a feeling in the moviegoer...plenty of explosions, though..." said one of them. He said he was into some kind of Italian art films "shot without actors, but just using scenes from real life to tell a story" (or words to that effect).

I parted with them at The Big Easy Market, where I bought a can of coconut milk for $3.26, bringing my total expenditures for the day to just under 8 dollars, and then I came here, where I have lentils slowly simmering and waiting for a coconut milk bath, and where I sip coffee and write this, not nodding off and drooling on myself between gathering my thoughts for the next sentence, and not kicking myself for having put tomorrows trolley fare towards the overkill of one more half pint of whiskey that I will only remember upon seeing the empty bottle sitting somewhere in the morning.

Postscript: The lentil/coconut soup is not bad, but needs one more ingredient; maybe some zesty Indian spices.
You've just read: 1277 words.

Why Work?

Afraid Of The Quarter
1 Day Sober
It is Friday morning and I stayed in last night and watched a bit of football with Howard, not drinking anything but coffee, making that first step of a thousand mile journey by passing my first 24 hours sober, in 13 days of what I wouldn't exactly call a "drinking binge."

But by the same token, it seemed to take less time to return to the point where all the familiar symptoms came back -such as loss of interest in busking on any given night at least an hour earlier than would normally occur, along with the desire to just knock off, then go home and binge on some ill advised choice of food, such as a whole hen, baked and consumed before passing out into a low quality sleep, replete with nightmares, which I would wake out of in the morning (which would be the late afternoon) in a depressed state of mind, feeling like it was already time to go out and do the whole thing over again, after what felt like a 15 minute break (where did the time go?).

But not before staring at the ceiling for a while, contemplating things such as how meaningless my life would have turned out to be, should my heart stop at just that moment.

And then feeling the pressure to come up with that first drink to "get started," knowing that with first sip, the clock would begin ticking down to the moment when I would quit, due to moodiness over lack of tips coming in, or the perceived sloppiness in my playing -the two going hand in hand- and the day would end with a feeling that unfinished business was piling up; books I want to read, songs I want to write and record, laundry and housecleaning, etc., until the point where it would become overwhelming and I would become paralyzed, for not knowing where to start, nor being able to discern what is most important.


Things Piling Up On My Plate

Two weeks has passed since I got the toothache, which I deemed at the time to be bad enough to warrant numbing it with the liquor that started me back drinking.

The pain has gone away (it may have just been from a piece of popcorn which got jammed into a cavity) but it will never entirely leave, and if I keep procrastinating, I might find myself in the emergency room with the whole side of my head swollen up, kicking myself for not having taken care of it by scheduling an appointment with the "dental care for the homeless" people, and then waiting the 2 or 3 months to be seen by them.

It took very little time, in this slow season in the Quarter, for my cash on hand to dwindle down to an amount that had me opting to walk the 2 miles home from the Lilly Pad, spending the trolley fare on one last beer for the night; one which did little to make me feel any happier; just more hungover in the morning.

And, of course other phenomena, which seem to only occur when I am drinking reared their heads.


For one, the universe seemed to be playing jokes on me, as I endured the series of slow nights when the choices between walking Canal Street at 1 AM, sipping whiskey, or riding back in the comfort (and safety) of the trolley were at odds with each other; and I chose the former, in the rebellious spirit of one who isn't going to let the universe or anyone else tell him that he can't afford another half pint of Heaven Hill.


And, my "favorite" music, rather than giving me pleasure, made me feel inadequate (could I ever harmonize like Prince?) and I couldn't relax and listen, because I was constantly analyzing it; and looking at my guitar more like a cross to bear, rather than a beautiful instrument that I had a unique ability with.


So, this is my take on things as I work on yet another "day 2 without drinking," and work off some of the energy that I am already feeling imbued with, after just skipping one night of intoxication.


And, yes, people have asked me if I have ever considered going to "meetings." One lady named Rose, who lives here asked me that Thursday night when I encountered her in the smoking area, after I had staggered home, stopping for a half pint at the Big Easy Market which depleted all but 44 cents of my money, but I don't remember much more of the conversation.


I do remember her asking me to play something and her seeming impressed by my rendition of "Daniel," by Elton John, despite the 2 or 3 times that I forgot the next chord and had to excuse myself for being so drunk.




