On The Rocks

I am working without the easy editor, again

And I think I forgot to wipe the lens off of the Android Phones camera this morning as I snapped this photo.

I had spent the night here, patiently watching the trains about a half mile outside of the rail yard.
Had I been patient the previous Monday night, I would have been able hop out and avoid the Inspector.
I deciced to just pass the night and take note of the activity of the trains, letting a couple trains go which I could have jumped on; so that I could count how many of such that there would be on this Thursday night.
The prospect of not hopping out was not too much of a concern. I still have money left.
I actually slept very well and felt like I had gotten myself far away from the French Quarter and all its shenanigans. This stretch of track is pretty isolated; and if someone does come walking along, the crunching of rocks under foot announces their arrival well in advance.

In the morning, I had some instant coffee and lightened my pack by leaving the sleeping bag, some dirty clothes, a can of mackerel and a jar of pickles behind.

My new purple shirt, along with the book which I only read first thing in the morning were also left behind, for just the minor considerations that the book, open to a page might make it seem like someone was just there and could return at any minute; and the purple shirt is kind of a color code which says "local" to any local.

There is only a small chance of someone chancing upon my stuff and an even smaller chance that it would be someone lowly enough to steal my sleeping bag and purple shirt and my can of mackerel and jar of pickles, so I only half hid the stuff.

My new harmonica (which is a Hohner "Old Standby" brand) and neck harness can be seen around the neck of my guitar case.

For just $1.50 I was able to return to the Quarter this morning, to gamble that I can enrich myself by busking tonight and be sitting in better shape the next night or night after.
Better Than When I Came In
I have gotten sunglasses, a capo, a harp and brace, two sets of new strings, a packet of 12 new nylon picks; a composition tablet, a sharpie, and have clean clothes and new razors.
All along the bus trip out there, I was remembering how I first came to New Orleans and walked the 6 miles into the Quarter in the middle of the night; and wondering just how much, if any, of my determination has slipped away from me.
The Toothpick And Glue Method
Yesterday, I took my guitar to Paul at Webbs Bywater Music and he let me use his tools to fix the stripped screw on one of my tuning machines. I stuffed a toothpick in the hole, covered in liquid wood glue and then put the screw back in and it grabbed and held; I had almost forgotten that small but important chore which was on my list of "things to do before hopping out of here."

Now, I just need to stockpile some more food (enough for a 3 day journey) at a spot about a quarter mile closer to the yard; so that I can load it onto the grainer or boxcar with me and let the locomotive lug it.

Ashville Or Nashville
I will bring a map with me (and I'd love to find a cheap compass at the dollar store) and will probably stay on just to see how far I can get; and only jump off if I wind up in any "known great busking cities" like Nashville, or Ashville or Gatlinburg or Charlottesville.

7:36 And Counting...

I have just been on Facebook, responding to things and reading other things and answering thing for all but the final 7 minutes of my free session here at the library
.A Purple Shirt
The first thing that I did, after waking up with 175 dollars in my pocket was, I went to CVS and bought a brand new t-shirt; I chose purple as the color.
I was planning upon finding Tanya and Dorise and telling them about the Great Tip and letting them put their minds to the task of envisioning a better life for me through my investing of the Great Tip.
They were not playing anywhere that Sunday and I realized that I was on my own and that the decision would have to be mine...unless I could get one of them on the phone...

Dorise Gives Me A Harmonica
Dorise gave me a harmonica.

One He Never Got...

