Light My Fire

• Thurday Night: Busking For Bus Downtown
• Friday Night: Busking For Bus to New Orleans
• Hop To Hop A Train Out Of Here

Light My Fire, the late 60's classic (click here)

This is one that I have had laying around in my repertoire and I had a skeleton of it recorded onto Audacity.

I started thinking about it, as I walked around Scotlandville; deciding to vocally do the opening riff and recurring motif, similar to what The Offspring did to open one of their songs, back in the 90's.

I started thinking about all the dead artists that I cover; very few living artists find their way onto my set list, I realized just lately

All I had recorded was an acoustic rhythm guitar, no percussion at all, and a vocal wherein I couldn't help but channel some of Jim Morrison's spirit -the minimalistic setup that I thought that I had decided upon as my vehicle for posting these songs; but; it just seemed a little too minimalistic, and so I wound up with about seven of myself playing; and a clap of thunder, provided by Mother Nature.

The Harp

The harp was something that had been avoiding a bit, lately.

My Lee Oskar has some malfunctioning notes, which are in the middle register, and, hopping from the low to the high register adds one more layer of required proficiency on the thing, as, the two registers are played differently, with notes being over-bent or merely just bent, depending upon the register...

But, using the G Hohner Golden Melody, which I was free to hold in my hands (it won't fit in the neck harness) and which has no malfunctioning notes, I tried to get back on the horse, and not only that; play the harp again.

One note: The key of G harp fits the Doors song uncannily. The notes are all there -only two notes to half bend.
The Guitar

The guitarist stays around a G arpeggio in his recorded solo. I was going to mimick that solo, but decided to drift off into space, instead. I mimicked the mode that he was creating by using a tonal center of G, while the accompaniment jumps from F#minor to A minor, never actually landing on G, and hence, the "tune in; turn on and drop out" flavor of the solo.

The solo section was way too short for my tastes, but, 12 minute songs take 12 minutes each time you re-do them or add something.

This one ran a little over 4 minutes...

More Of A Clap

I was trying to put a cap on the harmonica solo, which was caught off guard by the changing to the motif, after so many bars of its solo, and hadn't really crescendoed to any real point -no problem.

All I needed basically, was "a high note to end the solo on," and so, I just plugged in and tried to wail out a high note. 

It was a little wavery, but what it lacked in polish, it made up for by causing the skies to thunder; thunder which I ran through compression and  equalization, in order to give it a little more of a clap. 

No Trace Of Howard

There has still been no trace of Howard, nor signs of him.

He very well could be at the LSU campus; if only because their Jack In The Box restauraunt is better to go to at 6:05 every morning than the one here.

As I get used to not having him around, I am actually excited about the prospects ahead of me.

The Train Hobo

In exchange for giving a train rider some smokes, he gave me detailed information, to include maps, and hand drawn by him diagrams.
Times and places were mentioned; along with instructions to wait between the 4th and 5th rows of cars, to see which one the power unit is switching towards, whereupon I will have a full 30 seconds to hop up on the appropriate grain car.

Preview!

I Hope This Came out alright...
Preview Of Songs In Progress!!
Yes, that's about all the time I have.
Howard still absent.
Out of Money.
Will play in front of Chevron to get the $1.75 for the bus downtown on Friday.
Will play downtown on Friday, to get the $5.00 for the bus to New Orleans.
Will Play Saturday night on Bourbon Street, for the love of God....

Here's To You

Mrs. Robinson

Plastic Umbrella Girl 

Ok; these are my babies.

Mrs. Robinson

• Rhythm Guitar.
• Vocal
• Backup Vocal
• Second Rhythm Guitar which takes a solo, becoming lead guitar for a spell, before reverting back to rhythm.

...and that is the simple ensemble for the version of Mrs. Robinson which I did last night, intending to eventually include in the "Top 20 Tip Earning Songs" sidebar.
The other song, one might not think would be a good busking song, lest one was on his second thinking...

"Plastic Umbrella Girl," would, I would have to surmise; do pretty well on Bourbon Street.*

*People are polarized on just about every issue, when you think about it; and; one of them is: A: Do you love a guy who writes his own stuff and puts it out on the street, for all to hear, and would you throw such a guy a five spot or more?

Or B: do you hate original music because, "If it's so good then, why isn't it on the radio?" {Very soon, my newer readers will say "what's a radio?"}

Well, my point is: Plastic Umbrella Girl is *definitely* an original; it screams, "Hey, I wrote this..." kind of like

You don't even have to say "This is one of mine" -the song will do it for you...

