Strung Along

The weather is forcast to become milder next
week, with highs around 70 degrees.
But, within the next 10 days, I must head back
to New Orleans, and then probably points west.

Can a decent Saturday night allow me
to recover the bus fares and the money
spent on new strings, as well as make up
for having arrived back in town too late to have
played at the Artwalk the previous night??

Yesterday was all about
getting new strings for the Jasmine at the music store. It was also about getting those strings put on and getting back into town, in case the First Friday Artwalk was going down. (If the first Friday falls within the first few days of the month, then the second Friday of the month becomes the first Friday, at least as The First Friday Artwalk tallies it)
I left the library at 4:30 p.m., and began to walk towards the bus stop by the convenience store.
I got there, just as the two busses which go towards the music store went by, on their way to the music store. It was a dramatic foreshadowing of my missing the Artwalk.
The two busses run together because, at some point, they split, and it is common for someone to stop the first bus, tell the driver their destination, wherupon the driver will say "You wan't the bus right behind me."
I wound up waiting 50 minutes before the two busses again came along. I stopped the first, and wound up getting on the second.
I was at the music store at about 6 p.m., but, after a walk over a precarious bridge, where one false step and I could tumble down onto the interstate and go through someones windshield, killing all, I just missed the Dauphine Street by mere seconds!
I waited until 8:10 p.m. for the next Dauphine Street bus, which got me to the heart of Downtown Mobile, just as the First Friday Artwalk was already winding down...please leave the area; there's nothing more to see; please leave the area...
"Poor Time Management" Blamed
It was poor time management. I should have checked the bus scedules online ahead of time; then I would have known that I wouldn't have time to catch the bus stop by the beer store, not to mention, guzzle one down before the bus came.
It cost me a chance to play at an Artwalk, with brand new strings and the temperature in the high 40's.
It was a busking fiasco of grand proportion, this blog is flying at half mast right now....
Tonight will be Saturday night, with possibly a chance to redeem myself.