It was 2 days after getting the 175 dollar tip, and I was down to 150 bucks, partly because I hardly made any money throughout the 2 days after getting the 175 dollar tip.
I had called Dorise, since I was to come within a few blocks of her house on my ways to and from Webbs Bywater Music Store, on my quest for a harmonica.
I also thought it was a good idea to tell Dorise that I had landed another huge tip, as she seems to be very resourceful, and I wanted to hear her suggestions as to how I might have utilized the money, in a way that was going to help me professionally.
Well, after I said that I was thinking about adding a harmonica and neck harness, she said: "I think I have a harmonica and a neck thing..."
I showed up at her house after having been told by Paul at Webbs Bywater Music Store that harmonicas were just not something that he dealt in; and after not seeing anything laying around his store which looked like something that would increase my income.
After a search which took place in one of the back rooms of the house, she emerged with a harp.
"It's an F harp," she said; immediately setting my brain into a frantic search for any songs which I knew in the key of B flat, which would be the appropriate key to play the bluesy sounding "cross harp" stuff.
I gratefully accepted the F harp, brand new and in the box. "I used to get them for Grandpa Elliot, and I guess I never gave him this one," she said.
I had thought about trying to call Tanya to see if she would take me to Guitar Center, but then realized that I would just have been trying to impress her with my 175 dollar tip...
I Take To The New Harp Like A Fish To Water, But It Is Very Slow In The Quarter And I Hardly Make Anything The Past Two Days
I bought 2 sets of new strings, a capo, and a neck harness to hold the harp and played the past two nights. I was happy with my sound, which ricocheted off of condos and down an empty street for most of the past two nights.
I still have about 50 bucks left and have razors and clean clothes and a good guitar sound and am supposed to be leaving tonight on the train, and just might; should I conclude that now is the time. 

They Left Without Me

• Atlantans Abandon Me
• The $175 Tip

?

Well, Judi and Michael have apparently gone back to Atlanta without me.

I am 99% sure that the reason is that, Friday, Michael approached me in Sydneys and it took me a few seconds to recall where I knew him from.

I am very bad with facial recognition.

Judi and Michael being in the real estate business, it is probably a matter of course for them to memorize faces and names, and they have probably become quite good at it. The fact that Judi remembered my name after meeting me once might be an example of this.

After a 3 second pause, it dawned upon me who he was; but it was too late. I could see it in his face.

When he went outside, he told Judi, whom I did recognize something like "He looked at me like he'd never seen me before.."

And that is why they decided to put their phone on voice mail and to never call me about giving me a ride to Atlanta.

The 3 Days Preceding The Supposed Trip

In the 3 days leading up to Saturday; when I was convinced that these would be my last 3 days in NOLA for a long time; I had unusual occurrences occur.

The 64 Year Old Woman

Thursday night, a 64 year old woman, who looked 44, came and sat by me on my Bourbon Street spot.

I was drunk, as it was about 2 a.m.

I thought it was a teen aged boy, at first, she was so petite, and wearing a baseball cap and far enough from my naked eyes where she sat; and plus, I was in that mode of not looking up from my guitar and I only glance over at her a couple times.

I was convinced that it was a street person who had only stopped because of the few single bills in my case.

She said something and I kind of ignored her.

This was  a mistake. I had judged her to be not even worthy of interacting with.

I still thought it was a tiny little guy with an effeminate voice who became angry and started to to say "I was trying to pay you a compliment, dude, and you totally ignored me...f*** you!"

And then, this person said "I'm gonna make sure you don't make any money," then proceeded to spew forth all she could apparently muster in the way of insults and things like "Don't give him anything, he's an asshole!" etc.

I actually had made a little bit of money (certainly more than the 3 dollars of Thursday night) and was nonplussed by her antics....until a point.

I finally packed up my guitar; and feeling like I was doing it because of what I thought was this diminutive old guy with a high voice having won out over me and succeeded in moving me off of my spot by making it unproductive; I became very angry.

It wasn't until I was right in his face that I realized it was a woman.

I thought about the video that I had seen that morning of a man having his head cut off with a knife. For some reason... 

I had Googled "train wreck" in order to post the picture from yesterdays post, and among the pictures of train wrecks were pictures of human carnage as a result of train accidents, and, clicking upon one of these led me to a website which featured all kinds of human fatalities captured on video. 

Well, to make a long story short, I wound up watching a Russian soldier having his throat slit and his head cut off, that morning.

For some reason, that was the image which came to me; as I stood over this 64 year old woman who looked like a teen aged boy from a distance.

I was boiling over with anger, but any thoughts of attacking this person vanished as soon as I realized that it was an elderly woman (who looked  very good for her age) and not a wise-assed little guy.

So, I did the next best thing to attacking her; I guess.

I got in her face and said "Have you ever seen someones head cut off with a knife?!?"