So, the song would actually do alright; in my professional opinion; and hopefully it's better live. It would get the dollar of the person who thinks 
@Alex in California: The Plastic Umbrella song came from the same batch as that other song, which you critiqued as having whiny, nasal sounding vocals.
I'm afraid this one is going to join Jungle Sailing on the "Daniel; the Whiny, Nasal Sessions" double disc, coming out soon. It's definitely "another one of those songs," I strongly predict you hating it.
I hope you find my take on Mrs. Robinson interesting. I'm just a few pieces of software away from being able to orchestrate the darned thing!
 but the upside is, er, there is no upside to a crappy song...oh yeah, I've learned more studio techniques and, well, doesn't the suckiness just flow out of the speakers in living color? -that's something...

On Mrs. Robinson, I got an idea and basically ran with it.
I didn't feel like imitating the guys, like doing an impersonation, and.
There are glitches and mistakes; these are "the bathwater."
Do you see where I am going...I didn't want to delete the whole songs because of the glitches, that would be throwing my babies out with the bath water.

Howard Gone

Howard is not here.
 

12 Minute Blog Drill

A "must" stop for tourists on Third Street

Here I was, last night (left).
I stayed in Baton Rouge, instead of going to New Orleans.

The main reason being that, once in New Orleans, my plans were to do laundry thoroughly, laying the groundwork for my plans to coax Sue to lay next to me.

(Sue refuses to harm mosquitos with chemicals, yet doesn't like being bitten by them, so she sleeps out in the open air, where they are less populated).

I then planned to go to the music store on Decatur, where guitar strings are only a dollar more than the ones in Baton Rouge, and then put the strings on, and then play at my spot.

I started thinking of the time involved to do all these things, and factoring in the unknown, like running into someone and talking for a half hour, I decided to stay in Baton Rouge and play, once again at the spot where I had made 52 bucks the night before.

About 17 Bucks

I wound up checking out the spot that I like.

The club up the street has revamped their sound system perhaps and they are blasting music and drowning out everyone except the horn player.

I stood there, on what was my favorite spot until the club up the street started doing that, and decided to walk up the street and play where I am pictured above, on that very same night.

I had about 17 bucks, (minus the one that I actually gave this guy to e-mail me this picture) when I finished.

Scotlandville

I am back in Scotlandville. I see no sign of Howard at the boarded up building, yet, I do see signs of the guy who comes and takes our empty cans.

I am going to record tonight and then mess around in that area all night and all day tomorrow, and I just hope I don't have a problem with aluminum man...

 Out of time: Coming Soon: Rail Hobo Tells Me Exactly How To Hop To Texas After I Smoke Him Up!

$52

I am in the library.

I wonder how

Street Musician Daniel (NYC)

did last night...

It is Saturday morning.

I slept until about 8:57 a.m. which was 3 minutes before the next LA Swift bus to New Orleans was scheduled to leave. I guess I needed the rest.

Last night, I started with the 6 cents in my case at 9:30 p.m.

By 10 p.m., I had only 6 cents still, and the crowd of people, all similarly attired, and all seemingly of the same mindset, were pissing me off. Not because they weren't tipping me, because I had made up my mind that, if I didn't make a dime, I would just walk back to Scotlandville, but because of a series of a type of person that I need a snigglet for, which walked past almost exclusively during that half hour, when I put a pretty good amount of energy into playing, while feeling the gap between myself and New Orleans widen.

Let's call them the "mockers," for now. They are simply the ones who yell the exaggerated, "You rock!" or words to that effect, when you are either A: doing some song like a John Denver song, which doesn't actually "rock" and isn't really intended to, and even people at John Denver concerts didn't cheer him like you would Ted Nugent (hence, the sarcasm) or B: They yell it in a noisy environment from a distance at which they wouldn't be able to tell even if you *were* "rocking" on your acoustic guitar, hence the sarcasm.

There was also a guy, early twenties, sky blue button up shirt, khaki pants, leather loafers, reddish hair close cropped, almost a crew cut, who said "It's all about you, man. Right now, it's all about you!" which I didn't understand, but by that time I assumed it to be more sarcasm.

I was getting pissed off, more by the attitudes, and I was also totally sober and had been for the past 24 hours, which was a factor, plus, my trip to New Orleans was dependent upon the outcome of the night and I was feeling the pressure.

I started to feel myself on the verge of breaking into my "you people all suck, I hate your guts" catalog of music when a young lady with blond hair, skinny and wearing a salmon colored silk type shirt came over and put something in my case.

