Weekend Update

Today is Monday;
To recap the last 4 days:

• I Get A Hat
• News From Home; brother has mild heart attack
• Second Largest Tip comes with ultimatum
• Ultimatum fulfilled with new guitar

Friday night, I played the Bourbon Street spot for an hour and made 75 cents.
I was having no trouble getting drinks, though, and I eventually exceeded the limit for the number of drinks one can have in them and retain a positive frame of mind after X amount of people walk by as they play as hard as they can; and only throw them 75 cents.
The reason could have just been that, at that particular hour, people weren't tipping.
Perhaps groups were meeting on business, and maybe throwing a tip to a musician would have a polarizing effect; for example; what if the guy whom the guy is trying to close a deal with can't stand a certain song, perhaps because of his political beliefs; and the other guy tips the guy playing it; it could be a deal breaker...
The people could have been local to the residential area where I play and might consider that their permissiveness in letting me be there in the first place is charity enough, on their part.
There is occasionally such a thing, in busking, as an hour when you only make 75 cents, though, it can be followed by a 50 dollar hour; but, I was starting to have doubts.
I was thinking about the miserable couple of weeks that I had had after losing my hat.
I haven't changed my style of playing, except to have gotten a bit better, and so I started to look at other factors in my financial demise.
I had already determined to change my look and had gone back to the pony tail; but the elastic wasn't holding the hair too well and I wound up with a sheep dog style.
I was dejected and my mind was racing, thinking of alternatives to busking, feeling like truly giving up.
I had just about resolved to do that, as I walked off.

It's Me

A Gift Atop My Head
Then, I went to the corner of Royal Street where Rouses Market was.
Tanya and Dorise were just packing up after playing.
I was in such a foul mood, I made a wide circle around them, not even wanting to stop and spread the venom which I felt full of.
I avoided other musicians also, to avoid the question of:  "How did you do?."
But, Dorise spotted me from afar and hollared my name, adding that they had a gift for me.
She gave me a long hug when I got there, during which I felt like she somehow could feel that I had only made 75 cents in an hour, and was consolling me.
Then, I was lead to the back door of their van, which was opened and through which issued forth one hat. Dorise assured me "It's you!" and gave me the brown felt hat which fit perfectly.
Saturday: News From Home
Gift Appraised
Saturday, I stopped first at the Baptist church on Dauphine Street, where I was given a new pair of socks and a pair of pants which fit, but which are courderoy and grey in color, and I was told by someone, whom apparently has knowledge of hats: "Someone gave you a 100 dollar hat!" when I showed it off.
I told him that the hug that I got was priceless, and he agreed.
[Photo of hat forthcoming; as soon as I can get the "Blogger" application to work on my Android Phone]
Gift Arrived
I called my mom to see if she had gotten the birthday message which I had left on her answering machine the day before.
The recording featured Tanya and Dorise playing "Happy Birthday," softly behind my message, and then my singing of that song.
She had gotten it, as well as the CD from the very same backup group, which arrived on the very day of her birthday.
Disconcerting News
She told me that my younger brother had had a heart attack a couple of months? ago, as well as having had his third daughter born a few weeks ago. There was no damage to his heart, and now he will have to watch his diet. And the baby is healthy.
That made me realise how long I have been out of touch with my family; and I decided not to ask mom to send money; it being her birthday, and with all that is going on up there in Massachusetts.
A Man Doesn't Pass My Hat
I went to Bourbon Street, to play with the new hat on.
I started to get a steady flow of tip money, just like I used to before I lost my other hat. It felt like I was "in uniform" and people responded accordingly.
I made about 12 bucks in the first half hour, used the restroom at The Blacksmith Tavern, and then returned to play some more, after finding an almost full "Jester" drink, sitting on a shelf in the mens room, as if someone had just plumb forgot it there and was probably at the bar ordering another.
Second Largest Tip Ever
I then began to jam on "The Music Never Stopped," by the Grateful Dead.
A man in a bright yellow tee shirt, who turned out to be 45, came and put four dollars in my case, which I hadn't even seeded after returning from the restroom. I hadn't put my plastic piggie bank, purple Mardi Gras beads, nor flashing plastic toy in the case, either.
"There, I just put four dollars in your case," said the man, before sitting down next to me.
"Is that an alright tip; 4 dollars?" he asked. "That's all I've got; but I like how you sound..."
"Sure, especially if the people see that I smoke; it's like they're giving me a pack of butts..."
"Or a couple beers," said the guy, with a shrug which seemed to say "No big deal...nothing wrong with a couple beers."
He was wearing shades through which I could barely see his eyes: It's not going to last long," he added.
In retrospect, he was testing me. He was trying to gauge how far I had sunken financially in life (if 4 dollars would make my eyes light up) and/or to see how appreciative I was, in general.
Then, he asked: "What do you need? I mean to help you advance yourself; because I think your playing is excellent; I came around the corner there and it was refreshing to hear such interesting music...and it's hard for me to believe that you've got such a beat up guitar and a case which is coming apart at the seams"
I told him that I needed to become amplified and that decibels equal dollars in the French Quarter.
"Well, how much is that going to cost?"
Thoughts of Tanya and Dorise' setup flashed through my mind, and I was thinking of close to a thousand dollars in equipment; but then I started to glean that he might be offering to buy me some equipment and I didn't want to blow him away with such a figure (although there are people walking down Bourbon Street who wouldn't blink at that amount...)
"Well, the little Roland Cube amps are about 75 bucks...of course, I would need a cable and a pickup for my guitar....or, I could plug in a microphone and both sing and play through it...."
He reached into his pocket and produced a 50 dollar bill.
Then, moving closer to me, and pulling his shades down so that I was looking him in the eyes, he said something like: "Look, I'm a professor, I teach chemistry at a college. I'm not rich; but I'm sure I make 20 times as much as you do. This is a lot of money, even to me. I want to invest it in your music. I want you to use it to get something that is going to help get ahead. I want people to hear your playing..."
Then, moving even closer, he said: "But I don't like to get F*** over...You need to promise me that you're not going to take this and go get high. When I see you -I'm going to be here all week- the next time I see you; I want you to be in better condition; with an amplifier or a new guitar or something...do you understand?"
"Do you want me to take that money back; It won't be pretty!?!" he said in the way of punctuation.
I didn't want him to take the money; but not as desperately as I would if I hadn't been making some tips already; a desperation which he might have construed as "He needs his fix."
I told him that the dope dealers don't even acknowledge me when I walk past them.
Satisfiied, he produced another 40 dollars, making the tip 94 bucks and the (new) "second largest tip ever" which I have gotten.
He reiterated what he said and threatened to beat me if he saw me with the same raggedy equipment in the next few days....to be continued tomorrow...