She recoiled a bit; but didn't evince much fear because, after all, it's reasonable to believe that she has never been physically struck in her life, and that is as it should be especially now as she is an elderly woman.

"You're going to cut my head off with a knife?!?" she said, loudly as if to draw the attention of whomever might be straggling by.

"No, I never would. I've seen it and I hate violence more than ever now!"

Well, that did it.

?

She was suddenly giving me a hug and telling me that she could feel my pain and that everything was going to be alright because Mama Cat (as that was her name) was here.

She put money in my case and then began to profusely apologize for having sat there and tried to prevent me from making money; and then became almost embarrassingly complementary; telling me that my music could be felt, even if not heard, all the way up the street and that when she sat down and listened, it was the most beautiful thing that she had ever heard and she had been trying to give me a complement and that I had hurt her feelings when I ignored her.

I apologized profusely for having treated her that way -as if she was going to grab my money and run- and there were more hugs and Mama Cat prayed for me; told me that she was in the 3rd or 4th "stage of cancer" and then even volunteered the information that she was herself homeless and added that she knew of spots to sleep which are the products of her having lived her whole 64 years in NOLA; and that she would show me one.

I declined because I was starting to get the vibe that she might have wanted me to hold her through the night; listen to her sad story and let her cry on a shoulder.

The 72 Year Old Lady

The next night, another lady who was 72 years old (and who looked 60) came along and sat at the same spot, and it was almost freakish, her similarity to Mama Cat, and the way that she made her age a prominent part of the discussion which we had. She was very concerned about looking young for her age. She made me tell her that she looked great for 72.

It seemed like someone was sending delegates to meet with me during my last 3 days in NOLA; the Elders, women who were the vanguards of the spirit of the city. They were giving me transcendental reasons for staying here and not accepting that ride to Atlanta from Judi and Michael. This one dropped a 20 dollar bill in my case.

Then, when I took a break to go to Sydneys, a guy out front struck up a conversation and then wound up sending me into the store with a 10 dollar bill to get us each a beer and "keep the change," he said.

The $175 Tip

And so, Saturday night, it was business as usual, except a guy came along who happened to be one year younger than I.

He listened to me play.

At one point, he asked me if he could play a song.

He had already swapped the few ones in my case for a 20 dollar bill, and I had made a few more while he had sat and listened.

I let him play the Yamaha.

?

He broke a string on it.

He apologized profusely and promised to give me more money.

He kept playing, minus the one string, which I admired.

He broke a second string.

He was doubly sorry and promised to give me 100 dollars for putting me "out of business" by breaking my strings.

Well, to make a long story short, the guy kept handing me 20 dollar bills at different points (after I played a song on the now 4 string guitar, or told a story) until I had 3 of them; and then made good on his promise to give me a hundred dollars when he handed me a 100 dollar bill to go with the rest; and though it got confusing with him making change out of my case and everything, I assess that it was a $175 dollar tip; at a time when I was supposed to be on my way to Atlanta but was instead at my spot playing music; and it was hard not to wonder if this city really has a consciousness and was thanking me for staying.

What To Get

Right now, Tanya and Dorise are not out playing and I am disappointed because I wanted to get their advise on how to spend the money. I could go into serious business by getting an amplifier and taking my rightful spot between Jesse, who makes at least 60 dollars per night, and The Guy With The Really Loud Voice, who claims that he makes "1,000 dollars a week," but who very well might actually make 350 bucks per week; which is actually a "living."

?

I will probably get a harmonica and a harness and then hit the road...

Train Wreck Survival

I am working without the fancy editor (good old fashioned HTML which I could have made $$ doing, back in 1999; before the fancy editors came around, if I didn't have me head up my ass and wasn't driving a taxi in Phoenix, Arizona, In fact some of my passengers, who were in their early 20's and who had wads of cash, told me to study a book like "Learn Java In 30 Days" and mess around with it for 30 days and then apply for a job making 50 bucks per hour...just like them...)

