Not So For The Busker

9 Dollar Friday
Back to that haunting figure

A Dual Mission

Friday, I was up early enough to consider taking the bus on a 24 hour pass, over the bridge to where Howard and the pot plants that I planted by the river live. At least I think both are alive.

I kind of haphazardly had planted by the river the plants; realizing that to cultivate the soil like a farmer would; would have required that I simulate the plowing by hacking out the soil and "turning it over," which I had started to do, using the one dollar gardening tool that I had bought and brought for the purpose, before realizing that it was not up to the task of chopping through what turned out to be some pretty tenacious soil, there by the river.

The fact that it periodically floods there, by the Mississippi River, bodes well for their being pretty fertile soil already there, I am assuming, thinking that a lot of fine fertile soil must be dissolved in the water from its 1,300 mile trip from somewhere in Minnesota.

And I have chosen a spot far enough from the river so that the period of its deluge would be somewhere around every 15 years, as the river would have to rise to the level that it had this past winter, which is something that hadn't happened in about that long; as evidenced by the fact that a community of homeless tent dwellers and cat fishers had sprung up at the spot over time; before it became flooded with an average of 3 feet of water, with Howard's tent having been situated at what would turn out to be the low water mark. He would have only been a foot underwater, as evidenced by the stains left on trees around it.

I planted at the very edge of the flood, but, having been unable to chop up the soil and turn it over, the plants have been on their own these past 6 weeks now in regard to working their roots into a substratum that had chewed up a dollar store "gardening spade" and spat it out.

So, I am giving my pot plants a 38% chance of being alive and well, and Howard a 94% probability.
But, the afternoon wore on, and it was soon evident to me that if I were to embark upon my trip across the river, I would return late enough to cut into my busking time. It was Friday, afterall.
Checking upon the plants could be done without wasting extra time; but, visiting Howard would require at least a couple hours.

It's too bad that people that you like to see but only see infrequently seem to require a longer visit, rather than just popping in for a minute to see how the person is doing, and then running off.
This decreases the frequency of the visits, as you feel like you must set aside a couple hours in order to get caught up on the relatively large gap of time that has elapsed since your last visit, and to let the person know that you value their friendship in that you are going to take advantage of this rare meeting and extend it as long as possible; even pushing things of less importance back...I'm not going to busk tonight, I want to hang out with Howard.... This block of time is hard to come by, and soon, so much time has gone by that the task of getting caught up seems too daunting to ever visit the person again.

But, suffice it to say, I put off my river crossing for another day.

That day was to be today, but it is now 8 PM again, and though I only made 9 bucks last (Friday) night, I have come to the conclusion that I must just "show up for work" like I was taught to do, when I grew up in the 70's; some nights will be slow...

It's too bad that on a "slow" night the busker can't take it easier; if you are playing half assed you might as well be not playing at all. The girl in the Po Boy shop can more lazily make a sandwich on a slow night, because there is only one person in line and no need to rush; but the customer is not going to say: "I'm not paying a penny for this sandwich (though I will eat it) because you took your sweet time making it and were a little sloppy in the way you laid the pastrami in the bread." Not so for the busker.

Tuesday Is Just As Bad...

Yesterday; I left Leslie's apartment after he opened the front gate and let me out of confinement.
He fell in beside me; but he was bent upon making it to The Saint Jude Catholic Church, for their lunch.
I was bent upon crossing the river to find Howard, and to use the library there to make yesterdays post.
I started getting text messages from Leslie while at the library.
He was concerned about me (and the money in my pocket?) missing the last ferry back to NOLA; and advised me to try to catch the next-to-last one, to be on the safe side (which, ironically was the side of the river which I was already on) and so that I would be across in time for the kickoff of the Monday Night Football game.
"Cool, lets watch the Patriots together!" he messaged me.

I then informed him of my progress, while I was on the next-to-last ferry.
The ferry landed and Leslie found me in short order and took his place alongside of me; matching me step for step as I walked towards Brothers Market for what would be my second 25 oz. beer of the day; and the one which I planned upon sipping on as I watched the game.
Leslie was flat broke.
He moved when I moved; never letting me get more than a few feet away from him.
As we neared the store, he started talking about all the job leads which he has and the interviews which he has lined up; as is his habit whenever we near a beer store.
The implication is that; soon he will be able to afford his own beer (and reciprocate for whatever I buy for him).
He became more animated as our destination became clear to him.
He answered most of my casual observations with: "Really?"
I thought about just walking past the store; to see his reaction.
I was pondering just what value his company meant to me.
In a sense, I felt like I was being played like a pinball machine...just hang around him; act interested in everything he says; don't let him out of your sight; and within an hour he will be at a beer store and will always buy one for you...that's how you play Daniel...
 So, I stopped outside the door, my ire raised a bit and asked: "So, I'm going to be buying beer for 2 all night; is that it?"

