How Much Further, Though

Crazy For Trying?

Last night, I went to the Garage open mic, even though I had less than 5 bucks on me.
Nobody tipped me 5 bucks this time.
I played a song with the band, the "Snoopy" song from the peanuts, and then the guy told me to do a couple solo acoustic songs.
I was pretty sure he meant the originals that I had been doing on previous occasions. I did "Crazy About A Crazy Girl," and then, breaking from the program, I unwittingly did a Patsy Cline song.
I had heard a lady ask the band if they knew any Patsy Cline, which they didn't. I launched into "Sweet Dreams," a song that I knew because Elvis Costello did it on his "Almost Blue" album, and could immediately sense the air go out of the room, as they were probably hoping for "The Carcass Song," or "The Man Who Couldn't Decide What Flavor He Wanted."
The lady who had asked for Patsy Cline came up and asked me if I knew "Crazy;" Patsy's song which was written by Willie Nelson. It was apparent that she wanted to sing, not listen to, a Patsy Cline song; oops.
I never really recovered from that. Nobody tipped me 5 dollars, or offered me a beer or a cigarette.
I learned another lesson about what works and what doesn't, though.
I also noticed that the band had one particularly talented member, who sang and played acoustic guitar and harmonica.
The electric guitarist sounded awesome in spots, mostly due to a barrage of electronica which he employed heavily, making his guitar sound like everything from an elephant, to an uninspired, out of tune elephant...
This further emphasized the point that there are a lot of bands and musicians out there, with more joining their ranks daily, and a very good band can easily be relegated to jamming at The Garage for free, or for a few beers, only.

Carcass Song! Carcass Song! Carcass Song!!!

Once again, it seemed like the pieces of the puzzle are all there, but are just not falling into place on their own. The bass, drums, acoustic and myself on electric could probably make it a lot further than the lineup that played. The question is: How much "further," though...
The Wanee Music Festival (above)
Meanwhile, the music festival in Live Oak is a week away.

Didn't Sound Right, To Me

And The World Grew One Day Older...
I left the library, and then went to the Shell and bought a microwaveable cheesburger. I added two turkey patties, from my 3 pound supply of them, and then heated it all up, poured hot sauce on it and ate it.

Apparently, "Father" Shauris Has A New "Commision..."

There were two guys standing by the side of the store who asked me for 20 cents and then acted as if they couldn't believe that I wouldn't give it to them; looking at me as if I was the most uncaring and selfish person they had ever seen. I only had paper money, no "20 cents" at all. Do you think they would have brought me back change?
John The Street Preacher

I then ran into John The Street Preacher, whom I haven't seen since before I got my glasses. He didn't recognize me at first, because of the glasses. He has been working in exchange for rent at the Adventure Inn hotel, where he was headed with some provisions from Save-A-Lot. He gave me 6 dollars.

I then went downtown and made one more dollar, playing in the cold, gusty winds which threatened to carry that dollar away, never to be seen again.

Rig Won't Sail
I then went to The Garage for the open mic night.

The blues guy played, and then let me play.

I opted to use his "rig" when he offered. I probably shouldn't have, because the blues guy's rig would require a couple of hours of experimentation to get a good sound, if unfamiliar with it, which I was.

I stepped on a few pedals, one of which was labelled an "Eric Clapton" pedal, and tried to decide what song would sound good through the combinations of switches and knobs, concluding, at some level, that it just didn't sound good. The "clean" settings weren't clean, and the distorted settings drowned any hopes of the audience hearing lyrics as anything other than a guy singing "something."

It wasn't an advantageous setup for me. The audience was drunk to the point where they were just dancing sloppily to everything. I should have taken a cue from that and just done "Satisfaction" by the Rolling Stones and then gotten out of there.
Instead, I tried a couple originals, which weren't written with the blues guy's rig in mind and they didn't sound right to me...

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Mere Catharsis

Sunday was spent in the morning at the Downtown Fellowship, forgiving Don, the trumpet player for playing on my spot Saturday night.


I've spent time on these cartoons which only a few will "get."



I woke up with $7.07, the trumpet player probably woke up with a lot more, thanks to the wisdom of choosing the spot, which I found months ago by applying the same wisdom.

Then over to Jeff and Jennie's church where there was a chili cookoff happening in the gym. I consumed chili (mostly Jennie's because I know she doesn't use hydrogenated oils)and then I got to shoot the basketball around and throw the football. That was the most excersise that I've gotten in a while.