The Sixties

Thursday, after waking up
with 63 cents in my pocket and spilling some of my energy drink on the muddy ground where I had layed, I went into the city.
The temperatures were to rise into the sixties this day.
I went stright to Save-A-Lot, to stash my bag and guitar.
Jennifer, one of the assistant managers (I think they are all either managers, or assistant managers; they may have one "regular" employee to boss around) gave me a pack of Marlboro Special Blend 100's, telling me that they were too strong for her.
I then had 63 cents and the means to sell cigarettes for a quarter each, to at least get one beer before playing that night. I blogged at the library until pretty late, and then made the walk down Dauphine Street, intent upon selling cigarettes and getting a beer. I fixed the two strings which had snapped on the Jasmine, one of which by using an ingeniously tied knot to join the two segments.
As I approached Cathedral Park, there was a black guy in a hoodie coming towards me.
"Hey, guitar man, let me borrow a dollar!," he said, as he neared me.
"I don't even have a dollar, I'm trying to sell my cigarettes to get a dollar," I said to him as he walked past me.
At the mention of cigarettes, he stopped and turned around and said "Give me one."
I really hate bums (like that.) I had just told him that I needed to sell them to get some money, but all he heard was "cigarettes."
One might think that, since I was given the cigarettes, I should be equally generous with them. I am, but I do it on my own terms. For example, if I see a guy picking up a "duck" from the sidewalk, I might offer him one of mine, but a guy who has clearly demonstrated that his needs supercede anyone else's does not get the cigarette.
*A "duck" is a cigarette that someone threw down without having finished smoking it; so named because like the mammal, it is often wet on the "ass end." They are also nicknamed "snipes," by some, which I think is derived from the fact that the eye of a sniper is required to spot them from a distance.*
I then walked toward Joachim Street, where I noticed that the lights of the Saenger Theatre were lit, and that there was a concert going on inside.
The American Dream
It was the band "America" (Horse With No Name, Sister Golden Hair Surprise) still at it; a band from the 60's, now in their 60's.
I knew that this was a good opportunity for a guy with an acoustic guitar to pounce. I believe that America is like five guys with acoustic guitars, anyways, with maybe a bassist and drummer.
I tried to sell a couple cigarettes for 50 cents to a guy outside HopJacks, which is next door to the theatre. He said that he had enough cigarettes, but gave me a dollar.
I went and got one Steel Reserve, then returned to the Saenger.
There were a couple of ladies standing out front. The one with the white hair asked me what I had in my case.
"An acoustic guitar, maam"
"A six string?"
Laughing: "Well, it is a six string now. Last night it was a four string."
She told me that she was 60 years old, and that when she is in a dark room there is a glowing aura around her head. "So, where are you going to sleep tonight?" she asked.
"Down by the railroad tracks," I said.
She then gave me a pep talk about never giving up, and about playing music from my soul. She hugged me, then asked me how I was going to stay warm.
I started to explain that I had a sleeping bag and...
She cut me off and said "I know what you have, you have a good soul but you're homeless and broke!" and then handed me five bucks.
Presently, the black guy in the hoodie materialised from somewhere and said "Oh, you got a blessing, huh?"
His implication was clear, now I could "lend" him that dollar that he had asked for, and maybe throw in a cigarette, or two.
Myself and the lady, who had once lived "all over" Vermont, continued to talk, excluding the black man in the hoodie from the conversation, and he soon walked away. If a lady who glows in the dark chose to ignore the guy, then, maybe my "read" of him was right.
Is This The Right Music?
I went back to the beer store, returning to the theater in time for the letting out of a seemingly very small crowd (unless most of them went out the side entrance).
As I set up and tuned my recently fixed strings, I thought about what kind of music I should play for people who had just heard America, with Jim Messina as the opening act.
I hadn't really settled upon anything, but started to play "Going Down The Road (feeling bad)," by The Grateful Dead, thinking as I did "Is this the right music?"
I got almost 10 bucks in one's from the two dozen or so who walked past. Most of them paused to listed for a minute before tipping me, which is intangible, yet as valuable to me as the buck or two that they threw me.
Then, there was just one guy left, sitting in one of the chairs that the HopJacks people use for their smoke breaks.
"What else do you play?" he asked, as I had transitioned into "Eyes Of The World," by the Grateful Dead.
"Well," I said, and then broke into "Sugar Magnolia," by the Grateful Dead, thinking oops, same band; might not  fit the criteria of "else."
"I can't believe you're gonna sit out here and play on this freezing night," he said, as he put a 20 dollar bill in my case.
After a trip to the Exxon, which has apparently unbarred me, after having barred me previously for no apparent reason, I went to sleep at the railroad track spot, cushioned by the 28 bucks in my pocket, and it was only Thursday night.
This morning, the sports section of the Mobile Press Register, had been layed at my feet by Howard, who seems to be adapting to life in Mobile.
I will leave here soon to take the bus to the music store for some new strings and I hope to play this Friday night. Somebody said that it might be an Artwalk night (If the first Friday falls early enough in the month, then the second Friday is counted as the first Friday, but only in months with 5 Fridays, or something like that) but I'd like some new strings, regardless.