You've just read: 802 words.

Off The Wagon

Thursday evening, I left Starbucks; walking past David the water jug player on my way towards The Unique Grocery.
I hovered around there like a hummingbird for a while before deciding to go in and get a Mikes Hard Lemonade.

I actually got it in the can, and not the bottle shown.
I stepped out onto the edge of the sidewalk and cracked it open.
The phone in my right pocket began to ring; so coincident with the sound of the can opening, that it sounded like the ring tone began with a "psssst!""
It was Leslie Thompson (shown above; the very next night; but I will hopefully get to that).
Leslie was waiting for his money to arrive; hoping that it would be electronically wired to his plastic card at midnight; as he was told it would; by his employers.
He was close by. I told him where I was. He showed up a couple minutes later.
"I just had my first sip of alcohol in 6 days," I said to him.
"Oh, 6 days....that's good!" he said; and I wondered what he meant was good; the 6 days or the fact that I was drinking again.
He was broke; and would be for the next 2 hours.
I bought him 2 Hurricane Lagers, out of the approximately 45 dollars which I had.
He was in a pickle. He had to be at an employee meeting with his company at 9 AM the coming morning.
The last bus ran at 11:30 PM.
If he waited for midnight, hoping to get his money; then he would need to take a cab back to his house; so that he could get some rest and be ready for his meeting.
36 Dollar Thursday
Well, I made my way towards the Lilly spot; Leslie in tow; but the mood to play struck me across the street from Rouses Market; where I took out my brand new C harmonica and played what I thought was some pretty cool stuff; with "Because," by the Beatles being a highlight.
Leslie stood by; periodically checking his watch.
Midnight came and I had not been thrown any tip money in the 30 minutes that I played.
Leslie checked upon his money. It wasn't there.
He checked again; and again.
After 1 AM, I went and got food out of the bins.
I had gotten another beer out of Rouses Market before they had closed at 1 AM, and I shared it with Leslie.

I began to walk in the general direction of the sign spot to sleep; Leslie at my heels.
I think that he was just at a loss for what to do and wasn't particularly following me with the aim of sharing whatever beer I might purchase along the way; as I have accused him of doing in the past.
We broke off, at a certain point. I had shown him a spot on Conti Street where a huge steel grate oozes warm air; and one can actually survive the temperatures of winter here by sitting on that grate. A dozen or more homeless people did just that, last February.
Leslie Obtains 504 Dollars
I had just gotten to the sign spot; after a zero dollar night when I had spent an extra few dollars on Leslie; when my phone rang and it was him.
"My money's there, do you want to party?"
I was then headed back to the Unique Store to rendezvous with he, and the 504 dollars which was then on his plastic card.
But, not before passing the Ritz-Carlton hotel, where a couple stood, who turned out to be from Canada and who gave me 10 dollars after I played a song for them; practically in front of the entrance.
The doorman came out and moved me away from there.
Note To Self: More Rolling Stones!
The couple wanted to hear more music, Bruce Springsteen; and Rolling Stones being requested. It occurred to me then that I hardly know any Rolling Stones music. The stuff I do know is their cover material like Little Red Rooster, by Howling Wolf....
I played some Neil Young, after I envisioned a "people who like this also like..." box in my head and matched Bruce and the Stones to Neil. It worked to the tune of 6 more dollars from the lady.
It only caused Leslie to have to wait an additional 15 minutes for me to arrive.
He wanted me to be there when the first 100 dollar bill came out of the ATM; momentous occasion that it would be.
Well, the money came out of the machine; Leslie gave a "whoop!" and then, he promised to call me the next (fri) day a little after noon, and we would trek together to the music store, where he would buy me a new harmonica, or two.
Skeezers converged upon him; one girl almost demanding a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from him.
That was my cue; I went off to sleep; but not before Leslie had handed me 20 dollars to complement the Mikes Hard Lemonade which he had gotten me for a nightcap.
Waking up on friday and sitting at the sign spot practicing Travis picking; I wasn't surprised when noontime came and went without my having gotten a phone call from him.
He had basically been in the position of having to kill about 3 hours that morning, waiting for the first bus to come and take him to his house, where he would have about 1 hour to sleep before having to get up and shower and shave and go to his meeting.
I was here at Starbucks by evening; doing computer stuff and listening to music
Right around nightfall my phone rang, and it was Leslie.
He was on the bus on the way back from the music store; and would be on Canal Street momentarily; and he had a "gift" for me, he said.
100 Dollars Worth Of Harmonicas
When he arrived at Starbucks, he was pretty well lit.
He wasn't too drunk to hand me 2 brand new harmonicas, one a Marine Band (B) and the other a "Blues Special" type of Hohner (B-flat).
It was pretty cool; and a type of thing that one cannot talk Leslie out of doing. When he sets his mind upon buying something for someone; he just about forces them to take it.
I wound up playing at the Lilly spot; still using my brand new "Ol' Standby" in C; and I made enough money to replace what I had spent that day and gain about 5 bucks.
Today, (saturday) I hung out with Leslie a bit, after he had phoned me at the sign spot, at about 11 AM,  to tell me that he was on his way; on the bus from the new Wal-Mart in Gentilly.
Clean Mouth Key To Harmonica Playing
He arrived, carrying an insulated bag with a strap on it; designed to tote a 12 pack of beer.
It contained a couple of bottles of beer; along with a lot of hygiene items; some of which he bestowed upon me.
Razors, toothpaste, mouthwash and soap were mine to be had.
Then, we made the walk to the Unique Grocery where we ran into Jimmy the guitarist who looks and kind of sounds like Rick Neilsen of the band Cheap Trick.