The NOLA Scowl

A Wake Up Call
People have told me that I always look so angry in the photos that they see of me (Alex in California)..
They have also said that I need to put on some weight (the Lidgleys of London), or "We need to get you a hat," (Tanya Huang) in reference to my hair "style."
I don't own a mirror.
I use my Dave Matthews Band CD as one, to make sure that I don't have barbeque sauce all over my face before I go to the ferry terminal.
Nobody in New Orleans would tell me if I had barbeque sauce or baked beans, for that matter, all over my face, as I walked the Quarter.
They would think that it was either my hustle: "Excuse me, sir, but you've got something on your face"
"Oh, thank you and, by the way, you wouldn't have a couple bucks you could spare, would you?"
Or they would think that it was my way of self expression, or "flying my freak flag," as the gays where I play on Bourbon Street would say.
Looking at the photo above, which was taken last night makes me wonder.
I remember not feeling angry at all when it was taken. I rather felt glad that my phone was working and I would soon be able to load photos onto this blog right from the street, like above...
Do I have to smile just to not look like I'm frowning; and then smile extra hard to crack a grin?
Now I have to appologize to all the denizens of the city who walk around with what I have called "the NOLA scowl" on their faces.
Maybe they are all just like me....

It is apparent to me that I need to start eating better; get some kind of hair style or a hat, and learn how to smile through the pain and laugh in the rain.
Straight To Bourbon
Yesterday, I left the library after the afternoons rains had stopped.
I was broke, but decided to busk totally sober, rather than to scavenge drinks off of Bourbon Street beforehand.
I still walked down that street though, and ran into a man who introduced himself as "Country," said that he had seen me before at the Rebuild Center, and who offered me some of what he was drinking.

I got to my spot to find that laying on the ground nearby was the remnants of a "Hand Grenade," which is the co-holder of the title of "strongest drink in the world" with the "Jester," of which the same claim is made.
Due to the design of the hand grenade container, it can be laying down and still retain about half of its contents, as was the case with this one, which was still cold.
So, in keeping with my habit of only drinking things with deadly sounding names (Hurricanes, Cobras, Colt 45's, Magnums, Earthquakes, etc) I was able to finish it before playing. If it were a Jester, I guess I would have just left it.
Still, I had a lot of trouble getting motivated.
I was so hungry that I felt light headed.
I had 7 cents.
I struggled through "Golden Slumbers," by The Beatles which produced a tip.
Then I struggled with "Comfortably Numb," by Pink Floyd, which produced a lady with a black Styrofoam container which she said was food from a fine restaurant and which she offered to me with the assurance that "We don't have germs, I promise..."
I already had the cold which I posted about yesterday, and it was making it harder to sing.
Then, as the one hour which I had to play before the curfew was winding down and I was playing "Franklins Tower," by The Grateful Dead and soloing extensively, I got my third and final tip as time expired.
Eat Your Heart Out
I went and got a Hurricane Lager at the Unique Boutique and then sat down to eat what turned out to be very good baked catfish with sweet potatos and green beans, but no germs, across the street from where CBD (which is Christina Friis and Brian Hudson) were playing.
On the way there, I had passed Stoker, who was sitting on his motorcycle and playing his amplified electric blues in the key of D.