• A Ride To Atlanta
• A 3 Dollar Night

Yes, you read right.
The night after being tossed off the train; trying to get to Atlanta, I had a 3 dollar night playing on deserted Bourbon Street.
However, as I began to play, a truck pulled up with a husband and wife in it and asked if it was OK to park in front of Barnabys condo.
I told them that I had never even seen a meter maid there.
They walked over and asked me some of the usual questions, like "Do you live here, or are you just passing through?"
I gave them a brief history, mentioning that I had just tried to hop a train to Atlanta, the previous night.
"We're from Atlanta," they said, almost in unison.
We exchanged phone numbers, and they offered to give me a ride to that city on Saturday.
They had been on their way to Dallas and had seen the sign for New Orleans and decided to stop.
The wife had been here before.
They wanted to walk Bourbon Street for a couple hours.
I went to Rouses Market and bought a girl two candy bars in exchange of a dollar and then ran to Uniques.
I Retured along Bourbon, in the direction of my spot.
"Daniel!" called out the wife (who had apparently remembered my name) from the doorway of The Crazy Pirate.
"Come on in; we'll buy you a drink."
We sat and drank Coors Light and talked.
Judi (as that was her name) was in the real estate business and managed 1,800 apartments in Atlanta.
She was on her way to Dallas to see about a job because Atlanta was "disgusting," as she described it.
"The blacks run the city. We (white people) have no rights there. After Katrina hit New Orleans and all those people evacuated, we had to lower the rents and now all my units are occupied by black people.
When I call them to tell them they are on the verge of being evicted, they say things like: 'I'm gonna come down there and [shoot you].' Why would you leave here to go to Atlanta?!?"
I told her that I just wanted to get moving in the direction of Massachusetts and that I wanted to try to find my girlfriend Karrie while there. I joked that I would flash her picture at all the liquor stores
Judi advised me to think really hard about my decision to go there.
"Black people rob you there. If you think the French Quarter is bad; it's nothing like it!"
I went back to playing and made the dismal amount of 3 dollars; all the while thinking very hard about my decision to leave here.
They returned for their truck and dropped me off some snacks and a bottle of water (they used only plastic money).
I went to the sign spot, where I was attacked by ants.
I walked almost a mile to the "pick pocket" spot, thinking very hard all the way about my decision to leave here.
I slept until almost noon with my stuff tied to the bushes and my pockets (already) empty of money, and thinking hard about my decision to leave here...

I will be busking the next couple of days in order to get money to have with me when I get to Atlanta.
Perhaps after getting to know me better along the 8 hour drive, my new friends will toss me some money when they drop me off.
I just hope that my conversation is not construed as panhandling, as I relate the horrors of street life; fraught with uncomfortable pauses.
Some readers (Alex in California in particular) have contested that this blog is merely a way for me to panhandle...

Train Wreck

I am back at the library in NOLA, after having been thrown off of the train by the Railroad Inspector, his buddy from Union Pacific, and a third buddy, whose vehicle said "Harbor Police" on it; and then finally by a NOLA cop who went through the motions of handcuffing me and hauling me off, but then let me go 5 miles outside of the French Quarter.

Stay Here With Me, Daniel!

One might think that the city would look the other way as the street types make their exodus, during this, the slowest season.
But, apparently because of the numbers of train hoppers, they are actually watching the video monitors. The NOLA cop had gotten on his radio as we were pulling out of the rail yard and told someone that he was doing a "relocation."
Then, as we arrived at some desolate place on the outskirts of town, he told me that he was going to release me; and that he didn't want to see me at the rail yard again.
"Thanks," I said, but maybe without enough conviction.
"You heard what I said, didn't you?"