Unlike Rick, Jimmy didn't have a spare...

Jimmy recently had his guitar and amp stolen by a guy whom he had entrusted to guard the stuff while he ran to the store.
"I'm gonna see the guy at the OZ center, or at Rebuild, it just a matter time...but I'm not going to say anything to him; I'll get another guitar and amp," said Jimmy.
At the point that we ran into Jimmy earlier today; I took the opportunity to slink off, leaving the two to become reacquainted.
Will Leslie buy Jimmy a new guitar or amp?
Stay tuned. 

Shooting For Seven Days

2 hours of my life spent doing this, today...

• 6th Day Sober
• Spent The Day Cartooning
• 1 Dollar Tuesday
• Weather Remains Cool
• Dying For A Drink
• Answer To Alex In California's Comment

Late Start
Yesterday, I blogged, and then I went to Harrah's Casino to change the Australian money into American money. I got about $16.30 off of 20 dollars worth of it...
Then, I plugged in at their Starbucks, bought a coffee for $2.67 -casino prices- and continued to work on the computer until about 10:30 PM.
Leaving there, I slowly made my way towards the Lilly spot.
The Turtle Cartoon
The cartoon, I decided to do to post on Facebook along with a status of: "I feel like a turtle on its back on the rim of a volcano."
Uninvited Guests
There were 2 homeless people sleeping right in front of Lillys house. "Are you serious?" I asked them.
"We've slept here before," said the female; a woman of about 50, who looks like she has lived on the street for most of those 50 years.
"Well, I play here every night," I said, as a preamble to setting up and playing, without regards for whether or not I would be disturbing them.
I thought I sounded pretty good with new strings and harmonica. There were not a lot of people out, at 11:30 PM, when I got there.
People might have thought that we were all together, and that might have had something to do with the fact that I only made 1 dollar in about an hour.
One Lousy Sandwich
I went to Rouses Market for discarded food, finding as I walked up, a guy already digging through the bins. "I ain't found nothing; they didn't throw anything away; no sandwiches; nothing!" he said.
Shedding my flashlight on the situation didn't reveal anything other than a bag with a chunk of deli ham, some bread and some cheese. I hastily made and ate a sandwich, bagged the remainder up for the pigeons in the morning and went to the sign spot to sleep.
Changing Paper Into Plastic
Not before stopping at Walgreens and purchasing a pre-paid Master Card, putting 20 dollars on it.
According to their website, I have activated it, after providing them information.
I just am unable to sign in to their page to check my balance.
I am trying to get a battery for this laptop.
I found a decent USB microphone for about 18 dollars on E-bay. I might get the battery first, so that I can go on location to a quiet spot to use the microphone.
A Wasted Trip
I still have about 30 dollars; but this is after having gotten 50 dollars from my mom for my birthday; and 16 dollars and change off of the Australian money.
I took a bus to Wal-Mart to try to put money on the card which I had gotten from them almost a year ago. They kept getting a message saying "unable to transact this debit" or something.
They told me to call the number on the card; which I did; but the robot on the other end kept telling me that I was entering invalid numbers....
After burning up $2.50 in bus fare; and spending $3 on energy drinks, while waiting for the bus at Wal-Mart, I just went to Walgreens and bought their version of the same thing...
Dying For A Drink
I would say, here, to half expect tomorrows post to be something about: "Started Drinking Again, After 6 Days Off."
I don't know what is triggering it; except that it was cold for the second night in a row last night.
I neglected to go and get more layers of clothing to put on; guessing wrongly that it would be a tad warmer last night.
As the temperatures are forecast to become more seasonal in the coming days, I thought that they might start moving in that direction. They didn't, and I was just as uncomfortable last night as the previous one; wrapping myself in cardboard to block the wind (the cardboard has been wet and dried so many times that it is flexible).
Then, there was Leslie Thompson, whom I ran into while waiting for the bus to take me to Wal-Mart. He is getting a check on Thursday for $540 from the past two weeks that he has worked at the New Orleans University, doing whatever he does, for what he describes as a "rinky-dink operation."