"Thank you, I thought nobody was going to give me anything."

There is definitely an "ice breaking" effect to the first tip.

It's like going to a party and the hosts say "We're glad you could show up," and you know that they aren't speaking for everyone at the party, just themselves, but it makes you feel like you can at least claim to belong there, even if only on their account...

As I played, I noticed that there was more than a dollar tucked against the wind in the corner of the case.

That kind of spurred me to play better, or at least more energetically, which, after another fifteen minutes, produced nothing more; and the anger started coming back, so I decided to knock off and get a beer.

The one tip from the girl in the salmon shirt turned out to be 6 ones, folded together. As I was picking up my backpack, I found a tightly crumbled 5 dollar bill laying on the marble near it (probably thrown from a car and one of the things that I might miss, without my glasses).

So, at least one of the things yelled out of a car window must have been more like "Here you go" as the bill landed out of my notice, than something sarcastic. I guess by that point, and it was midnight, everything was sounding like "You suck!"

The hot dog cart guy, who had been a prophet of doom, watched my bag and guitar, allowing me to half walk, half jog to the store for what would be my only beer of the night.

Dancing Days

Returning, I set up at about 1 a.m. and played for about an hour and a half.

The one beer was enough to elevate my mood, yet not impair my playing and I was able to play satisfactorily, and I started to feel like a heel when these same people started putting tips in my case, whom I was composing the "I hate your guts" song for earlier that evening. I was getting a lot of ones and two fives, one of them was laid on my backpack, away from my notice.

I did "Dancing Days," and "Light My Fire," the song by The Doors, notably.

The wind was still a bit gusty, and at one point a girl said "Hey, your twenty blew out of your case," walked behind me and retrieved just that from about 10 feet away. An honest girl who probably had more than 6 cents on her.

All in all I made about $52.

$17 more than I had two weeks earlier in New Orleans after starting my case with 6 cents.

I took one of the five dollar bills and separated it out, dubbing it my "am going to see Sue" bill.

Baton Rouge vs. Bourbon
Now, as I prepare for the next LA Swift bus to New Orleans at 12:45, I look forward to putting a Bourbon Street Saturday night in one corner, and the Baton Rouge downtown Friday night that I just had in another corner, and letting them duke it out.
I might think that the Saturday night in Bourbon would have the advantage because I will be starting with a better attitude (less financial necessity for a distraction) and more than 6 cents in my case; but; I *probably* won't be as sober by midnight, when the action starts...

Cheetos For Busfare: Appended

Howard has played a hand in my current

obsession with Lauren Bacall, by reading her

biography, prompting me to want to download pictures

of her to show to him, so he would say "Oh, Wow!"

And, like a fool, I fell in love with her.

(and Humphrey has been out of "the picture"

since 1956, by the way...)

Without further ado, and before the INTERNET boots me off:

Here is one song short of the three that I promised myself I would finish by today.

I have no control over certain things like the weather and the guy who showed up at our spot last night...

Norwegian Wood
Dancing Days

They will be moved to the "20 Top Busking Songs" sidebar, soon.
I will give them both a grade of C, as they are approaching what I sound like on the street.

I am at the Scotlandville library, either preparing to walk the 8 miles downtown, toting my backpack with the laptop and enough other stuff for a few days of "survival" in New Orleans weighing it down; or to take the bus if Howard can give me one dollar to go with the 75 cents that I have in my pocket.

I played in front of the Chevron for about an hour last night and got $2.50.
The Guy Who Takes Our Cans

That's plenty enough for the bus, plus 75 cents left over, you might say. "What happened to most of it?" you might think.

It began to rain before I went to busk, but not before Howard and I had a visitor.

It was the guy who comes and takes all of our discarded aluminum cans, and who probably took the can of Arizona Energy that I had left unwatched for about an hour a while ago.

He is an older Black man.
We never told him that he could take our aluminum, in fact, I had spent about 15 minutes crushing about a months worth of them and filling a box; the box that he walked off with. It probably held 3 dollars worth of metal; but, why does he "deserve" the 3 bucks, instead of us?

Did he really think that I was crushing cans just to save space in the trash box, or to minimized the frequency of the trips to empty it?

He has also walked up in the morning and woken me up out of a sound sleep to say "Give me a cigarette," the first time, when I had none. On that occasion he looked at me doubtfully as if sure that I had a cigarette but was just refusing to give it to him; questioning my integrity, basically.