"Sure, Thanks a lot," I said a little louder and trying to sound relieved.
I had actually taken note of all the proceedings, and was pretty sure that I wasn't going to jail -from them having found warrants on me; and then learning that they were "do not extradite" and then the fact that the rail inspector had no power to search my bag, but only asked me what was in it; and the Union Pacific guy was just a glorified security guard; and that, after the NOLA cop showed up, his own disinterest in searching my stuff told me that they weren't planning upon bringing me to jail.
So, I arrived back at Barnabys around 10 p.m. and flat broke after carrying my pack (which I had stuffed with heavy food and drink items at the Family Dollar near the rail yard) all the way through the 7th Ward and back to the Quarter.
I didn't feel like playing because it was dead; outside of people asking for money and cigarettes
And, I needed to regroup, get a good nights sleep and come up with another plan...
I had opted to buy cigarettes by the rail yard instead of alcohol, and so I had a period of sober reflection, sitting at the sign spot last night and this morning...
Something is going to have to give in the next week or so. I don't want to make any snap decisions.
I've got new strings on the Yamaha, and it will be a Wednesday night; and, once again...as soon as I get a certain amount of money in my pocket, I will try to take this vacation.
I have to sift through about a half dozen options, not limited to asking the United Way type of organization for a bus ticket (they are all about re-uniting families that have become scattered).

It Is Tuesday Morning...

• To The Rail Yard
• Parting Shots

Weather
New Orleans is like a very small bathroom after you just got out of the shower and there is a heavy steam hanging in the air and all you can see in the mirror is a skin colored fog; and there is a hair dryer blowing full blast just laying there on a towel atop the toilet bowl tank; add to that a guy walking around wearing a bra and a skirt; and you've basically got the atmosphere...
Going Away Photos

Below right? should be Sam from the Unique Boutique...
He has extended me credit upon beer before on days when I was starting out with less than the dollar cost of the beer. He is talking to Leslie in the blueish gray shirt whose credit is less than stellar with Sam. Sam is such a big-shot that he will walk up to people who are in a long line at the counter and, after looking over what they are holding in their arms will say "Give me 15 dollars; bye have nice night" and then will just hold the monies in his pocket. He is the guy to know at the Unique Boutique; and; doesn't he look the part; I mean, exactly...

To the left if it lines up correctly or above otherwise, is the skeezer that I fought taken at a distance; because I didn't want to get him started again.
If looking at him offended him, then taking his picture might have been worth a thousand slights...
Time To Go
No use crying over spilled milk and the fact that, by not leaving last night, I will be leaving with less money in my pocket...
My confidence in my ability to break out the guitar and make some cash actually increases when I leave New Orleans...
In fact, were I to wind up in Jacksonville, Florida, I think I could make enough money to go by bus to Boston...
So, the next time I post, it should be from a different location...

Monday Already

It was Monday morning, when I woke up with about 20 bucks in my pocket after having made about that much the day before; but having a full pack of cigarettes, an energy drink, some bud, and brand spanking new strings on the Yamaha...plus 200 dollars onto the food card.
I did my laundry this morning, here in Algiers. I washed my sleeping bag and a heavy sweatshirt which seems like a white elephant here in the 95 degree heat and humidity.
My next step is to check upon the laptop hidden amongst the rocks underneath the wharf, see that it is still there and has been protected by the plastic bag wrapped around it (i.e. that the river never rose high enough to completely submerge the thing) and then to get a bus ticket out to the "Gentilly" part of the city; where I will stock up on things at the nearby Dollar General (such as sardines and liquids) and then it will be off to the rail yard...
There is only a small chance that I will busk tonight.
It would be hard to imagine making money faster than I would spend it and being in better shape financially the next day...
I am hoping that a conductor will tell me about a train which is bound for Atlanta.
I want to try to see my old girlfriend, Karrie, whose last known whereabouts I gleaned from a Google search which yielded a mug shot of her from that particular local jail.

Sunday Evening Post

Well, Friday I took a step backwards; outspending what I made by about 6 bucks...and waking up Saturday morning with $8.09 on me and thinking that I just may have to leave out of here pretty much broke...

Saturday, I started busking at the early hour of noon.

I played on the spot which has been recently vacated by The Guy With The Really Loud Voice Who Plays A Fender Acoustic; after he got a ticket for obstructing a public passageway.

He doesn't seem to want to listen to advice from people like myself who tell him not to worry about it and that it will be dropped if he just shows up and pleads not guilty.

I moved after he showed up and I, along with Troy, another veteran busker convinced him that he could play there without fear of going to jail.

I moved around a lot, but kept going back to busking after every break and made about 50 bucks the whole day...most of it came after a certain hour which I don't remember much past; but I was happy to see about 40 bucks in my pocket this morning...