Today has been spent, so far; writing a paper for a guy who majors in electronics and computers, but not English; no, not English very much at all...

I still need to brush out my hair with conditioner, take the paper in its present stage of completion to show to the guy in hopes that he will advance me some of the "bucks," which he promised me. I need to finish it by Thursday night.

Then, to brush up a couple songs for The Garage open mic night, tonight. It would be nice to brush up on them at a spot where someone might throw me a couple dollars, so that I can go to The Garage with more than the $2.54 which is on me now...

Old Things Have Passed Away

They Show Up Every Equinox

A New Creature
This morning, I woke and looked at the position of the sun, and guessed that it was a little after 10.
My clock "told me" that it was a little after 9. We are almost half-way to the Spring Equinox, a bigger concern to those who live in the wild, than to others, perhaps.
A feeling not unlike "depression" was hovering about me, like a fog, as I recollected myself and took inventory of my life.
I had almost a full pack of cigarettes, which was good; having spent 4 bucks on them was bad, though.
I wasn't that hung over, having only drank one shot of brandy, and then 2 Steel Reserves. That was good. Having spent the entire $6.35 on the above, was bad, though.
The night ended at The Garage, where I entered and sat down and was invited to play within 15 minutes. There was a sparse crowd, something that I thought might have had something to do with my uninspired session at Serda's, the previous Wednesday. The same feeling of having nothing that I was excited about playing invaded me, after "the guy" asked "Do you want to play something?" I decided to force myself to do the best that I could.
He let me play his electric guitar, which opened up sonic possibilities while at the same time felt a bit unfamiliar in my hands, because it has been 10 years since I played an electric all night, almost every night.
I got some possitive crowd reaction to my half-assed improvisations. I sang as much as I could remember of some of my songs and improvised a few verses on the new song, "I Fell In Love On Facebook."

I think the crowd is "blues-ed out," a bit by the other performers, who play nothing but that.
My chords were probably like a breath of fresh air, because they are not the flatted 7th chords which had been ringing constantly for the couple hours before I got up there. I DID do a blues, but it was the Sesame Street song. It was cool to be able to step on "the guy's" distortion pedal and get out some frustrations with an extended solo on it.
After finishing, I sat and watched a women's tennis match on one of the TV's. Nobody came over to offer me a beer. The prettier woman won the match.
Before that, I had been at the acoustically superior spot, where I had made $6.35.

Perspective Is Strange
Five of that came from one of the Pentacostal girls who come to Bienville Park on Monday evenings, with last night being no exception. I was sipping my second Steel Reserve and struggling to entertain myself, so that, in entertaining myself, I might entertain others.
My music sounded to me like an old 78 RPM scratched-up record on a Victrola, seen in black and white, and skipping...
I felt like a mechanical puppet, being animated by a motor, being rocked and gyrated, while a stale song played, sounding like it was coming through a megaphone, and with scary lyrics, like "Meet me at the palley, and we will dance the night away..." persuant to which I could percieve the people's unvoiced "No Thanks," as they speed their gates and walk past. Yeah, that's kind of how I felt. (Like the puppet that used to be in front of the funhouse, in a glass case, at Whalom Park, in Lunenburg, Ma., Dave V., if you read this...)
The Pentacostal girl gave me some water, and told me that I sounded "great." I was almost sceptical and wondered how I wasn't like an amusement park mechanical clown being animated by a motor, to her...
Perspective is strange.

I Hate It But I Always Do It

50 Bucks

Saturday night, I started playing early and racked up around 50 bucks. I had a 20 dollar bill and a 5 dollar bill in my case. Apart from these two, it would have been a typical, low paying, Mobile Saturday and I would have made less than 30 bucks. This boon gave me enough to plan upon going for my ID the following Monday. I would just have to survive Sunday without spending too much, or getting begged or robbed too much.

We Don't Carry Cash

There was a bum, well known to me, standing nearby at one point when I was playing, and a group of Christians came by and asked me to play "Amazing Grace."

I sounded out Amazing Grace to mine and their satisfaction, and they then prayed over me. One of them, I think, is the one who dropped the 20 dollars in my case.

I had been telling them about how I had had enough money for my ID, exactly, the previous day, but, getting the ID would have meant not spending a cent on anything else, and I had failed to do that.