On the third such morning, after I had decided that to ever give him a cigarette might be to invite being woken up every morning; I had my pack laying next to me, when he walked up and said something diversionary, I think offering me one of his chicken fingers or whatever restaurant leftovers he was eating; and then bent down, reaching for my pack of smokes while saying "Let me get one of these."
I'm Being Petty, But...
The world is petty on its fringes.

Tthe principal of the matter is that the guy is laying a foundation for just taking stuff from us, basically.

On this rainy night, he first arrived and told Howard and I that we "really should have some quilts" to lay on, instead of the marble surface covered in cardboard (which suits us fine; us both liking very firm mattresses).

He disappeared, then returned carrying a bag full of quilts.

He offered one to Howard, who refused it.

I didn't want to lay on any mystery quilt from the guy who takes our aluminum cans, either.

The rain then intensified, and  in a smooth kind of motion, and before either of us realized what was happening, he began to spread out one of the quilts, as if to demonstrate how nice of a quilt is was, or how it could be used.

Then, he lied down on it, and covered himself with another one, leaving barely enough room for a third (myself) person.

As it was pouring outside our little enclosure, we said nothing, as I continued mixing music on my studio and Howard went to sleep.

It stopped raining around 8 p.m.

"It stopped raining," I said to the guy who takes our empty cans, who mumbled something back but continued to lay there.

I went to busk for an hour at the Chevron and then spent a buck and a half on a beer and a quarter for one cigarette off someone.

I planned upon recording music in the little studio -singing, playing the guitar, banging on the 5 gallon bucket with a stick, if I wanted to- nobody invited him to show up at our sleeping spot and just lay down.

I got back with my beer and my one cigarette which was lit.

"Oh, you got cigarettes?" said the guy, who was awake now.

"I bought one cigarette off a guy," I said.

"Thank you," he said, reaching his hand towards me, apparently taking for granted that I was going to share it with him, rather than put it out three or four times after tearing the filter off; to make it last a couple hours.

I told him that the reason that I was there (at the boarded up building) was to work on my music; all night if need be. Howard usually goes around the back of the building when my playing disturbs his sleep.

The guy said something like "Go on, do your thing."

I managed to get something done, but I was distracted by his presence. Enough so that I fell short of my goal of finishing three songs. The two at the top of the page (and soon to be moved to the "Top 20 Busking Songs" sidebar) were from a set of five. 

They are kind of self explanatory; that is the 5 gallon bucket on "Dancing Days" and they were done using my new technique of sitting in front of the recorder, like I am on the street and just playing and singing the songs like I have done a hundred times; then using that as a guide track to "double" everything on other tracks, and then erase the guide track which will sound kind of "tinny" and out of balance.

The technique seems to be kind of another small breakthrough, and hopefully soon I will have all 20 Top Busking Songs posted!

Kind of hard to stare at me

while listening to "Do You Remember,"

by Neil Sedaka with him around, isn't it?

The other three are not far behind, missing backup vocals and/or lead guitar.

I would have gotten a lot more done, but eventually joined Howard in the back of the building, as a form of protest and a precursor to the morning message given to him that this was our sleeping spot and we weren't comfortable with someone that we hardly know just showing up and sleeping next to us (especially one who seems to just grab things at will; what if I fall asleep while listening to music on this laptop through headphones; would I wake up in the middle of the night to find the headphones plugged into nothing?

And, what a nuisance to have to pull two cigarettes out of your pack every time you light up, or to feel guilty about rudely smoking in front of someone "less fortunate" than you.

In a rationalization which I'm sure Alcoholics Anonymous people have a cute term for -I'm sure that if I had had more than just one beer then the guy would be lucky that the 5 gallon bucket was the only thing that I was hitting with a stick until sunup.

In the morning, he had bagged up his quilts and left them sitting right about on the spot where he had slept, and gone off somewhere, to scavenge, probably.

I took the bag and set it out by the road, where one would leave their trash, then I swept the marble off and threw all the trash, including the box that he raids for our cans, in the dumpster across the street.

I told him when he returned that it was our sleeping spot, and that we had permission from the owner of the building to "camp" there.

He claimed to know the lady, also. Well, we were here first, dude...

Retired Air Force Colonel Howard

I am leaving for New Orleans for a few days, and he won't be my problem until I come back, should I find him making himself at home there.

I stopped short of telling him something like "Howard, here, is a retired Air Force Colonel, and he's not comfortable with you sleeping right next to him; he might slit your throat in the middle of the night, I'm totally serious!"

I could have said it with Howard sitting right there, whose total indifference (because he wouldn't hear it) would have sent chills down the guy's spine, as if throat slitting was as simple a matter as breathing for Howard, who might even look back at the guy emotionless, as the guy sized him up.