He bowed his head and said a meek "No," in a tone of voice which seemed to say: "I couldn't ask you do that (I'll just be sober and miserable all night and not much fun to be around, that's alright...)"
He accompanied me to the cooler where we discovered that Brothers Market was nearly sold out of beer; particularly the cheap beer; because The Unique Boutique is not selling alcohol until further notice, due to a problem with their license, the rumor is...
The only "strong" beer came in 25 oz. cans of Bud Ice at $2.49 plus tax each.
I grabbed us each a can.
"The right choice!" Leslie exclaimed and pumped his fist in the air.
"This is the strongest beer they have right now," we almost said in unison.
Well, we watched the game; the game ended; and it seemed to be incumbent upon me to get us yet another 40 oz. malt liquor before we went back to his place.
He laughed when I came out of the store with it; either ecstatic and unable to hold it back; or mocking me...the two are hard to distinguish between. I have to give Leslie the benefit of the doubt; at this point...

Tomorrow At The Latest

• Chasing Ron, The Surfer
• Jasmine Sold Again
• 3 Dollar Night

Yesterday, I woke up on the other side of the river with $2.50 in my pocket.
I had come across Monday night, hoping to find Ron, the surfer, who owes me 10 dollars.
The ferry took off on me after one of the workers (the one who opens and closes the gate to let people on and off) told me that I had "plenty of time" before the boat was going to leave, and who then slammed the same gate as soon as I had walked the lenght of the tunnel out into the terminal to see if Ron was there charging his phone.
Ron wasn't there, and the ferry had embarked upon its last run of the night back to NOLA, and wasn't there, either.
I found Ron and Howard in a stand of trees about a mile down the levee...
Ron didn't have my 10 dollars and acted upset over the fact that I had found them.

-Sidenote: It would be interesting to introduce the two of them to Ron Howard (the film director who played Opie on the Andy Griffith Show as a kid).
It would go something like: "Ron Howard; Ron...Ron; Ron Howard...Ron Howard; Howard...Howard; Ron Howard...

Ron And Howard Ousted
They had been kicked out of the stand of cedars right by the terminal; during the week that I had spent on the other side of the river. They, therefore couldn't blame me and the miniscule amount of "trash" which I left on the ground, while I was there.
It was probably Rons tent being pitched and his bike locked to the fence in plain sight of the workers at the power plant behind us, who maintain that particular stand of trees.
Still, Ron said "If those guys see you here, they're gonna kick us out of here..."
"They" were the guys who once invited me to live there, saying that I could catch huge catfish out of the river and cook them over a fire.
I had declined, because of the additional walk of a mile, and due to the fact that I made some money playing music, and I could forsee them panhandling me for things on those days that they couldn't panhandle enough from the wealthy, to provide for their "needs."
I was down to 50 cents at that point, and just barely made it to the little store in time to get some food and  (non alcoholic) drink.
I Help An Elderly Lady
As I walked up Pelican street, eating a sandwich, there was an elderly lady opening the trunk of a car which held about 4 cases of bottled water.
I started to ask her if she needed help at the same time that she opened her mouth to ask me if I would help her.
She gave me 2 dollars for my efforts and talked to me about how she had lived her whole life right there on Pelican Street and was "an old maid schoolteacher," which is what she exactly looked like, actually...
I went to the old spot, not wanting to get Ron in trouble (even though the other campers knew that I knew where that spot was, and would believe Ron if he told them that he hadn't told anybody where to find him) and went to sleep there.
I had no alcohol to drink that night, but rather meditated and then fell asleep to music.
Yesterday, I went into town with my $2.50 and almost extended my one day of not drinking into a second one, but got a couple Hurricanes and went to my playing spot.
But not before having a half of a lit blunt handed to me at the spot near Popeyes where I like to consume "the first Hurricane," out of habit.
I played like "the finest violinist in all of Europe," to quote Mozart...
I only had 3 dollars thrown to me, but a guy rode up on a bike and asked me if I smoked pot.
"Yeah, but I don't have any money for any..."
He threw me about a 20 dollar bag of premium numbface purple haze kush Afganistani kind sticky bud for free and rode off, saying "I'm always around here, I'll see you again..."
So, I went on a mission after I stopped playing (Bourbon Street was as "dead" as I've seen it since last year in this same season) at about 10 p.m. and was able to trade bud for cigarettes and beer money.
Like The Jasmine In My Mind...
Then, I guy walked up to me, whom I had spoken to before.
He is the guy who fell asleep on Bourbon Street (passed out is more like it) and woke up to discover that his bag and his guitar had vanished into thin air.
He was looking to buy a guitar and had 20 dollars to do so.
Enter the Jasmine.
Right now I am off to try to contact Dorise to see if I can bring the guy to her house with me to get it; or if Dorise is in New York (they are on a 2 week vacation) maybe her housemate could contact her to get the OK to let me have the guitar...
Or, if her housemate recognized me as the person who last came and got the guitar, which then re-appeared later, he should probably give it to me again....
I will Facebook them and wait about a half hour for a reply; and then maybe just walk to Dorises house on pure speculation....a 3 miles walk worth of speculation.....
The 20 dollars, plus the 10 from Ron, the surfer would mean that I will be on the road tomorrow at the latest....