In between Stoker and CBD the sounds of the two blended into a cacophony which couldn't have been good for either one of the performers.
Like the old Reeses Peanut Butter Cup commercial; He was getting Howling Wolf in their Adele, and they were getting Adele in his Howling Wolf.
I wanted to mention that to Stoker and suggest that he move down another half block, but I couldn't think of a way to say it without possibly angering him and provoking him to say "Why don't you tell THEM to move down a half block!" ...because they're right on the corner but you're just in an arbitrary spot...
Eating Out Of Their Hands
So, I finished my food from a fine restaurant and then went across the street to talk to Brian and Christina.
While I had been eating, they had played certain songs which people seemed to eat up themselves.
A song by Leonard Cohen called "Hallelujah," I think, and the Adele songs seemed to be like tourist magnets.

Brian With A Silver Man

I saw more than one couple walk past, and then the lady stop and grab the guys arm, turning her head back as if she suddenly recognized the song. The guy would make a motion to continue walking, but the lady would stand pat, or even move closer to the Adele, seeming to say: "Wait, this is that song that I love.." and, finally the guy having no choice but to return to her side, hold her closely and then fetch a bill from his wallet for the tip basket.
I was really impressed with the power of "the right song at the right time done the right way" (to quote Chris the recorder player from Saint Augustine, Florida) in action.
There is a charisma about Christina Friis, who is from Denmark, combined with Brian, who is from Austin, Texas, which is hard to quantify.

Christina With (to be fair) A Silver Man

Tip Jar Envy
Of course, I had tip jar envy, which I had to shake off telling myself "They've got it together, so of course they will be successfull; otherwise, why should I be trying so hard to get it together myself..."
Plus, I had forgotten that Christina had promised (on Facebook) to buy me a beer if I were to show up, and thankfully they had made enough in tips to be able to follow through on that, and I soon was on my way back to Unique Boutique and past Stoker, who said that he was starving...
I then told him that he was probably in a bad spot, that the sound of Christinas voice fading out and being replaced by his blues was just too drastic a contrast, like going from a gorgeous spring day into a dungeon (I didn't say "dungeon" but he saw my point and decided to move down a block) Poor Stoker, starving; and with all the equipment that I would need to become a "player" on Royal Street myself....

Going Under

The past few days; there have been thunderstorms.
The Mississippi River is rising and has already made it impossible to go under the bridge by the terminal to get out of the rain.
It is threatening to encroach upon my sleeping spot under the dock; or to make it impossible to get under there.
Tanya and Dorise came out to make a rare Monday appearance "Because it's Jazzfest," said the former.

"I Wrote That Song!"

It wasn't a busy Monday, and I only played until I made my first couple dollars and then knocked off, not wanting to get run off by the cops on such a slow night.
Those run-offs are like strikes on a batter; not worth accruing unless the amount of money made makes up for it.
Whine Not
Right now, my feet are wet; all my laundry is either wet or dirty.
I might have no place to escape the rain.
My food card is out of money.
I have come down with a cold.
I forgot to go to The Rebuild Center this afternoon to try to get new eye glasses through them; and will have to wait another week.
The Unity people have yet to contact me with any news about any housing that they might be able to arrange for me.
And, I'm broke.
But, I am not too unhappy, outside of the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach which I wake up with pretty frequently; with the words "I'm going to die someday," or something equally depressing, echoing in my head.
I spent time Sunday afternoon, huddled under a little overhang on Royal Street where Tanya and Dorise were performing.
They were in good spirits, maybe because the bass player from The Dave Matthews Band (above) came up to them and said "I wrote that song," after they had done a song called "#41" by his band. He posed for a picture with them.
There was a rather large black man, who seemed to be friends with Dorise hanging around, and soon we were all singing doo wop type songs, with Dorise encouraging me to take the lead part while she played and Tanya joined in, on violin.
The harmonies sounded good.
All the tourists seemed to be waiting out the rain storm, but they were still utilizing the time.
Dorise was playing songs which she wanted Tanya to learn, and was happy to have me singing the melody, so as to acquaint Tanyas ear to them; or to get her to recognize if she had heard them before.
Tanya, for her part, sang a few bars of songs which SHE wanted to learn, in between our songs.
It was kind of cute to hear how tentatively she sang; when she is so commanding on the violin.
It was fun and, even though it didn't put any money in my pocket; it was a valuable experience and it seems like I am one step closer to hooking up with any one of the talented musicians who come around Tanya and Dorise (to sit at the feet of those masters) and, who knows, I might have an up and coming young female* vocalist to work with in the near future.
*they just make better tips than the males, what can I say?
Ocarina Introduced

I broke out the ocarina, which I still have from when Alex in California sent it, on a whim and played it.
I think T&D were impressed with my playing of it (I find it easy) especially when I nailed the whistled part of Dock Of The Bay, by Otis Redding.
Happy Birthday, Mom; Please Send Money...
Tanya is going to mail off one of their latest CDs to my mom in Massachusetts; and it may just arrive in time for her birthday on the 3rd of May, how cool is that?
She has the envelopes already pre-stamped and ready to go at her house, of course she does; that is one professional outfit, there.
Ironically, I am thinking of calling my mom to ask for some money, as her gift is on its way. I will tell her that I am treading water and in danger of going under.
This is not just a figure of speach, as I might find myself sleeping 10 feet away from the Mississippi River tonight, should it storm again...