I don't think he would be sleeping there any more, after that... 
Now, I am off to try to get a dollar from Howard, so I don't have to walk 8.3 miles, carrying all my stuff.
I might have to trade Cheetoz or Pepsi for it... 

8:33 p.m.

And I am in downtown Baton Rouge where it is, in the words of the hot dog cart guy, "pretty slow; I think it's gonna be dead all night..." 
I had been waiting at the Chevron to ambush Howard at around 6:15, to offer to put his Cheetoz on my food card in exchange for the dollar I needed to come down here, when a black lady handed me a dollar "out of nowhere" and said, "Here, you go."
And, there I went.
She said that The Lord had told her to do it, and that I should thank Him and not her.
I'm too early for the horn players to come and vie for the spot that I like, and too early for anyone else to have arrived, it seems.

I'm glad I don't have to busk on 3rd. Street

during the era shown;

what would they think of The Carcass Song?

I really should be playing instead of blogging using the Community Coffee wireless connection, because sometimes those stragglers can be lucrative; them realizing that they are your only hope of getting the 5 bucks that you could use at 4:30 in the morning to hop the first LA Swift bus to New Orleans; so that you could see Sue.
I miss Sue, the Cambodian lady (formerly Sue, the Colombian lady...though, I think the "Cambodian lady" is a Colombian lady, pulling my leg...)

Something about what happened on Bourbon Street, when I thought that she was embarrassed to be seen with me, but she was just making a beeline through the throngs of people; eyes forward, and in a hurry to just get out of there, and how she seemed to be touched by the fact that I cared whether or not she walked next to me; said that my "disappearance" bothered her the whole next day; kind of put a soft spot in my heart for her.

In fact, the song that I have on the back burner has a Spanish verse in it. I hope the Cambodian lady likes it...

I would like to make enough money there to be able to try to talk Sue into coming to Baton Rouge with me, if only for the 4 days that I have been spending here, working on music.

I need to see the next $150 weekend as "Here's your chance to travel," rather than "Wow, it's pretty good here."

I guess following it up with a 50 dollar weekend (if that) has taught me that lesson.
I got off the bus with 6 cents a couple hours ago; the exact amount that I had exactly two weeks ago, when I got off the bus in New Orleans...mere coincidence, or is my 6 cents trying to tell me something??

Not Giving Up

How Not To Record A Song

Great news! She is still alive at 87. I need to talk to her...

It is Wednesday.

Yesterday, I lived on about 2 dollars.

This morning, I cooked a big pot of rice, to go with hot sauce and stuff gathered out of restaurants, a lot of it by Sue, the Colombian lady.

I Had another non productive night, trying to record a song which is one of my better tip-getting songs.

I think the problem is that I am using drum tracks that I downloaded for free, which are labeled such as "Rock Pattern #16" and am trying to merge my preexisting songs with them.

Drum beats kind of imply how the song should go.

Think of the drum intro to "Walk This Way," by Aerosmith. You could write another guitar riff that might sound very interesting using that very same drum pattern, but, you would be hard pressed to take a song that was written without reference to that drum pattern and just try to lay the song on top of it.

I think that is how I came up with a lame and uninspiring version of "My Favorite Mule," into the wee hours of the morning.

But, I am not giving up.

My latest idea is to record one track of guitar and vocal simultaneously. The microphone can't seem to handle that and it will sound crappy, but I'll be able to be use it as a guide for the rest of the tracks which will be separated and recorded more cleanly.

On the guide track, I can even yell instructions to myself, like "Heads up, here comes the bridge!" because that track will be erased in the end. It will be better than playing along with Rock Pattern #16, because it will already be the exact song that I'm recording.

I still have a couple days to produce the three songs that I promised myself.

It's time to go see if I can buy Howards night time snack of Cheetos and Pepsi for him on my food card, in exchange for a couple bucks.

I had planned upon doing more today, but I was up until sunup working on the failed project.

I've got two computer books to study, which Sue took out of the New Orleans Library for me, using some card which was given to her by someone whom she no longer cares about getting fined for late, lost or stolen books...

Kind Of In "Limbo" Right Now...

Friday At Five

It looks like my plan will be to get downtown, even if I have to walk the 8 miles, on Friday and play there for my bus fare to New Orleans, and hopefully get there Saturday.

At some point though, if money is not accumulating, then I'll have to think about going somewhere that I can at least work picking cucumbers or something, before my guitar totally wears out and I don't even have 120 bucks for a pawn shop replacement one.