The First Weekend In April

• 30 Dollar Per Mile Bike Ride
• 50 Dollar Weekend

Thursday, as I stepped off the ferry and walked up Canal Street, it had slipped my mind that I had agreed to pay Ron 30 dollars for a bike; which was locked up by the casino under the watchfull eye of some camera; and the combination of the lock having been given to me, I was free to take possession of it.
I made it all the way to the Unique Boutique before I remembered and doubled back to get the thing.
Ron, The Surfer

"I Have A Bike I Can Sell You..."

Ron is "the new guy" who sleeps under the stand of cedar trees with Howard and I.
Howard and he have established a pretty good rapport and Howard has lent Ron money which has been paid back to him.
Ron is like 56 years old, but still has plans to bicycle to California; he has a lot of tattoos and is a surfer.
He once surfed at a spot in Hawaii which is called something like "The Pipeline" and, though he didn't fall in the water and become turned into minced meat by the force of the waves raking him along the underwater coral; he had his surf board broken by a person who informed him that only "professional" surfers were allowed to even surf that particilar beach and that they all had to sign a legal form in advance of surfing that beach; which freed any and all concerned parties from liability if the surfer should go underwater and become turned into minced meat by the force of the waves raking his body along the coral formations; like putting swiss cheese through a grate.
So, Ron had this bike.
It was his second bike.
He works at a bicycle shop, a few hours a week.
Buy Here, Pay Here

Stoker, Readers; Readers, Stoker

He told me that I could make payments upon it and begin to ride it right away.
A bike pays for itself many times over.
I could theoretically be at a playing spot and have 5 bucks in my case after riding the bike there by the time I would just be walking up.
Plus, the energy saved by using the wheel instead of the feet would itself be an asset.
I had a bike more than a year ago (before it was stolen) and it had been very useful.
I rode it, pretty much straight to my playing spot on Bourbon Street and leaned it right up against the front of Barnaby's condo, right across from me in plain sight.*
*When I first met Barnaby, after he had come out and sat on his steps with his guitar in hand; and I had walked across the street to talk to him, I kept glancing back at my stuff on the other side.
Noticing this action, Barnaby said something to the effect of "Don't worry about your stuff; nobody is going to steal anything here; and he laughed a bit.
I had the aforementioned lock, of course, but I didn't want to put it right on the light pole in front of me because that particular pole already constricts the sidewalk; and the addition of a bike locked to it might constrict it to the point that it might look unpassable to approching tourists, who might veer off onto the street (and out of the magnetic pull of my music) in order to get around the whole mess, of which I would be part.
You Shouldn't Have To Look At The Notes
To make a long story short, it was probably the first time that I looked down at my fret board as I played, to find a note or a chord, about 15 minutes into my set; that someone or some thing made off with the bike.
It was a nice bike and had riden very well along the mile from the casino to there.
I played on and thought that I was playing better, fueled by the whole incident.
My prime concern that I am going to see the very person who stole it; as that person is surely one of the pan handlers who "works" that area; and, not being sure of his guilt, will have to be freindly to him; or be seen as a person who can't be civil to someone whom, on surface at least, has done him no harm.
That is the worst part of the whole ordeal.
The positive is that I now don't feel like I am being anal retentive when I snatch up every bill larger than a one that goes in my case and pocket it...
The Next (Friday) afternoon, I played for about an hour and a half at that very spot and got one tip, a 20 dollar bill.
I was playing Grateful Dead and thought that I was doing it justice.
Seeing a new set of srings and then some in the tip, I began to play as if I was trying to finish my strings off; just let them snap and get it over with. I was able to bump my playing up to the next micro level by taking that approach, and I learned something, musically.
I was also happy to have gotten paid where I had gotten ripped off the night before...
Paying For A Bike I May Never Again Ride
I was taking a break from that when I ran into Ron, on my way to Sydneys.
He asked me with no small measure of concern, where the bike was.
*The previous night, after having it stolen, especially in such an embarrassing manner, I wasn't ready to tell Ron about it. Since I hadn't even made the first payment on it and didn't want him to think that I was trying to scam him in some way ...I got to the rack and it was already gone, bro, I SWEAR!....
I had just told him that the thing rode great and that he had given me a good deal on it, trying to fake enthusiasm.
It was then that I was able to give him 10 dollars and tell him that I was going to honor our deal even though the bike was gone; (and he could see that now).
A Tanya And Dorise Weekend