Music News, Reviews and Recipes

This is a re-working
of a previous post and doesn't even catch me up all the high jinks of the past weekend...
I look forward to putting a new screen on my laptop, so I can go back to spending 5 hours daily on it; instead of the 2 hours that I get here at the library...

Saturday through Monday was pretty much spent either hanging out or jamming with the likes of Tanya and Dorise, Brian Hudson and Christina Friis, and a few other un-noteworthies...
The Jazz Fest is in town.

Billy Joel is going to pretty much be the "big shot."
88% of the population has a Billy Joel song that they like....
Funny enough, I myself have Billy Joel songs that I like; but that is not what I think about when I think about his music.
I think about the fact that he is one of the few artists who has songs that I hate.
I can tell if a song is "terrible" like the band was just learning it and they had to stop in the middle because something went terribly wrong...
Those songs I don't hate.
The Reason I Hate The Billy Joel Songs That I Hate
The reason is that those songs all, with the exception of one, come from what I will call Billys "Christy Brinkley" era.
He is giving guys dating tips.
"Tell Her About It," guys (tell her all your crazy dreams; give her every reason to accept that you're for real) -that's how you keep a supermodel purring...
Thanks, Bill; the next time I am involved with the likes of Christy, I'll remember to tell her all about it...
Unless it's a tender moment. In that case, I'll leave a tender moment alone.
He knows how supermodels think; he is doing us a public service...I guess he got tired of the "How do you do it?" question about his then wife; and decided to answer it once and for all; with his lame lyrics...

Don't go to extremes, either, guys...
And I'll leave you with another caution from the guy who is set to go onstage in about 2 hours, here in New Orleans at the Jazz Fest.
Sometimes the time just isn't right to tell the girl a comical line; just to keep the moment light...
No wise-cracks at the moment of penetration right, Bill?
Anyways...I have digressed; but I hate those songs.
Hummus Among Us
I got up this morning and I layed there for a little while and contemplated the goat cheese which I had eaten the previous night.
I had chosen it based upon its color; probably seeing it as being similar in hue to feta cheese, which I enjoy (in moderation) immensely.
So I wound up subconciously grabbing a lump of goat cheese as the main course of what was to become a splended meal, through the providence of the people who were and have  been giving away free samples of hummus.
There's Hummus Among Us
These people don't care that they already gave you 2 just 10 minutes ago; I think they are just trying to give away all of their hummus samples and then just "chill."
I came past them; near the ferry terminal across the street from Harrahs Casino which is where they frequent; and I said "I've been living on hummus for 3 days and I feel great!" and I gesticulated like one who has had a religious awakening, or something.
And, they still said "Well, here's two more hummus samples," and delivered!
To make a long story short; I stumbled upon, through this particular serendipity, one of the greatest recipes to ever come out of NOLA!
It is what I will call my "Goat Cheese And Hummus Excursion".
The Recipe

Worlds Largest Batch Of Hummus, Jerusalem

The recipe is pretty simple: Peel the Seran Wrap off of the goat cheese and, using a plastic knife, scoop up some goat cheese and then scoop up some hummus, which will stick to the goat cheese because the goat cheese is thicker. Then, just eat it*
*salt and pepper and sesame oil and hot sauce optional; ginger might be good....
So, Now, I prepare to go out in the street and play music.
Last Night
Last night was pretty much a ridiculous farce. I wound up getting 20 bucks from a guy who was sympathetic to me being run off by the cops at 8:08 p.m.
I totally had forgotten time (to me, it was just "Old Times," if you get my drift) and was playing at the accursed hour, instead of having waited for that accursed hour and the horse cops to pass through, clearing the streets of all performers before permanently disappearing into the night.
I had been talking to Barnaby, who was in great spirits due to his new job and who was in posession of great spirits in the form of Beefeaters gin; and who was pretty liberal in offering me some as he sat on one of his three steps and chatted to a woman who was sitting on one of the other three.
The woman said she had recognized me and that she had thought at the time that my music was good enough so that I shouldn't have need the "the sign" which I had.
Interesting things about signs: a rare amount of people are offended by them.
What's My Sign?
For the most part though, I would say that my sign which says:

Free Music 40% - 60% Off
Tonight Only
All Songs Must Go"

has been a sign which has made me money.
The one that said:

"Street Musician Stimulus Package (with an arrow pointing to the case)"

did pretty well, taking into account the number of people who said "I like that sign" when dropping money in the case.
I think my music is generic enough at times (a lot of them actually) where people  (they just step out of a bar where a guy is doing a pretty good Dylan song; and they walk past me on the sidewalk doing the same; and the sign catches their eye more than the music;
And with this in mind and my computer time dwindling: This is my latest sign:

"I don't know anything at all about jazz but I can fake it"

People have actually put 20 dollar bills on top of the sign which sat on the sidewalk, instead of in the guitar case; which to me, clearly states "I like your sign." (better than my music, even ?!?)