He wants me to go with him to the music store that day, and he promises to buy me a brand new Marine Band harmonica, in the key of my choice. That might be a trigger.
Making only one dollar yesterday might be a trigger, also....

Photomaloptisism victim

Comment Reply: Alex In California
Alex said, commenting as "anonymous,:" There must be a scientific term for people who are butt ugly but love to take pictures of themselves.
I have come up with a term for the behavior: "maloptification"
And, the person doing it would  be a "photomaloptic."

Rainy Monday

• 5th Day Sober
• 10 Dollar Monday

Yesterday, I woke up full of energy, at the sign spot; and with 57 dollars on me, 20 of it Australian.
On my mind was; finding a place to exchange Australian money for U.S. currency, and making my 3 PM appointment with the wound clinic.
And then, perhaps being somewhere where I could watch Monday Night Football.
It was about noon. 
I worked on Travis picking for an hour, and then headed to The Unique Grocery store, where I bought a pomegranate juice drink.
Columbus Day
I was on my way from there to the Starbucks across Canal Street, when I encountered David, The Water Jug Player, whose gaze initially fell upon the non-alcoholic drink in my hand, and there flashed in his eye something akin to disappointment.
"Still teetotal-ling, eh?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Hey, help a brother out, will you?" he then asked, and started to fish in the pouch which hangs from his belt, for change.
My abstinence signals to him that I probably am accumulating money.
I handed him a dollar, after deliberating for a few seconds in my own mind, and coming to the conclusion that I would still have 55 dollars left; after giving it to him.
He then pulled change out of his pouch, looked at it and said: "I need....50 more cents, and I can get a half pint."

I gave him the 50 cents, while saying: "I don't give away money, by the way, if anyone asks..."
He had the Indiana Scout with him; missing 2 strings.
"Do you have any strings?' he asked.
I told him that I had a new set, ready to go on my guitar, and that he could have the old ones..."even though that won't leave me any backups, in case one of my new ones break..."
The Wound Clinic
I went to Starbucks and did yesterdays blog post, interrupted by a visit to the wound clinic, at LSU Hospital. "Do they call this part of the children's hospital the boo boo clinic?" I asked while there.
After they changed the dressing on my wound and told me to come back in one week, when they expect it to be fully closed, I went back to Starbucks.
Temperature Drops 20 Degrees
It started to rain violently outside; but only for a couple of hours.
Then, a cold breeze began to blow in; dropping the temperature 20 degrees.
I headed for the sign spot to don one long sleeved shirt, and a sweater to go over it. I forgot the umbrella.
I then headed towards the Lilly spot.
I set up my stuff, and began to play. I was able sit on Lillys actual stoop, rather than beside it; after propping my spotlight in the vines at an extreme angle. That way, it illuminated only one side of me; creating an effect, perhaps.
I had made only about 5 bucks, when I knocked off around 10 PM to go check on the football game; and to grab a non-alcoholic drink at Sydneys. The rain storm had apparently dissuaded a lot of people from coming out.
I found salads and fruit outside Rouses Market around 1 AM, grabbed a Bob Marley relaxation drink and went to the sign spot, where I wound up wrapping myself up pretty well in cardboard, which blocked the wind; and I slept until about 9 this morning; when I got up to go to The Rebuild Center to check my mail.
Mom, Send Me Money
My replacement food card had not arrived, but there was a letter from my mom with birthday wishes and 50 dollars inside.
I am about to finish this up; and then go to a bank to see if I can cash in the Australian money.
I might just go to Wal-Mart and re-activate my Visa card there; by paying the 6 dollar fee, and then putting the minimum 20 dollar deposit on the thing.
I have found batteries for my laptop, on E-Bay, for just around 14 dollars; and now might be the time to send for one.
Then, I will be looking for a USB microphone with the next spare 50 dollars that I come into.