They gave me a sermon about how God had given me just what I needed, but the devil had triumphed over me when I bought a pack of smokes and a couple beers. I was just being honest with them and answering their questions.

They prayed that I would make the 23 bucks that night and get my ID and get a job and do God's will. (God didn't intend for His children to be on the street playing guitar) All this happened while the bum stood 5 feet away, listening and watching as more than one of them threw money in my case, and someone gave me some pizza. As the group were leaving, the bum said something to them. I couldn't hear what it was that he said, but I heard one of the Christians say. "We don't carry cash with us" to him.

A Breakfast Fit For Nero

The next morning, the bum was at breakfast at 15 Place. He was telling everyone who cared to listen about how much money "Guitar Man" had made the previous night. "Yeah, he was raking it in...he must have made at least 50 bucks; AT LEAST!"

I can't imagine what service he thought he was doing me; did he think every bum was going to be proud of me, and respect me?

Then, the bums of 15 Place, taking the cue, started The Barrage. "Hey, Guitar Man, let me get a smoke..." "Yeah, Guitar Man; break bread!" They can sound so biblical sometimes. Jesus would give us a cigarette...

I didn't give them anything. I told the loudmouth bum that, what I made was none of his business; though, it is everyone who walks by me and stares into my tip jar's "business," and that's a part of my business which I can't avoid. He accused me of "hustling" Christians, saying that I had manipulated them, and mentioned needing 23 dollars as a manner of begging. He asked me how I felt in my heart to have hustled Christians. Then, the knowledgeable historian referred to me as "Nero."

Up with the sun this morning. I still had some Vault energy drink in my bottle, despite having drank most of it in the middle of the night. This lead to a bizarre dream, in which my guitar strings were tuned WAY too high, causing the neck to bend. I retuned them in my dream, and then, I was suddenly making out with Anna Kournikova. Dreams don't always make sense; even though this one did perfectly (she tunes her racket.)

I walked to the main bus station and got on the right bus to go out to the Division of Licenses.

Upon getting there, I was told that, in addition to my birth certificate and my Social Security card, I needed a "third" form of something. I handed the official my expired ID. She told me that it had expired too long ago. She gave me a list of other acceptable documents. I told her that I had none of them. She told me that I couldn't get ID. I then said: "So, I can''t work?"

"No," she said.

I was ready to go off and make a huge scene. I was going to drop every expletive that I could think of, accuse them of trying to keep the homeless down, so that they (them) could divide the "pie" amongst themselves. I was going to call the President a piece of s*** and ask her how she would feel to have HER right to the "pursuit of happiness" sidetracked by a pencil pushing bureaucrat, who acts complacent and uncaring, to make matters worse.

I was pissed.

Then, I remembered the Record of Adoption paper, which my mom had mailed me. It was being used as a bookmark in a book that I am reading about Joseph Smith (the founder of the Mormon religion.)

I Adopt A New Strategy

I gave it to the official, who had just barely escaped being cussed out, and she was mesmerised by the gold seal upon it. She let me through. I pity all the guys who will never again hold a job because they don't have the right documents and have no way of obtaining the right documents, without the right documents. They will panhandle and pick ashtrays all of their days, or become outlaws, and I have a new found sympathy for them, (except for the one's who aren't trying.)

When the official had told me that, "no," I can't work, she said it with no emotion at all. People walk into places like that with automatic weapons and it's becoming less and less"shocking" and closer to being understandable. They are telling able bodied men that they can't go out and make a living for themselves by the sweat of their brows, because their ID expired more than 90 days ago...pathetic...

I Got The Thing

I paid the $23.50, out of the money which I made on Saturday night, this leaving me $4.75, an amount that I am getting used to being down to, and had my picture taken.

It was hard to smile for the photo, as I had originally planned upon doing, after what I had gone through. I had wanted to outdo Karrie with my photo. Karrie sports a big smile on her ID because, as she put it "I was happy to get my ID." Liquor stores occasionally card her, you see.

The ID will be mailed to 15 Place within 30 days. This is another layer of insulation for them against someone using a non existent address, or one where they don't actually live. Now, I must hope that 15 place extends my temporary membership until such a time that the thing arrives there.

The Garage

Tonight is open mic night at The Garage. I have not done my homework. I procrastinated upon learning the new material which I wanted to introduce tonight. I still have a couple hours, and seem to enjoy putting myself under the pressure of going on stage not sure of myself. I hate it, but I always do it.