Hats Off To The Weekend

• Hat Lost
• Weekend Spent Listening
• i-find i-phone

I lost my hat about a week ago.
Opinion has been divided about my new hatless apsect.
Tanya Huang (left) has said "We need to get you a new hat," after looking at me with a frown.
Dorise (right) has said "Your natural hair looks good; you don't need to cover it with a hat." and that Tanyas opinion was just "the opinion of one person." ...well, so is yours, Dorise...
Paul (of Doreens Jazz Band) has said that the hatless look is good for when I am just walking around, but that a hat helps tips when performing.
And I would like to post pictures of my new hatless look and probably would be able to if I hadn't sold the i-phone last night...
i-am an idiot?
I found an i-phone laying on Royal Street last (Tuesday) night.
I picked it up and stood in the area for a minute to see if someone came and asked "Did anyone find an i-phone laying in the street?"
Nobody did, and an investigation of the phone revealed it to be brand new without even pictures or music or messages on it.
I approched one of the street sweepers, a Spanish lady whom I have spoken with a few times in the past, to ask her opinion of what I should do with the phone -how much could I sell it for, etc. -
Her eyes lit up when she saw it and she just about grabbed it from me and seemed to think that I was turning it in to her -her being a street sweeper, and maybe myself thinking that it is part of their job to put things that they find while sweeping into a "lost and found" box or something -
"You give to me?" she asked.
I told her that I had found it; but that I was going to try to find the owner and contact him/her. Maybe they would give me a reward; or maybe I would negotiate a reward before even agreeing to meet them somewhere and return the thing.
I went to show her that the phone was alive and well and I turned it on; only to have the battery die at that exact moment and the screen go blank.
"No, is broken, this is trash; I give you 5 dollars," said the Spanish street sweeper whom I had been friendly with a few times.
...if it is "trash and no good;" why are you offering 5 dollars?...I thought.
Then I thought that she was playing me for a fool and thought that I was the class of person to jump at 5 dollars; seeing not the forest for the 5 beers.
I told her that the phone had just been working, and I had seen it with my own eyes, but that the battery was down to one bar and it had just quit.
I suggested that I would charge the thing up and show it to her again the next day.
"I'll buy it from you!" said a guy with a crew cut; who offered 10 dollars.
I hesitated and he upped his offer to 20 bucks; which is what I sold the thing for; thinking that he was going to have to pay to have it unlocked and then pay for activation etc; and that the actual phone itself was pretty worthless otherwise.
I was also trying to show the Spanish lady that if she had given me any "reasonable" offer on the $350 phone, rather than take me for a fool, then she could have gotten it for pennies on the dollar.
Well, word soon spread that I (had) had an i-phone for sale and I was approached by at least a couple other Spanish guys who work at Hotel Montleone, and who it seems are in communication with every other Spanish person in the Quarter.
"You have i-phone for sale?"
"No, I sold it."
"To the lady?"
"No, she didn't believe me when I told her that it worked fine; she offered me 5 bucks." I said.
They walked off; clearly disappointed.
I guess those phones are prized by people; perhaps the same way that certain brands of sneakers are.
I got back to the camp and was informed by Rob that he would have given me 60 dollars for it.
I was kicking myself all morning over it. I could have kept it myself and used it for loading pictures to this blog, even.
But then I heard that there is a store on Broad Street which pays only 25 dollars for i-phones and that many people chose sell the ones that they find on the street for that; because if the phone is reported stolen then the person holding it faces a considerable jail sentence; due to the price ($350) of the new phone constituting more than a civil charge.
Thunderstorm Today
There is supposed to be a thunderstorm today and I can hear it rumbling outside already.
.