Leaving

So, I am leaving.

Tomorrow morning.

Today, I will do some laundry and walk to the music store for some (cheaper than in the Quarter) guitar strings. And then I'll play as much as I can on the Bourbon Street spot, because it can only help...especially if I have a bright set of strings on...

Yup, tomorrow morning I am hopping a train headed northeast...

Please Skeeze Me (whoa yeah) Like I Skeeze You

I woke up at the sign spot with $14.13 in my pocket. I must have made about 20 bucks last night, at the Barnaby spot, but half of that came from one pair of guys from Illinois.

One of them was a luthier and gave me his card.

He was initially drawn to my guitar, understandably, and admired the repair-work which is evident from looking at the back of the neck. I could disguise it by staining the wood and varnishing it; but it is on the back of the neck; and plus, cosmetics aren't that important to me and plus, I'm lazy...

Another guy sat and listened to me rip through "I Feel Fine," by The Beatles; threw me a couple dollars and set a glass of whiskey beside me which was only diluted by a couple wedges of lime.

I found so much food sitting atop a trash can in a white plastic bag that I left a couple of the Styrofoam containers (the ones with the fried food) for some other person; probably a skeezer or other ne'er do well...

The $14.13 in my pocket is a reflection of the fact that I didn't have to buy hardly any alcohol nor food, but only splurged on a pack of cigarettes. I will sell as many as I can for 25 cents each (a 33% markup) and then busk as much as possible through the weekend.

Monday In Motion

I have targeted Monday as the day to hop out of here on the train.

This will be after having washed whatever clothes I will be taking, charging my phones (for photography and communications purposes), checking to see if my laptop is still under the dock and hiding it better if it still is; and then...

A skeezer similar to the one I fought; fighting

in the same alley while another skeezer fights off

a skeezer who is trying to jump in to help

the second skeezer, while skeezers and a pigeon watch...

Off to Oliver Yard to talk to conductors about which trains are going where...

Monday, my food stamp card will be injected with 200 dollars, making starvation less likely, and hopefully I will have new strings on the guitar...

20 dollars was a decent take for last night (a Thursday) I realised after talking to other musicians and one who is a magician also (he will make his pick disappear and then find it in your hair; play a ditty; and then make it disappear and then open his case to reveal that the pick had gotten in there and was now inside an envelope...

Avoiding The Trap

The only thing that could sabotage me would be either having a dismal weekend and actually winding up with less than $14.13 by Monday; or falling prey to uncontrolled, alcohol fuelled spending...if people give me free drinks and I drink them and then make poor spending decisions.

Excuse The Appearance

The "Compose" window is not functional, once again; excuse the plain appearance of this.

Stock Shaman Photo

House Cleaning I have just spent some time editing old posts...
According to my "stats" page, certain posts have been getting an inordinate amount of hits; and I have been going to them, in order to either try to make them more interesting, since so many are seeing them; or to delete certain items which may be drawing unwanted traffic...
Posts which mention killing people, such as the imfamous "Clarksons" post, keep getting attention; and I am pretty sure it is because of law enforcement robots which scour the Internet for certain such phrases.
Some agent probably has to peruse it to insure that it is just a disenfranchised street musician venting his anger; and not a valid threat. I love the Clarksons and wish them the best.
Another post, which (was) entitled: "Something Could Explode Here" is in the same category. The Caveman Guru post is number one in "hits," as the Caveman himself was checking it several times a day for a while, waiting for me to remove from its contents anything about him which he deemed unflattering...
I cut the offending article and saved it as a draft; giving me the option of pasting it back in. He continued to go to the page for the next month (over 300 views), probably to make sure that I hadn't reposted it as soon as he turned his back... Another Slow Night
Last night was another slow one.
I had replaced the two broken strings and the guitar sounded pretty good; but there just weren't many tourist on Bourbon Street; and I took the few dollars that I made and got drunk with them and went to sleep early.
Today, I am once again on my way to try and sell my Burger King gift card.
The next huge tip that I get; I will consider a stroke of great luck, and a rare chance to get out of here; and will act accordingly...