A Job?

The guy at the convenience store that allows me to play, here in Scotlandville, but where I average only about 7 bucks a night, told me that he is opening up (yet) another store, and that he was thinking about offering me a job...

I don't know if I should think of that as "getting a start" somewhere, or "getting stuck" somewhere.
I just don't like this whole feeling like we are all just trying to pass the time until we die, by reading books and doing crossword puzzles...

Don't Drink And Blog

Order Of The Day

• Delete most of last nights drunken rant about killing Howard in his sleep so I could record music.
• Download chords and lyrics to song stuck in my head now.

Does Howard Dream "In Color?"

I feel better now,

after a good night's rest, aided by Howards allergy medication, which I washed down with Steel Reserve 211.

Order Of The Week

Money is going to be an issue this coming week...

I just might have to go without beer and cigarettes for the next few days, is what it boils down to.

The bright side is that I probably won't make any more recordings like "Jungle Sailing" while sober.

My food card was charged up this morning at 5 a.m., mercifully.

I will have to talk to Howard about buying his Cheetos and his Pepsi every day, in exchange for "a couple bucks."

Then, I CAN busk in front of the Chevron at night; just with small expectations, so as to keep my spirits up.

I'll worry about crossing the bridge to New Orleans when I get to it. Maybe Howard will spring for my bus fare, knowing that it will give him a few peaceful nights without someone playing guitar five feet from where he is conked out on diazaproxene, or whatever that stuff is...

I am pushing myself to complete three (3) songs by Friday.

• One "top 20 busking songs" song.
• One off the wall song, that one might not expect to hear out of me
• Perhaps an original, or something that I wrote when I was a kid...

Not much more to blog about; time to get to work...

Don't Kill HIm.

The reason that I'm not recording music right now is because Howard is laying right in my studio. 

Maybe he doesn't like the darkness and the quiet of behind the building; maybe he doesn't like the mosquitoes; but; he is laying right where I plug in my little studio and try to play into the wee hours of the morning, so I don't have trucks and motorcycles on my recording. 

There have been times when I just started playing the guitar and he got up and went to the back, maybe giving me a dirty look, or not... I want to record stuff; I'm in the mood; but, is it fair to wake up Howard? 

I just came back from New Orleans with less money than ever before.

I am angry about that, in addition to a lot of other small things...

He is going to ask me how I did, and, he probably means well and would even lend me money if I were to tell him the whole story of the past weekend, but, somehow I want him to just go away and stop holding me accountable to him every morning, that's what it feels like...
 I feel bad because he seems like a really nice guy; kind of like the guy on "One Flew Over The Cookoo's Nest" -the big bald headed guy (Chief?) who everyone assumed was stupid because he never spoke; I'm pretty sure Howard is like that; I need to speak to him.
I could crush his skull and drag him back by the fence where animals would eat him...I think I am angry about having had a bad weekend in New Orleans...

Not About Breaking Even

Sunday, I basically broke even,

-maybe lost a dollar.

I started the day around 11 a.m. with a $2.17 Heineken, and a pack of $3.37 smokes at Uniques, playing the optimist; telling myself that I could be such a productive day that I would scoff at the expense and be glad that I didn't have to pick up butts (but would anyway, to put in an "auxiliary" box).
The Sponge

I found my way to the spot, where I was playing a song of mine called "Monsters" (about Catholic High School) when, someone that I thought was a tourist sat and listened. 

He complemented me on the song, shook my hand and introduced himself, and then asked me if I wanted to go in a dollar each on a beer; so much for him being a tourist, despite the touristy shirt and shorts that he was wearing. 

I gave him the seed dollar in my case, which he in retrospect probably had his eye on from the start, replaced it with another one, which probably didn't escape his notice, then I played for about 45 minutes, before he returned and handed me a tall can of Busch.

It crossed my mind that he had used my dollar as a means of buying one beer at the store, to divert attention from him putting the other one in his cargo shorts. I'm sure that he didn't just break even on my dollar and done me the service of running to the store;  hustling is NOT about breaking even. 

He may have panhandled another couple dollars and then bought a 4-pack, spending only 75 cents on each beer that way, and turning a 33% profit on me -that would explain the 45 minutes it took him to walk 5 blocks...

He then told me about the "feeding" at "The Oz" center on Camp Street; said that it was going to be "a good one," it being the first Sunday of the month or having met some other criteria for creating a good one. 

I took out my pack of cigarettes, and in almost the same motion, the guy said "could I get one of those." 

Then, he started to ask people for money as soon as they approached, while I was sitting there playing.