And so, I left the library at around 4 p.m.
I had 44 cents on me.
I walked the sidestreets around Bourbon, looking for a drink to put me in the mood to play.
There was a time when I would have sat down and began to play music for my first beer of the night, but I have actually found it to be quicker to walk the perimeter of Bourbon Street looking for drinks which people sipped then discarded (12 dollars down the drain...)within the view of the first person like myself to come along.
I soon found a big cup of what tasted and looked like (red) some mixologists attempt to make a "Hurricane." This particular one was too heavy on the tequila, which was just fine with me but probably repulsed the faint of heart person who ditched it.
This curcuitous route took me past certain street performers on Royal Street, such as Brian Hudson and Christina Friis; and another guy further down, who looks to be about 49 years old (and a little burned out,) and who plays an acoustic guitar through an amp and sings things like James Taylor and other recognizable stuff.
He is an alright musician but, in my opinion, he doesn't bring any of his own artistry into the performance of the songs.
He doesn't seem bumbed out when singing "Fire And Rain," for example; and he doesn't really emanate the kind of reverance that one might hold for a friendship when singing "You've Got A Friend."
His message seems to be: "Hey, I put on new strings and have fresh batteries in my amp, and I'm sure you know these songs; so come on with the tips, dammit!"
I Get My First Beer
I walked all the way to the far end of the Quarter, to a spot where I know that some homeless person, probably a pan handler, sleeps.
I say, probably a pan handler, because the person tends to leave a lot of change scattered amongst the gravel by the side of the trolley tracks where he/she sleeps.
Sure enough, I found about 60 cents on the ground.
I started to make my way towards the Unique Boutique, thinking that I would have my first beer and then continue to Canal Street to play.
Royal Street just seemed like an uphill battle, and the thought of trying to take my place amongst the other performers and out perform them or otherwise divert the attention of people was not appealing to me.
I got a Hurricane Lager and then went to the Rubenstiens spot and played for about an hour.
One guy stood and listened for a while and, when I was packing my stuff up after only making a handful of change, he came over and handed me 20 bucks and told me that he appreciated my talent and all the hard work that surely must have gone into the honing of my technique.
We talked for a while and then he offered to buy me a beer.
We went to the Unique Boutique, by way of another curcuitous route which took us around a block which had been roped off by the police because a mysterious backpack had been left somewhere and an anonymous phone call made, claiming that the backpack was going to explode and turn Canal Street into another Boylston Street (the site of the bombings in Boston).
The guy bought me a whole 6 pack of my favorite brew; and told me that he was going to get me some new strings and would give them to me tonight, at one of the spots which I told him that I was likely to be at.
I started for the ferry terminal, sipping one of the beers and carrying the other 5.
It actually crossed my mind to find someone who seemed desperate for a beer and give him one; but then I thought that "desperate" just means too lazy to do anything to add value to the lives of others; and that the dynamic was likely to turn towards him saying something like "Give me another one; you've got a whole 6 pack!" or some other thing which might cause me to come upside his head with the bottle I was holding...
I missed the last ferry by minutes and headed for the dock to sleep.
This was fortuitous, as, I soon began to hear the sound of rainfall on the river.
I thought about Howard across the river saying "Oh, wow!," as if he thought it could never rain here, and grabbing his stuff up to run with it for the shelter of the ferry terminal. (there is a perfectly good bridge right by the terminal; in fact the very one which cars traverse to board the ferry, which I need to point out to Howard; it has been right there in front of our noses the whole time; but I only recently jumped the low wall of the levy and investigated it and found it to be dry; even after a rainstorm).

Month Flying By

The month is flying by.
I am ready to officially get rid of the extra blanket; which allowed me to sleep in temperatures below freezing.

"Let's Get You Out Of The Elements..."

Homeless Court
Let's Ride This Out
I went to Homeless Court Wednesday,  more than 2 hours late.
They had slipped my mind; that group which was going to try to find me free housing; when I went to sleep Tuesday night; and, consequently I didn't set my alarm.
They extended me one more month, to give me a chance to interview with the nice councelors, which I did today.
The (female) City Attorney/ procecutor, said "I don't think we can help him," at first; but then after I had talked to a Unity worker and set up an appointment, she said "Let's ride this out and see if we can get him housing."
The Persisting Question
The Unity people are in favor of people putting down roots.
The whole city of New Orleans is still depleted from Hurricane Katrina, after which half the population uprooted.
But; my councelor put the burden on me to decide weather or not I want to put down roots here in New Orleans.
He said that it sounded like I have had a very interesting 12 years of homelessness and that I have seen a lot of cool places and he suggested that I might become bored with any one place in particular....
"Just something to think about," he said and then told me that he would talk to me again before my next court date. He will visit me in the stand of cedar trees in Algiers; which I drew him a map to. (It just might be part of the application process that he verify that I indeed sleep outdoors...)
And that is about it, for now..

Pan Handle With Care

Here is my latest way of "panhandling," using as an illustration something that happened this morning; which I have just stumbled upon, blindly..


I'm walking along Iberville Street; there is a black man coming down the sidewalk in front of me and a tourist behind me....
the black guy is holding a cold can of Cobra Malt Liquour...he asks me for a cigarette...

I tell him "last one" ...he asks the tourist behind me for a cigarette...the tourist doesn't smoke....

I turn around to the tourist (and I suppose engage in my "hustle") saying with a grin: "Gee, I guess he had been walking around asking everybody for a buck for a Cobra; and now he is working on a cigarette...."

Then, I added: "I know when I'm flat broke, I take that as a cue to give up my distructive habits for a while..."

"Thank you!," agrees the tourist and hands me 20 bucks...