Happy July 31st

It is July 31st and I woke up this morning at the "sign" spot with two broken strings on the Yamaha and 1 dollar in my pocket.

A construction crew had started to arrive about 6:30 a.m. and had parked their vehicles around me.

They are used to me being there and they see that I have a guitar and I usually make a show of straightening out my money on my cardboard, as I sit up bright and early sipping instant coffee and reading.

I really think that it is the sight of the money which keeps them at bay; and the fact that I tree my cardboard and then pick up every last cigarette butt before leaving for the Rebuild Center or the library.

I pondered the broken string situation and finally settled upon the idea that I would take my 5 dollar Burger King gift card, which I have been carrying for 3 months in my wallet, and which the pickpocket has passed upon taking (twice) and I would walk to Burger King with it; the one in the direction of the music store; where I would try to sell it for 3 or 4 dollars (and maybe hit upon someone who would give me the money and then tell me to keep the card "you may need it some day..").

I got to Walgreens and grabbed a coffee energy drink (which I intended to spike with instant coffee to strengthen it up some) and was at the register when an older gentleman with a Boston accent asked "Where do you play?"

After a brief discussion about where and what I played, he asked me if I needed anything.

"I broke two strings, both during the last song that I played last night; and making it definitely the last song."

He gave me money for strings and, off I go to the music store....

Fight Or Flight

• More On The Fight
• More On My Flight
• My Musical Aspirations

I have been frustrated by the library computers, because the Blogger W.Y.S.I.W.Y.G editor doesn't load properly and is useless. I have to spend my time using HTML code, like This, just to enlarge text...
This will be another blessing of getting out of here for a while...speaking of which..
A quick addendum to the fight story of yesterday.
Yeah, I actually sat there and took verbal abuse from the punk; even to the point when he punched me in the cheek (but not even hard enough to knock my glasses off) but it was when he knocked my hat off my head and I saw it laying on the sidewalk (and I think he was ready to stomp on it and kick it into a puddle of water/piss/spit/motor oil/pidgeon droppings/snots/semen/ear wax/tears and Popeyes Chicken) and it conjured up the memory of having been gifted it by Dorise;

and it was as if the guy had attacked her, in a sense, and I snapped so completely that I actually sent the guy flying backward with my first punch to his face and then; as soon as he righted himself, I was there with a shoulder to his shoulder, which knocked him onto the hood of a car; and then an elbow to the jaw, sending the pigeons skyward, and the rest was an adrenaline fuelled blur.
I started to pummeled him so hard in the kidneys after knocking him down again that the girls went back inside Popeyes.
They had been smoking a blunt and were probably afraid that police were about to show up...
The guy actually got up out of the puddle, dripping all of the above and came over to me and said: "If you ever come at me like that again, I'll kill you!" and got right back in my face.
He may be someone who enjoys being beaten.
The next morning, my shoulder was sore and I had scrapes on one elbow and one knee...
My Knight

Bilal Can Sell You This

I happened to tell Bilal, who is the curator of a French Art Museum, and whom I have jammed with on occasion (he likes to set up his amp and play his expensive guitar in front of the place after getting off work sometimes) the story.
He assured me that the guy would never bother me again, should I point him out to him. "You're connected. You have some powerful friends; don't worry, my friend..."
My Night
I played at the Barnaby spot last night, and had only gotten about 3 bucks when I took my first break, to go and spend one of them on a beer.
I returned and played from about 10:30 till a little after midnight and netted another 4 bucks.
Purgatory
A pack of cigarettes and beer for the night is the same value of a brand new set of strings...
The reason that (when I think as a "spiritually minded" person) I deem NOLA to be like a Purgatory on earth is just such occurances.
It is like a test to see: "Can he go all night without smoking and drinking, so he can buy a new set of strings in the morning?"
And when you look at the top grossing street acts Tanya/Dorise and Doreens Jazz Band; you see bottles of water by their sides; and never any cigarettes.
You could say that this is part of their "professionalism" and that those things would detract from their presentation (Tanya with a Lucky Strike dropping ashes on her clothes and drooping from her lips as she tears through a solo?).
Doreen needs all the lung capacity that she can muster...
The Hokum High Rollers have bottles of expensive beer at their sides and actually perform with cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, as a notable exception to this rule; but, in their case; it is like window dressing, adorning their "hillbilly" shtick...
And, when "Wolf" (see hilarious video above) plays the trombone along with Doreens Jazz Band, a pint of Evan Williams Whiskey will tell you which chair he is sitting in, by which seat it is sitting under...but, again it actually helps the stage presence; in his case...