Leslie Vitalone

• Not Drinking; Day 4
• Mark From Australia
• 48 Dollar Sunday

While I was blogging yesterday, my phone rang.
It was Leslie Thompson. He was not far away, on Canal Street.
He wanted to hang out; and said that he had money and weed. He offered to buy me a beer.

David The Water Jug Player (right)

"I'm not drinking," I said.
I don't know why I didn't evade him, but...
We hung out for a while, with him offering repeatedly to buy me beer.
At one point, he said: "Come on, let me buy you another beer," when I hadn't even had one.
He had no idea about where to go, nor what to do, outside of hanging around The Unique Grocery and patronizing it.
I led him in the direction of where televisions were located, which would be visible from the sidewalk, and which would have football games on them.
Really Intoxicated
By the time we were in front of a bar near the corner of Chartres and Decatur Streets, he was in his "really?" stage of intoxication.
"Dallas is going to try a field goal."
"Really?"
"It's right there on the TV, Leslie. If they make it, the game will be over; and I'll probably start heading to my spot to play; it's going to be nightfall soon."
"Really?"
"Yeah, Leslie, didn't you notice that the big flaming ball of hydrogen went below the horizon?"
"Really? Er, I mean....hey, let's get drunk; I've got money, and I have weed. Let's party!!!"
"I'm not drinking, Leslie."

"Well, we could...what should I do?"
Etc.

I needed new batteries, and so I headed (led him) in the direction of Sydneys beer and wine; which is also near my playing spot.
The Wrong Currency
Leslie was at a total loss for what to say and do.
It was like he wanted to purchase my company using alcohol as the currency; but I didn't take that kind of money.
I decided to separate from him at about 8 p.m., after the Sunday Night Football game had kicked off.
He was hard to shake. He seemed lonely and in need of a friend to hang out with; and frustrated that he couldn't buy me beer.
I went into the store to get my batteries.
While in there, I bought a V-8 drink. When I put it on the counter, I said to the girl working there: "If he offers to buy me a beer 38 times, I might take him up on it; and we're getting close to that number."
The staff at Sydneys are amongst those who have seen a positive change in me, the times that I have been sober. One of them, Jason, upon seeing me with Leslie, shook his head as if to intimate: "I guess Daniel has totally fallen off the wagon again..."
When I came out, Leslie was in the face of a young man who was leaning against the front of the store. He had handed the guy one of the beers from his bag of them, and was demanding that the guy open it and drink it. He must have thought he was being humorous.
I couldn't help thinking that he was venting his frustrations with me upon the young man.
There is a psychological term for that, which escapes me (transferring? projecting?) .

A beer; really?!?

I sneaked by them, Leslie never seeing me...really? (I had already told him several times that it was time for us to break off, so I could go and play).
The Poor Guy
He probably went on to offer the young guy beer after beer and anything that his (Leslies) money could buy, to procure his companionship.
Then, the nasty drunk probably reared its head, and the head had Leslies face on it.
He would start to denigrate women walking past: "Look at that slut, she's going to (sleep with) 5 black guys tonight, for crack!" and things like that.
Then, he would become suddenly sullen and brooding and, out of that state of mind, would turn to the guy and say something like: "You know, you're starting to get on my nerves!"
To which the guy might say something like: "Sorry about that, I guess I will be going," whereupon Leslie would block his path, because he wasn't quite finished with him, then add something like: "You're the biggest loser I've ever met; you're a joke...yeah, that's right!"
The poor guy.
48 Dollar Night
 
I came around the corner onto Bourbon and espied two figures sitting upon Lillys stoop.
They were two women, having a conversation and staring at their respective phone screens.
I was setting up my stuff when one asked: "Are we in your way?"
"No, I still have to change the batteries in my light and tune up and everything."
I did so, and started to play, when I noticed one of them smiling at my tiposaurus and its sign.
She took a picture of it and threw me what turned out to be 5 one dollar bills.
Mark From Australia
Then, along came a guy who asked if he could play my guitar.
I hesitated, then asked: "Will you tip me?"