I kept returning to Tanya and Dorise like a moth to a flame, (or a buglight, depending upon your perspective).
They have been on a binge of Mariah Carey music; were playing one of her songs when I walked up; and I was soon informed by Dorise that I had "started the whole thing" the night that I walked up and wound up singing "Love Takes Time," throughout which Tanya played with her eyes closed and a smile beaming on her face.
I guess Tanya is the boss of their operation and so Mariah Carey it was, this past weekend.

Skinny Tuesday

As for it being Tuesday, it is.
I slept until about 7:30 a.m., when I got up and determined that my immediate goal was to go to Rebuild Center to take a hot shower and wash out a couple pair of jeans at the same time.
I accomplished that goal and am now drying one damp pair on my body; as I walk around in the 70 degree air; with the other pair dangling from my backpack; gutter punk style.

Rebuild Center

Howard was there. (He looks a lot better today than he did a couple days ago)
"Don't bother on Fridays; it's just a ham sandwich; but from Monday through Thursday; their lunch is pretty good," he said.
Howards Slashes Budget
So, now Howard who gets money each month depositied into his retirement account (enough so that he could float himself an apartment; especially at some "Senior Center" type of place; where the rents have been tailored to the fixed amounts that retirees receive; Howard, who could be sitting on his own little balconey with his coffee and his newspaper each morning; and who could run inside and slide the glass door shut behind him in the event of an approaching rain squall; and could thus keep himself and his books dry; but who instead, chooses to live the way we do; has apparently cut yet another corner and is coming out another 75 bucks ahead each month; by having slashed the $3.99 fried chicken dinner from Brothers Market, out of his budget, alowing him to accumulate more money; which he will eventually leave to his daughter as part of the disbursement of his estate.

There are no more parades scheduled until this coming Friday (ham sandwich day at Rebuild), when there will be 4 of them; including the "Daughters of Eve" parade (right). And, as my time is short; I suppose I will go and possibly play a bit and think about if I want to do the comedy thing at House of Blues tonight.

Super Bowl, Mardi Gras; Super Bowl, Mardi Gras...

Last evening, I played and made very close to 10 dollars, on a night when people were only throwing money in regards to whether or not they thought the musician stood a chance to make his way through the upcoming onslaught of activity which will be the Super Bowl, and then the Mardi Gras.

It felt like an audition.
There was money to be made along the parade route on Canal Street.

Just plop yourself down somewhere behind the lines of people; in front of some business but not right in front; and collect money from people who can see what you are doing and reward you for it; and for others who actually lean over so that their ears are less than two feet from your instrument and who also might reward you.

I stood by a guy who was doing just that and saw him get at least one 10 dollar bill from a guy who stood in front of him and listened to him for about 12 seconds.

So, I could have done that; but instead I went to do business with a certain Jamaican guy and then made haste to Decatur Street, where I played at a brand new, well lit spot on a corner where the corner has been cut so that the front door faces diagonally across the street.

I always considered that spot better for visually intensive acts; even gutter punks who want to display their dogs better. But, there I was visually demonstrating Grateful Dead music.

It will be hard for the Mardi Gras to seem like the biggest thing ever, after the Super Bowl, but that will be an observation which will be lost on a person coming into town for just those two events.

It will be like fishing, for us buskers.

Worms For Sale!

It will be like deep sea fishing.

The busker might as well dub himself "Ishmael" and just perch himself on some spot; preferably after thanking God in advance for leading him to it; and then just play your darndest; and wait for the big fish to come along.

He's the guy who is lubricated enough and in the very mood to astound another human being with a demonstration of his wealth.