So, I guess when I'm flat broke in NOLA there is still no noticable interuption of the practice of destructive habits....
3 Dollars
Last night, I sat and played on Bourbon Street across from Barnaby's for just about the hour leading up to the 8 o' clock curfew.
Yet another random person came out of one of the condos on Sunday night; and read me the riot act about the 8 o' clock curfew.
She was kind of a "butch" type female (dressed masculinely and with short cropped hair) and I really got the feeling that she wanted me to grovel and maybe say something like "Please, this is my only way to make a living; I'm hungry.."
She had disappeared, then re-emerged after I had played for about a half hour and said: "Ok, you can play until 9 p.m., No later!!"
I guess she was giving me a break; I left anyways

Yup

And so, it is Monday morning.
The weekend, I spent a lot of time stopping to visit with other street performers.
I realise that "busking" for me has to take upon it a certain complexion; and it is truly the person who feels sorry for a musician in the sense of: "...Well, why are you playing way down here?....oh, I guess so people can hear you, eh?" that is going to be my bread and butter until some such point that I put together some kind of high wattage spectacle fit for Royal Street; or become a one-man-band.
Friday night, I ran into Brad and was able to give him the 5 dollars which I have owed him since the night, about a week ago; that we played together and made 10 bucks in about an hour; but then, I left to go find a certain Jamaican, whom I never did find and then, I consequently decided not to walk all the way back to the "red door" spot on Decatur; where Brad was going to move to...
My debts paid, Brad and I played for at least a good hour; stubbornly.
I say "stubbornly" because; for each of our own reasons; we played all spontaneously composed improvisation; with myself following Brads home-spun guitar chords which are evolved from his random way of tuning the instrument.
We split about 8 dollars; which wasn't bad because we basically had 99% of the people walk past; and one guy out of the crowd who hung around and listened for a while and threw us 5 bucks and told us that our music was awesome...
He could have been tripping on acid or a big fan of Sonic Youth (who tuned their guitars to whatever notes they felt like tuning them to and had to switch guitars in between almost every song to the guitar that the song was written on).
I seem to be waking up with around 10 bucks in my pocket every morning lately; just treading water.
At the same time; I have Homeless Court coming up on Wednesday (17th), and will have to see what kind of "help" they may offer me.
Meanwhile, Sunday night, Tanya and Dorise had a crowd of about 100 people around them on Royal Street when I walked up.
There was a young lady singing; who had a very good voice and perfect intonation.
The crowd was overly enthusiastic about the young lady; who was taking the spotlight away from Tanyas violin for that moment in time. I had the suspicion the the girl; who looked to be a mixture of exotic island blood, ir maybe Brazilian, had gone on Twitter and tweeted all of her friends to show up on Royal Street and cheer for her.
It just didn't seem like she had attracted random people to stand around like that.
As I stood there, myself, behind  a wall of people; I actually saw and heard tourists stopping there because there was already a crowd and they sensed that something fantastic was going on. "Nothing draws a crowd like a crowd..."
There was a basket passed through the crowd which was designated as being for tips for the young singer which was seperate from the baskets for Tanya and Dorise...
So, I was thinking that; all the money that went into the tip baskets for the hour that the girl sang was going to Tanya and Dorise; and then people who had already donated to the whole group, perhaps thinking that it was to be divided amongst them; were passed the basket which was just for the girl; and might have had the feeling that they were being "double dipped."
I had the feeling that it was just the razor sharp business acumen of Tanya and Dorise which had assured them of making just as much if not more while the girl was singing and then they had nothing to lose through the instrument of the supplemental basket...
I have pretty much learned by now that Tanya makes as much money as a practicing physician in an average city.
I Wonder
Watching her drive up Sunday morning on a scooter with her amplifier in the basket; wearing designer clothing and sunglasses like she stepped off the pages of Vogue; I realised that the black guy who had been hanging out there; holding the spot for them was right when he said "You're talking to a rich lady, did you know that?"
Tanya opened a little purse which was crammed with bills and gave the guy 5 dollars for having watched the spot for a couple hours. I wasn't trying to stare, but 100 dollar bills kind of grab the attention, based upon their unique shade of color or something...
It crossed my mind that Tanya is probably "laughing all the way to the bank" and probably feels kind of patronising of the people who are so easily blown away by her playing such things as "Freebird," on the violin.
I wonder if she goes home and locks the door; disconects her phone; put on classical music; logs on to a website and invests her money in the Chinese stock market; and gives her smile a rest for the night....

Beach Music

When I left the library yesterday afternoon, I didn't have time to make it to either of the music stores before they closed.

I drifted in the direction of Canal Street, where I played for about a half hour, made nothing, and then was told by a cop that I couldn't play there. It was the cop that seems to only work Monday through Thursday.
I have found a copy of the book which I want to give to Tanya Huang.
It was shortly after I had met her almost 2 years ago; that she complimented me upon my vocabulary and asked me if I would recommend a book to her.
Initially, I had mentioned "Great Expectations," by Charles Dickens, but she wrinkled her nose and told me that she had had to read it in high school; and didn't enjoy the experience.
Now, 2 years later, I had determined that Beach Music, by Pat Conroy is the perfect book, and I have found a copy, only, it is missing its front cover. (It might be a "stripped" book, for which neither the publisher nor the writer has received compensation, but, I suppose if Tanya really likes it, she could mail Mr. Conroy a check...).
I have drawn a picture of Tanya and made a substitute cover for the book, with the words "Tanyas personal copy" appended to the title; and I just need to tape it on there and hopefully give her the book tomorrow.
Laundry Day
It is Thursday and it rained cats and dogs earlier this afternoon.
Howard was up and out of the stand of trees at about 6 a.m, his usual time. It had begun sprinkling then, but stopped long enough to allow me to sleep until almost noon.
I bagged up all my laundry, thinking that I will go to The Clothes Spin and wash and dry them after I leave here; but now am starting to feel cheap and that I might try to get them done for free at The Rebuild Center tomorrow, rather than spend about 7 bucks doing them today...
Samsung To Be Hidden
The entire screen is out on the Samsung laptop, meaning that it is useless except as a means to charge up my mp3 player. And also meaning that I need to wrap it in a water-tight bag and hide it very well somewhere, until such a time that I have the money to get another screen on E-Bay...