I looked at him; seeing a hustler now, and not a tourist -one who had gone the whole route of complementing my music and acting like a gentleman so that he could curry favor and plop himself right down on a spot that took me 7 months to get- and told him "I'm not really into having someone spanging at my spot." 

He didn't act offended. In the manner of the truly professional beggars who have learned to keep smiling, even after someone has been rude to them (because some people will reconsider giving the dollar that they had just refused you, after seeing how humbly and gracefully you accepted their answer) he just smiled. 

"I'm not doing very well at it, am I?" he said, which wasn't really a response to my telling him that I didn't appreciate beggars interfering with the natural flow of tourists past my spot, putting them on the defensive, or making them feel rude in throwing money in my case, but not helping out the poor guy five feet away, and so, doing neither. I don't care how "good" they do, either.
He kept on spanging, which was in effect, his actual response to my comment.

It was time for me to take a break at that point and isn't the good feeding at the Oz starting soon...so I told him that I was taking a 20 minute break; implying that I would be back, and that it would become "my" spot once again.

I didn't have to tell him that I had permission to play there; he probably divined it from the fact that I WAS sitting there. The panhandlers know where you can only sit on Bourbon with the blessings of whomever rents the condo behind you at $2,500 per month.

"Yeah, I gotta get over to the OZ," he said, and the situation seemed to be diffused.

My Connections

As I walked towards Sydney's I thought about the business card in my wallet for Barnaby, the therapist who lives across the street from the spot. 

If the panhandler was sitting there when I got back, I would call him from the payphone down the street and ask him the favor of running the guy off.

Barnaby wouldn't get any backtalk from the guy, any more than a goose that lays golden eggs would, rather, a profuse apology and gratitude for the fact that he hadn't called the police, and then feigned ignorance over the restrictions in effect in the "residential" end of Bourbon Street. 

The panhandler would be none the wiser about my involvement, and would probably lament "I knew I should have waited until guitar man came back, so it would look like I was with him, or just sitting and enjoying the music.."

That's just the best way to handle things here. If you have any kind of political clout, then, by all means use it first, instead of trying to handle it "street person" to "street person."
A tourist could get most of them to drop and do 20 push-ups at the snap of a finger, with only the shadow of a promise to remunerate them.

Monday Decision

I have enough money to hop on the Baton Rouge bus, arrive there with less than ten dollars, and with the best prospect of coming back to New Orleans next weekend being to play downtown on Friday night, hoping to come up with at least the five bucks to travel early Saturday morning.

My computer books are there, my studio is there, and I really want to take the next four days to work on both. Howard is there, too...

I think, since it is 1:09 p.m. I will play somewhere up until the time that the last bus is to leave here 5:20 p.m. and then just get on the bus with whatever monies that I have at that point in time.

My food card goes from 71 cents to $200.71 at five O' Clock tomorrow morning.

For Real, This Time

Ok, I'm at the Royal Coffee House,

and I have already lost the connection because I think that since I DIDN'T buy a coffee they are waiting until I finish my entry and then manually disconnecting me before I hit "publish."

@Alex in California: Don't rule out the 5 dollar fuel pump that can make it seem like it is the fuel pump after a butterfly flies into your tank as soon as you remove your gas cap and turn your back for "one second"

25 Bucks

Last night I made around 25 bucks.

Sue was with me but we had a falling out, after I said "lets go to Brother's Market to get something to eat, and she started to make a beeline for that place, walking way ahead of me and to the side, as if she didn't want any of the rich tourists to think that she was "with" me.

I stopped at one point and she walked a full block ahead before realizing or even caring enough to turn around and see that I wasn't with her anymore. I hate that. I like loyalty in a woman.

I finally just stopped and let her get way ahead of me, in her drive to get to Brother's (where I "would" spend $3.24 on a large batch of fries for her) and then I banged a left onto a side street, and went to Uniques for a last beer, letting her walk on with no desire to be seen with me or to talk to me or to have anything to do with me, until we got to Brother's, that is...

She will probably say that she had some good reason to act like she didn't know me on Bourbon Street, maybe it was for my own good, but, that is my peeve in a woman; when she acts like she doesn't know you. after she sat next to you all night and watched 25 bucks go in your case; and then became hungry from looking at it.

A lot of people stopped to pet Cookie, and I think one lady might have slipped a bill to Sue ("for cat food"). She would not tell me about it, I have found in the past; she would let me buy fries for her. None of the cat petters threw anything in my case.