It's Wednesday

From The Third Quarter; Saints vs. Giants

The weather
is kind of in the news, as the temperatures have been dropping into the 40's at night recently.
This was a burden on Monday night, when I went to the Superdome to play guitar outside.
There was a merchant to the left of me yelling "Ice cold beer; ice cold water!"
I soon had composed a song called "Ice Cold Music," which I prefer to think went over the heads of many, rather than think that I only made about 7 bucks because the song sucked.
Soon, I couldn't hold on to my pick, due to the numbness in my fingers. I dropped my favorite one and never found it. Then, I broke a string.
I could have sat there and just banged on the instrument and made more money, I'm pretty sure of it, but again, to do that makes me feel too much like a beggar, rather than someone with something to offer.
I went to Rouse's Market (the huge one near the stadium which is newly opened) and bought a Pauliner Double Bock beer for $2.50, and that was my Monday night. The Saints killed the Giants, but I wasn't there to feed on the carcass.
Tuesday was forgettable.
I went to the music store; "bright and early" (at 11 a.m), to get a replacement for the string which had broken outside the Mercedes Benz  Superdome the previous night, after working about 4 hours on a story which will be a Friday Flashback feature, one of these Fridays.
I could see along the way to the music store that the city was devoid of human beings, except for the bored looking ones, standing behind bars and at the doors of restaurants, holding menus. I heard a bartender from one bar, who had walked into another bar, ask the other bartender "Are you guys as slow as us?" I didn't wait to hear the reply; they were the only two people in the place...
The music store guy confirmed that it had been "dead" all day.
I played anyways, about 50 feet from a table of diners at a restaurant.
A man came by, holding a little girl, whom he placed down in front of me and to whom I played "First I Need To Be In Tune" which I made up as I tweaked my strings. Then, I played a bit of China Cat Sunflower, to her visible amusement. The man gave her three dollars, which she placed in my case.
Then, a couple of the diners, who had been hearing me for an hour at that point, threw a couple more dollars on their way past me, and, on a night when only a dozen people walked past, I made about 5 bucks.
A Box, Inside A Box, Inside A Box...
Then, I went onto Royal street and stole a glance towards Rouse's Market and beheld a sight which immediately altered my mood toward the positive.

The nice Butterfly plays while a random
tourist shows give Aiko some attention.
Often, tourist leave food for musican's
dogs, which doesn't always necessarily
reach the animal's stomach.
The guy on guitar, is someone I don't know,
but, for some subconscious reason,
I hate him!!

It was none other than the nice "Butterfly," getting ready to play and sing the blues. She had her medium sized black bulldog, Aiko with her, who was restless, and with whom she struggled.
I wound up getting a can of salmon, some green peas and carrots, and a small bottle of vinegar and making one of my "gourmet meals for under 4 dollars," which I will feature in a chapter of my upcoming work: "Homelessness For Dummies."
Aiko was straining his leash (and chomping at the bit, for that matter) on the other side of the street, as I ate and listened to Butterfly, seemingly trying to get its nose as close to what I was eating as possible. The slight breeze was drifting his way, redolent with the mouth watering fragrance of my salmon and green pea masterpiece.
In between songs, and with pretty much a full stomach, I asked Butterfly if it was alright if I gave Aiko some salmon.
"Oh, Yes!!" gushed Butterfly. Who then continued to giggle and squeal and thank me profusely as Aiko made sure there was not even a trace element of salmon on either of my hands.
Butterfly goes through life, it seems to me, like a person opening one of those gifts which turns out to be a box inside a box inside a box. Only, she is getting so much delight from opening the packages that she is actually glad when it is just another box, and not the gift (but the gift is coming). I think I am the same way, when it comes to Butterfly.

Breakfast

(Come See This Kind Of Stuff)

It is Wednesday morning. Last night, I played at the acoustically superior spot for about 2 hours but didn't make any tip money. This wasn't so bad, given that I was playing to my own satisfaction. There was a road race going on, with runners finishing the race right by my spot. Lots of them were milling about the area, but had no money on them, as I guess it would have slowed them down on the course.
Fairhope First Friday Artwalk
This is not the best portent of my prospects here in Mobile. If I don't make anything tonight, then, I will plan upon taking the bus to Fairhope, for their First Friday Artwalk, which is...Friday, and this will distance me from the downtown area and maybe let my music take flight without having to resist all the negativity which permeates the air here like humidity. The fact that I had spent no money on beer or cigarettes throughout the fasting period has given me a cushion. I should at least be able to get to Fairhope, and then just "hope" that I will be able to busk there, without interference.