The Latest New Spot

Monday night, I walked the Quarter; seeing cops giving tickets to street musicians; and hearing street musicians warn me that the cops were "on a rampage," as one put it, and I thought about playing on Canal Street; but saw the whole street lined by cops.
They were there so that the people associated with the women's college basketball championship would be very safe when, after the game was over, they sallied forth in the direcition of either Bourbon Street, the casino, or both.
To the credit of the fans of both UConn and Louisville; they didn't riot after the game.
I decided not to play, deciding that the little bit of money in my pocket gave me a pass; and that certain segments of society tend to be over protective of college students; the girls especially; and so I used the bit of cash that I had saved as a "get out of jeopardy" card; had a few drinks and then went across the river.

Tuesday Night
As I had blogged about that afternoon, I was in very little mood to play music; and I attributed it to fatigue.
Somehow the one night of interrupted sleep last week factored in.
I went, anyway, and walked Royal Street and immediately got the sense that trade was slow in live music.
The final game of the womens college basketball championship was in progress; from which would flow a veritable tsunami of fans after the champion was crowned.
Lance
By, the way; before last night, I had only met two people named Lance. One was pretty cool, the second one was an ignorant jerk.
Last night, the universe in its infinite wisdom proffered  a tie breaker, I guess.
I was sitting on Canal Street with my guitar still in the case and propped next to me and thinking hard about what I would be playing if I even felt like doing it...
The tsunami hadn't started yet; there were just sporatic groups of ingoring, scowling and jabbering in foreign tongues, people walking past.
I was sipping on a Hurricane Lager; and it felt like flipping a coin.
Maybe the Hurricane would put me in the mood to take out the guitar and play; or maybe not.
Maybe saving the strings for a time when there was a "better" crowd would be prudent...
My Second Largest Tip Ever
Then, a guy in his twenties with a shaven head came by and was standing not too far from me and talking on his (whatever it was that took the picture above) phone.
I normally would have gotten the guitar out, just on the chance that he was hanging out for a moment to see if I was about to start playing. If it weren't for the added deterent of my ragged guitar case; which I have to bind with bungee cords and rope, and which it sometimes takes up to a minute to unknot, I probably would have took it out and at least plucked something rudimentary.
But, alas, such was the cynical state of mind that I was in; that I just sat there; waiting for inspiration to strike; or not...
The guy, whose name turned out to be Lance, was very curious about my existence and had a lot of intelligently worded questions about the logistics of being homeless; and how I basically managed it in the French Quarter.
I was able to give him a synopsis of what should be an upcoming book of mine: "Homelessness For Dummies" and made it a point to point out that the French Quarter has been about the most challenging environment to be homeless in.
To make a long story short; he wasn't  trying to "save" me; which is something that crossed my mind. This isn't to say that he wasn't a very good and spiritual man.
He was in town for a convention of some sorts. He works for some kind of group which focuses on something like the connection between the mind and the physiology.
I spent a lot of time discussing the "rules" for being homeless as I have divined them througout the past 12 years.
I think he really had a thirst for knowledge about the lifestyle; and encountering myself must have been a boon; since I can draw upon so many years of "experience," and point him to this very blog; for more insights and anecdotes.

He gave me the second biggest tip that I have made since I began busking.

I Own The Missing Bike
I got back across the river and paid Rob the balance of what I owed him for the bike which I had taken possession of and which was stolen an hour later off Bourbon Street.
Where To Invest
I am having an inner debate over how to spend that money in a way which will have it invested most wisely.
The decision to pay Rob off first came out of the fact that we had made a deal and I took the bike and was going to make payments on it. It wasn't Robs fault that it was soon thereafter stolen. I didn't want him to suspect foul play; and, the guy sleeps 25 feet away from me and I think that, making things right at home (much like charity) "starts at home..."
Even though, had I went and gotten an amplifier and let Rob wait another week; I may have been able to pay him several times over...
If I get new clothes, I will probably see a small increase in the money that I make.
If I get a new guitar case; I will be able to take my instrument out with a quick zip and play songs for those random tourists one might encounter who might say "Let's hear something,"
If I get another harmonica and neck brace, I will increase my income 50% (I have found), but I will be playing it in ragged clothes and still carrying my guitar around half falling out of its case...(but not for long...)
I will be patient and call both music stores in town asking about things like used cases and such....