It was just a half-assed night musically, I will admit. Tuning problems with the string that I have wound backwards on the machine.
I am off to play now, It is Sunday and I woke up with $18 and change.
I have enough to go back to Baton Rouge and be miserably poor, at this point. This might be the start of the "slow season" here in New Orleans...time to thumb a ride to Texas (for real, this time, honestly...

Slow Night

I got off the bus at the Tulane Street library, 

at about the same time as I had the previous week, and headed for my playing spot, as before, but had only about an 18 dollar night, 27 dollars short of the previous week.

There just seemed to be a different class of people; one's that probably scraped up whatever money they came with, under the sofa cushions.

The first hour yielded two dollars, which I converted into one Sierra Nevada Torpedo IPA ale, returning to start my case out with one dime; and was given beer in lieu of tips a couple times in the process of making another 16 bucks by about midnight; I was out until about 3 a.m. with other people buying me beer to hear a song a couple times.

About all I remember before falling asleep...

I remember laying down next to Sue, putting my arm over her, and the next thing I knew I was waking up alone on her cardboard, never having heard her depart. Of course she can be as quiet as a mouse and as elusive as some animal known for its ability to be there one second and the "gone" the next. Maybe an Impala...

If At First You Don't Suceed

...keep on sucking.

I slept past noon at the sign spot and will get as early a start as possible; it's 2:41 p.m. now.

I will skip walking Royal Street and being compelled to stop and chat with every musician along the way, not wanting to offend any of them, and go directly to the Bourbon Street spot, trying to do something about the $15.19 that I woke up with early this afternoon..I should be well rested, at least.

5 Dollars Away

New Orleans is just an hour and a half, and five dollars away, but, I feel like I am leaving for a month or more; packing all my best clothes, with seven changes of shirts.
It just feels like I might never return, like it did the last time I went.

I suppose it is because of the unpredictability of that place and the fact that, in order for me two spend five bucks to leave for Baton Rouge, I would have to have the five bucks, plus a five in my shoe, to ensure my passage back, plus a whole lot of other money to insure that the shoe money won't get spent in a fit of nicotine withdrawal.

It crossed my mind to spend these days between weekends in Mobile, Alabama, where I think that I could find a place to record music. But, that would feel too much like going backwards.

Last Bus 6 p.m.

It is time for me to go back to New Orleans. I told Sue, the Cambodian lady, formerly, Sue the Colombian lady, that I would be back on Friday. 

I don't believe in committing myself to anything. 

I remember the feeling when, at 22, I was hired by a big computer firm to work there every day, except weekends, until I was 65 years old. The building looked like a huge tombstone with "Daniel McKenna b.1962  d.2057; he was a computer technician, he will be missed." Written on it..

But, in this small instance, I think I will follow through on my promise to return on Friday, made to Sue, the Cambodian lady, the tambourine player formerly known as Sue the Colombian lady.

I now go to download an outline of chords for a song that Sue was listening to repeatedly on her notebook, called "Don't Leave Me This Way," from the late 70's, by I forgot who. I will play it for her. I like to think that it is about me leaving her "that way" that she had the song in her mind...

The last bus to N.O. leaves downtown terminal at 6 p.m. It is 4:12 p.m. now.

Howard will not accompany me.

I think he feels like he has done his part and helped me along by suggesting last week that we trek down there, where I made somewhere around 150 bucks, in what was probably 5 hours of actual playing.

He DOES ask me the morning question of "How'd you do last night?" every single morning, at about the same time, and has probably been keeping a tally and comparing the two cities. He could probably file my taxes as a self employed street musician based upon his morning question, and his memory, which still seems sharp at the age of 67 (he can still tell you the locations of every Jack-In-The-Box restaurant in every city that he has ever been in).
Misgivings

I still have misgivings and wonder if I should just stay in downtown Baton Rouge tonight and play on 3rd street, but, New Orleans has seldom disappointed in its ability to deliver the finer things in life and each time I have gone there, even with apprehensions, they have been dispelled -provided that I put in some effort, like playing for 5 hours.

Worries

Everything isn't care-free, though. The tuning machines on the guitar are starting to wear out, I already have to wind the B string in the opposite of the intended direction. 

And, of course, I have a 15 day jail sentence hanging over my head, should I be perchance brought in front of a certain judge.

I've heard that a lot of guitars disappear in the property storage room at that particular jail, which I have also heard was "the worst jail in the whole country; you don't want to go there, trust me."'

But those are probably the people talking who DON'T find the sound of urine hitting a stainless steel toilet 2 feet from where they are lying on the concrete to be soothing and sleep inducing.