Particularly his wealth as seen through the eyes of a guy whose face lights up and who utters a prayer of thanks (probably too late, by the way; almost like saying "thank you" after someone has prompted it; by asking "What do you say???"

But, I digress.

The big fish wants his companions to see just how drastic the lure of money is; and; "Watch this; I'm gonna get this guy to play 'Imagine' by John Lennon ten friggin' times; you watch me....

Every time he plays it; I drop a 20 in his hat; and then we keep saying "Again. One more time!"

...You see; now that guy might have more talent than I do; I can't play a guitar; but here he is; like a puppet; like a court musician whom the king can put into motion with a clap of his hands...*clap* Music!!!....

And I toss him a few crumbs, you know,  20 dollar bills -not enough to even park your car, hear me? and he starts picking away like Peter friggin' Frampton, huh?!?...stick with me; and I'll show you the ropes, fellas.  

And, so you hook the big fish and, after he starts to walk away; he stops and returns to you and hands you 100 more dollars, saying: "I'm gonna give you another hundred; because a hundred aint' much in this world; I wipe my ass with them....."

And so, that is why there is a guy with a musical instrument on his back for every 37 people that are out walking the Quarter.

...Did you guys see how he hopped to it and played that song over and over? That's the power of money, gentleman......

And, as I sit here on this Sunday; having decided to keep blogging; and maybe just change the focus; it will soon become incumbent upon me to go out and take out the guitar and play music. Somewhere. Anywhere (almost).

Howard Looking Haggard

Howard looked very pale and frail and shaking and sickly and pretty much disoriented this morning.
He is still reading 1,000 page books at the rate of a day or two; but it seems that his reading just allows him to totally dissociate with the external world.
He just read a book about F.D.R, who was the president (for 12 years!) back around the time of WW2.
Howard devoured (rhyme intended) that 1,000 page historical novel in a little over a day.
I asked him this morning: "So what do you know about Franklin Delanor Roosevelt, now?"
His initial response was: "Nothing."
Then, he caught himself, and seeming to suddenly recall the book that he just read almost non-stop during the previous day, quickly added: "Well, I understand why a lot of people thought he was just an amazing guy. He was amazing; dealing with Germany and all that...."
So, now I have to keep an eye on Howard. ..."keep him on a short leash"...

It made me briefly consider the possibility that Howard may be in decline from some kind of degenerate disease like Alzheimer's Disease or any number of them that they have; and that, at some point, I might have to alert Emergency Response personnel of him being in a state of mind which poses a danger to himself.
I suppose I will at least wait until he is found swimming in the Mississippi River and offers the explanation that he was trying to get to McDonalds, and save myself the phone call....
So, that would apparently be it, for now. Things are still shaky financially and I will have to put in a good solid nights work in the joyful hope that I will touch one soul; who has money.

Sue?

Sue?

Tanya and Dorise with their big baskets, playing for the love of music and not even thinking about money...but no sight of Sue...
Oh, Sue!?!
I still don't see Sue anywhere.
The librarians here, have not seen her in "about 3 months," and I am thinking that Sue finally left New Orleans, like she had been saying that she was going to do all along.
Luckily, I still have her e-mail address and can maybe catch up to her in the Pacific Northwest if it should come to that.
From The Fire...
Howard and I took the bus to downtown Baton Rouge Tuesday afternoon.
We still had time to catch the last bus to New Orleans, but, as is typically the case,
I started to remember a bunch of little details at the last minute to tend to before leaving.
I wanted to go to Shermans, to see if he would be able to duck tape the box that I am now carrying two laptops in.  
Howard did not want to impose upon Sherman to crash at his place for the night so we could take an early bus out, but I knew of a spot to sleep nearby  there, should the guy have become "funny" about letting us crash there, and was not worried about being able to pass a night.
Sherman taped the the box which held my two laptop computers, but then, as usual, we became distracted before I was able to use his phone to call officer Chutz about the whole bag of stuff which was missing after I got out of jail.
I take full responsibility for the mess, because we had gotten on Youtube and started to watch a bunch of videos of bands that we started to talk about under the heading of "Whatever happened to them?" -bands such as Tesla. Remember Tesla??? We do. 
It gradually became too late for me to call officer Chutz and ask him about the whereabouts of my stuff. I should have prodded Sherman to let me use his phone, but I guess I am as easily distracted as him.
My Road Dog