He produced 5 dollars, whereupon I handed him the Takamine, saying "At least I can afford a new set of strings now, if you break them all."
"Oh, I won't break any," he said, and then proceeded to play some pretty good Travis picking style stuff.
He was from Australia, was traveling, and hadn't wanted to check his own guitar into airports along the way.
He asked me if I could get any weed.
I told him that I only had a half a joint (which Leslie had given me).
The Skeeze Is On
Soon, a skeezer was sitting on the other side of him, butting in on the conversation.
A lot of skeezers can't stand to see someone else getting money out of a tourist, and they can't sit still for it, either.
It is common to see a skeezer or two, on the occasion of a tourist handing money to another skeezer, converge upon that tourist saying: "Can I have one (dollar) too?" (...and, what about me? and me? and me? me too!!).
The skeezer probably thought: "He just gave guitar man 5 dollars; let me investigate this possible opportunity..."
20 Dollar Skeezing Lesson
Mark, as that was his name, from Australia, then told the skeezer that he would give him 20 dollars if the skeezer would find him some weed. "All I want is to smoke a joint, and you can keep the rest."
Since all he wanted to do was smoke a joint, I offered him the roach which Leslie had given me, and said: "You can have this for 5 dollars."
I guess he felt like he already had made a deal with the skeezer, who was soon walking away with a crisp 20 dollar bill, after leaving his hat as collateral; the kind of hat that one can snap up at the homeless shelter "clothing bank," for free.
I told Mark that I had been trying to spare him the anxiety of putting his money in jeopardy, and of having to wait for the guy to come back with weed. "How long do you wait, how much time do you waste, before you conclude that he isn't coming back?" I asked.
"20 minutes," said Mark.
I told him that I doubted that the skeezer was going to come back. "There are probably 20 hats like that in the clothing room at the mission; and, all he has to do is wait a couple days and you will be 3,000 miles away, with the kangaroos. Even if you do run into him, he will ask 'Why didn't you wait for me, I found some killer weed, but when I got back you were gone!"
Mark didn't care. "I just consider it a lesson learned; a cheap lesson."
We talked for about 20 minutes. Mark turned out to be a software engineer, and 20 dollars is a pittance to him.
"I guess he really isn't coming back," he said.
I fired up the half joint, and passed it to him.
After we smoked, he handed me 20 dollars, saying: "I gave him 20 dollars for weed, but you're the one who wound up having it so, here!"
The Funky Pirate

We had an interesting conversation, after which he invited me to go to one of the bars on Bourbon Street for a drink. "I'll buy you a Red Bull, or something" (since I had told him that I was on my 4th day without alcohol).
We did so, but not before running into yet another skeezer, who must have thought that I had found myself a sucker, and couldn't restrain himself from trying his (outstretched) hand at skeezing the guy.
Mark pulled out an Australian 20 dollar bill, telling the guy that he would have to exchange it at a bank, for U.S. currency. "Try to rip it, go ahead!" (Australian bills are made of a super-strong plastic).
The skeezer handed it back to him: "I don't want this shit..."
We wound up at The Funky Pirate, where a half ass band was playing. Mark liked the fact that the bassist was playing a bass ukelele. The Funky Pirate is where I once met a couple who were headed back to Atlanta, Georgia, and who offered me a ride there; but then reneged after I ran into them the next day and didn't recognize them.
Mark gave me an Australian 10 dollar bill in the bar, showing me that there was an interesting poem on the bill, written by a famous poet ("banjo" Patterson) but that one needed a magnifying glass to read it.
I will be able to get 9 dollarsand change for it tomorrow; when the banks are open.
He wound up giving me another 10 Australian dollars when we parted.
I woke up this morning with about 60 dollars -half of it Australian.
It is now Monday, at 8:30 PM and we are in the middle of a thunderstorm. It looks like I will be sleeping under the dock for the first time in about 10 days.