Coming Soon: Vote For Your Favorite

French Quarter Passed Out Guy

Aspirations
There have been a couple mentionings in my comments concerning my "musical aspirations," or lack thereof.
At this point I am focusing entirely upon getting better at playing.
I have been getting feedback from people (Barnaby is an honest critic) and have even given up upon trying to match the right song to the people who are walking past and have been practicing as much as performing, lately.
I will, in the future, go back to "promotional" activities...
To wit: If I make it to Boston, my old friend, Ted Broughey has a fully functional digital studio in his studio apartment.
He is an excellent drummer and an excellent friend, who has invited me to crash there; get cleaned up; and look for a job waxing floors or whatever; and all the while having access to all kinds of techno gadgets (He is a cameraman for one of the local TV stations).
My goal is to make a "leap forward" (to quote the lamented Chairman Mao)in my next media incarnation -to become "ready for prime time," to drop another phrase, in one fell swoop.
I am cramming scales and arpeggios and learning songs such as Drunk On The Moon, by Tom Waits, which has a jazzy progression which will port to many other songs; opening the door to learning jazz "standards," which can a lucrative endeavor here.
I've actually had to learn it in chuncks over several days and it took about a week to be able to make the chords swing -proof of its worthiness as way to improve upon my playing.

Paul (in red) "Keep Doing What You're Doing."

And...should I return here, after becoming cleaned up and having worked waxing floors and bought equipment and burned CDs of professionally recorded versions of my songs, then my present "aspirations," would have come to light...

But, right now, I am learning from Paul and Tanya and Doreen and Brian Hudson and even Christina Friis; each of whom have a unique lesson to teach about different aspects of the "business," and specific advice to pass on.

Paul especially has encouraged me to "keep doing what you're doing."

Brian has told me: "Just make up your mind that you're not going to drink while you play...have a few afterwards..."

Weighed Down With Lead

• I Have To Fight A Rainbow Punk
• Not Enough To Travel On

Saturday night, a Rainbow kid who was playing a guitar on Canal Street developed an attitude with me, and for some reason started telling me that I needed to leave there because "No one wants you around here," because I had a bad vibe.
I said "You're telling me that I can't walk on Canal Street in New Orleans, because of you?
He had started to advance towards me, and told me that he would kill me if I walked past him again.
A friend that he was with was trying to calm him down.
Yesterday afternoon, I was in the alley by Popeyes, sitting near a couple of girls who work there and who were on break, when the same kid came along.
He immediately came over and stood in front of me and yelled "What are you looking at?!" and then repeated that "nobody" wanted me around, because I had a bad vibe.
I started to think that the whole problem is that I never give he or any of the Rainbow Kids anything for free...I don't "share" with them.
I looked at him and asked "What did I do anyways?"
He then started to tell me to shutup and if I said another word, he would attack me, or something.
Then, he asked me if I understood...
So, if I answer him; I will be saying another word.
He became belligerent and actually hit me, but I hardly felt it.
After he knocked my hat off my head, I snapped on him and beat him pretty badly between two cars.... The weekend didn't produce enough money for me to think about hopping out of here just yet. Here are some more scenes from it, though...

Ron and Howards new camping spot (Howards tent in rear)

All the catfish you can eat, can be caught from their "front porch."

A Better picture of Jesse (note his "breakaway" tip jar, designed to seperate if someone tries to run off with it; leaving the thief with only the empty top half...the bottom is weighed down with lead...

Even the street preacher has an amplifier, shown here on Canal Street. "Repent, People!!"

A competent blues player with stereo amps and "that fender strat sound," who makes a living playing 5 hours per day in a variety of places

My second favorite living statue, on Canal Street last night...