For some reason Sherman chose to call revelry at 6 a.m. this morning (even though we two had been up looking at videos until midnight, while Howard slept) and I awoke in a stupor after only 5 hours of sleep.
He and Howard began to have a discussion about China while I tried to grab a few more minutes of sleep, to no avail. It was like a cruel joke. I faced the prospect of going to New Orleans on 5 hours of sleep (I looked in the mirror and looked like death warmed over; I couldn't help but think that Sherman had engineered the whole thing out of jealousy, because he has no girlfriend and no prospects) to hopefully run into Sue, looking 10 years older.
I also hadn't made the officer Chutz call.
I hadn't broken out my guitar, either, to continue working my fingers into playing shape after being inactive for 45 days
I wondered, once again, if people who open their doors for you and roll out a red carpet don't sometimes do you a dis-service in the long run...
We sat there at 6 a.m., over coffee, after I finally gave up upon getting any more rest and had joined the two of them in their discussion of China.
I was trying to maintain a positive outlook and stay appreciative to Sherman for having let us crash there, but I was stressed out over lack of sleep (I lay awake thinking about things that could go wrong on the trip and about things that had gone wrong in the past.
I then started raining, then thundering and down pouring.
I couldn't help but think that I saw a sly grin on Shermans face as this happened. 
I'm so glad that I don't fear that the whole planet (even the weather) is out to get me...
"Is that thunder?" asked Howard after a particularly loud blast which penetrated his hard-of-hearing-ears.

"Yes, Howard."

It didn't surprise me because it actually seems like this damned city is intentionally trying to punish us for leaving it and is throwing everything at us...like in some Steven King novel, where stuff like that is not only plausible, but is feasible.
It didn't rain long. 
When It Rains...

I decided to run to the store a few blocks up the street to get a morning energy drink, after it stopped. The man in the store greeted me in a very friendly way and we talked about the weather. After I proffered my food stamp card in order to pay for the drink, though, he became very short with me, snapped "Here's your reciept!," and didn't even say "You're welcome." after I had said "Thank you."
I went back to Shermans. I was completely dry; not even a spot of wetness on me, upon arrival.
Howard asked: "Is it still raining?"

I pointed to my completely dry shirt.
"Oh," said Howard. ...You're learning, I guess...
It seems that his I.Q. takes a dive whenever we are traveling together, him being out of his element; not knowing where the next Jack-In-The-Box meal is coming from, and looking to me for "What do we do next??".
But, shame on me for not recalling this from the times in the past and not being prepared mentally for it....
We are in New Orleans now.
I paid Howards way and he is going to re-imburse me the 5 dollars for the Hotard bus. I haven't found Sue at the library; the library people haven't seen her "in three months, or so" and that is where it stands. 
I will probably busk a bit this evening and then, we will go out to the rail yard tomorrow. and try to hop to Mobile.

Howard's Morning Routine

Not A Lot To Show After Week Of Recording

I have been glued to the Audacity program and "in the studio" just about all week, not even coming out to blog.

The money that I made last weekend, lasted me until about 9 p.m., last night. It is Thursday, and almost time to go back downtown (I could go tonight, being broke and all; and giveen that I only made 3 bucks last Thursday, here in Scotlandville..
Last Sunday morning, I got an all day bus pass.

First stop, LSU campus, where Howard ran into me at the Circle K, as he was coming out of the door with his noontime hot dog, and I was heading in to get a quart of Milwaukee's Best Ice, to take with me to the recording spot on campus.

I told him that I was seriously thinking of putting my thumb out the next (Mon) day. I had about 30 bucks on me, and that is about the best that I can expect to amass, living as I do; where I do. 

One guy alone gave me 25 bucks Saturday night, as he sat by me and we took turns playing the guitar. That guy doesn't come along every night.

Howard bought me a snack, and we sat under an umbrella and ate.

I had decided to take the risk of setting up behind the little brick wall next to a door on the Baptist Student Center, and make a recording.

The campus was pretty much deserted, either because of Mother's Day, Sunday, or the semester ending soon.

I figured that they wouldn't have a whole slew of LSU Campus Police patrolling on such a day. I am pretty much out of sight, after I make it the100 yards or so, across forbidden territory and duck into the doorway.

The best thing to come out of that session was just a jam, based loosely around the chords of a John Waite song -John played Saturday night in a club on Third Street, and the song got stuck in my head, even though I didn't see his gig. 

Here is 45 seconds of it, the "intro," recorded behind the police's backs...

I called it "The Fighting Authority Song," 

but went on to ruin it, back in Scotlandsville, by adding too much to the mix and learned more valuable lessons about recording in the process.

I learned that when adding echo to a section, for example; you lengthen that section because the last few echoes echo past the end of the section; they don't overlap what comes next; this pushes the music after it back in time the length of the last echo, maybe 120 milliseconds; a minuscule amount but enough to take the groove out of the rhythm. This explains some of problems that I was having with stuff falling off the beat, even by milliseconds.

This jam above is basically how I sound on guitar when just making stuff up and can go on indefinitely doing so, unless I run out of stuff.

After the 45 second intro; it fell apart, after I performed many experiments upon it, like cutting out bits of guitar solo, doubling the pitch and then pasting it somewhere else. Backwards.

I was aiming to create another Seargent Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, there behind the boarded up builiding...

I was like the gardener who digs up the seed to look at it every day, to see if it is growing, then buries it back. You can stunt the growth of the plant, that way.

Howard's Morning Routine

The whole week, I worked about from 10 in the morning until 10 at night on the studio, each day.

I learned about equalizing the acoustic guitar and about using noise removal to reduce the sound of cars going by on Scenic Highway...still, I have concluded that the Scotlandville "Studio" is just too noisy most of the time to record there seriously.

Not Ready For Facebook

I wound up trashing most of what I did the whole past week, and just took the lessons learned, ready to move forward.
Martin W. from West Virginia gave me the advice to focus upon my "strengths," which he assessed as being "guitar playing, minus the harp and effects."
I admit that I'm not where I want to be on the harp (I want to have every note memorized and be fluent in bending, so that I can play precise melodies, not just stuff that fits in and sounds -at least when putting a lot of energy into it- good). Also, it takes a bit of fortitude to start playing as soon as the green light goes on in the studio, blocking out fears of having to re-do the part over and over, should mistakes be made.

That being said, this morning, I grabbed the guitar, scribbled down a few lyrics and knocked out "Howard's Morning Routine," which plays to my "strength" of being able to make up "half humorous" stuff on the fly.

It is a raw first-take and has its glitches, but, I feel that if I tried to get the recording perfect, I would spend the whole day eventually ruining it; probably because after 3 hours, the novelty of the little ditty would have worn off.

Hopefully, some of the techniques that I experimented with all week will rear their heads and these songs might actually be approaching becoming "listen-able." That is my first goal: listen-able recordings!

Take The Money And Run?

 Clandestine Jaunts To New Orleans And Back Considered

Maybe the best way to get out of Baton Rouge would be to 
 dip into the "money pool" of New Orleans, to acquire
 traveling funds....
I look the "worse for wear" in this photo, taken the week before
my exodus; but; I was started to get 20 dollar tips, like the one
in my case, with regularity; at my "priviledged" spot...

 There is a corrolation between how much money I have
in my pocket when I lay down at night, and how depressed I feel the times I wake up during the night.
Yesterday, upon arriving back in Scotlandville, on the #10 bus, I encountered Howard, who was at the boarded up building, eating Cheetoz and drinking an IceHouse 24 oz. beer.
I had 41 cents on me.
He gave me a dollar, so I could have one beer.
I drank the beer and then came here to the library, to e-mail Martin in West Virginia the address of my "general delivery" post office box downtown.
Guy In PT Cruiser Doesn't Yield
I then went to the convenience store, where the guy who sells CDs and movies was cranking his music out the back of his PT Cruiser.
In the past, he had offered to turn the music down, so that I could set up further down the sidewalk and try to make a few tips. He didn't do so, and instead, seemed to be rapping along with the music and emphasizing lyrics which I could have construed as being directed at me, lines like "You need to get outta here!" come to mind....
I sat there anyway, thinking that someone might throw me a dollar after having heard me play another time, or by merely seeing me as someone who probably lives on the money he makes as a street musician, and thinking that, maybe I was just waiting for the guy who was cranking his music to leave, then I would play.
I took out my notebook and started composing some rhymes of my own, just to pass the time (with a ball point pen -that kind of notebook). The guy who owns the store stepped out for a minute and asked me if I was writting music.
I told him that I was, indeed and read him a little bit of what I had written. Something like:
I should be sittin' by the fire
wearing clean attire
instead of playing for bills
to get a beer to cure my ills
doing songs by Steven Stills... 
"You want a beer?" he asked. ...sure, that's about all I was hoping to get out of this....
Recipe For The Blues
After I drank the beer that he bought me, the guy with the CDs began to pack up his stuff, and he soon left.
It was 8:30 p.m. and I figured he was leaving because he knew that it was going to be pretty slow the rest of the night.
I did likewise, plannin upon an early start the next (this) morning.
I went back behind the boarded up building and grilled hamburgers, using seasoned salt, Tobbasco, catsup, and pickles, and barbeque sauce (not necessarily in that order) and ate them.
I went to sleep on a full stomach and with only 41 cents in my pocket. I had strange tortured nightmares all night, waking up several times feeling depressed.
Fox Highlight Of Night
At one point a fox or something was licking the grease off of the tin pan that I had cooked on; that was pretty cool. It took off like a rocket when I turned my head to look at it, whatever it was....
7 Dollars Highlight Of Morning
I woke up around the time that Howard did; drank down an energy drink; skipped reading the sports section of the paper, and went right to the convenience store, where, after a slow start, I made about 7 dollars and change in about an hour.
I bought a pack of cigarettes (having gone all night without one) and have about 5 bucks left.
I plan to go back and play some more, because Man cannot live on a pack of cigarettes alone...
This Friday and Saturday nights, I'll be going downtown to play as long as I can stand it; even if I have to take breaks in between.


I'm sure I had been playing for only about
an hour and a half to make about 45 bucks, plus,
free beer and food and...

 Nola Diamond In Rough?
I could take the 5 dollar bus to New Orleans, as the guy at The Guitar Center had suggested; play a few sets in The French Quarter, and then take the 5 dollar bus back here.
As long as I don't break any laws, the guy at The Guitar Center informed me, the cops would have no reason to ID me and discover that I have one unpaid ticket, and throw me in jail.
Maybe the best way to get out of Baton Rouge is by dipping into the money pool of New Orleans, to get travelling funds....

Stormy Monday

I Went downtown

If you go there to sleep, enter through one of the two arched
openings on the left (not recommended on rainy nights).

yesterday afternoon, where I still am now.
I had wanted to play on 3rd street, and I did, but it was a ghost town. I only saw two people. One threw me some change, the other asked me for it, while the guy that threw it was still standing there.
It started raining, so I hopped a fence and slept under a roof on the "campus" of St. James Episcopal. In the morning, I had the notion of leaving at the crack of dawn, but then decided that, even if Christians found me on a piece of cardboard in a doorway, with my head on my backpack pillow and my guitar by my side, they would probably not call the police on me; and so I slept until about 7:30a.m.
I started the day with just enough money to take the bus back to Scotlandville, should I decide to.
I haven't decided anything. I've been working most of the day on a Flashback Friday installment (chapter 3 of The Girl Who (owned a house, yet) Slept In A Mustang..
Back in Scotlandville
All things being equal, I decided that, rather than stay downtown and face the limited Tuesday night prospects of making any money and the high probability that the police will be on high alert for a guitarist scaling the fence of the St. James Episcopal Church "campus," (I had mis-named it in a previous post) at the end of the night, that I would spend my last handful of change to take the bus back to Scotlandville and face the limited Tuesday night prospects of making any money here, rather than there; the "difference maker" being Howard's presence and the fact that he could at least lend me a buck to get me started...
I have gotten a "general delivery" postal box in downtown Baton Rouge, as Martin W. in West Virginia has notified me that he would send me his "beat up laptop," as well as a guitar strap, if I were to have such an address.
The nice lady at the post office (there was only one working, and she had a line of about 8 people behind me) accepted my tattered, expired paper ID from Mobile, Alabama as proof of my identity and thus qualified me to receive mail there.
I now go off to e-mail Martin W. and give him the address of the post office, so that he can send me the beat up laptop, which is probably 10 times more powerful than the last computer that I owned, which, as I recall was a 188 megahertz speedster, with all the bells and whistles which one could dream of having, back in 1999...Now, people are wearing watches with more computing power; when will it end??

After that, I believe I will go to the convenience store where they allow me to play and play for anything that I can get; anything.
I picked up some frozen ground beef and some hamburger buns at the Dollar General on my way back to the boarded up building. The beef is thawing, under the watchful eye of Howard. It seems to be thawing at just about the right speed to keep him fixated.
I have constructed a grill, using bricks and aluminum roasting trays, which I found laying around at the recycling place down the street. It is a luxury that we couldn't afford in The French Quarter of New Orleans, as, fire there would draw unwanted attention...
I suggested to Howard that he might want to get some food of his own to place on the fire; it would be a marvelous opportunity for him to roast an egg or heat up a can of soup.
"No, I....ah..." was his response.
I know -he doesn't want to sabotage the success of his "all Jack-In-The-Box, Cheeto and Pepsi" diet.
I might let him have a burger, but it's going to cost him a beer, especially if I don't make "jack" in front of the convenience store, using my brand new strings...