The Sparkle Of Your China

Mention of "Tanya Huang" Gets Chinese Attention (again)

• Skeezers Try To Strike
• Tip Drought Continues

Tuesday (yesterday) afternoon, I had 2 dollars left of the 6 which I had gotten Monday night.
I decided to just cash them in for 2 Hurricane Lagers.
I drank them and then walked the length of Royal Street, seeing the two musicians (right, or below, depending upon your browser).
They were from North California, and had recently busked at Laguna Beach, where they made 400 dollars in 3 hours (wow...Tanya and Dorise kind of money!).
They had made one dollar.
They were playing right down the street from a cantankerous geezer who hadn't made anything playing blues songs (like Hesitation Blues, by Reverend Gary Davis Jr.) on a resonator guitar.
He (the geezer) is the same guy who had played all day and not made anything about a week ago when I saw him.

The change in "energy level" was palpable as I left the scowling, whiskey drinking blues guy, who seems to project the attitude of "This is classic old-time blues music; you uncultured morons!" and came upon the guys to the left.
They had a video camera set up on a trash can (just out of sight) and were playing more to it than to the few stragglers who were out.
"We don't really care about the money; we just want to get our songs out there," one of them told me; and closed his case, trapping the one dollar bill inside, as if to illustrate the point...
They asked me about other busking spots and I referred them to Decatur Street where they could get their songs out there to more people. And, since they didn't care about money, Decatur at that hour was a doubly good choice...
400 dollars in 3 hours at Laguna Beach, California, eh? hmmm.....I thought, as I headed towards my Bourbon Street spot.
The guitarist was about at my own level of proficiency; a little below (but has about 25 years to catch up) -all rhythm; no lead.
It was hard for me to assess the banjo guy, because I don't play one, but he told me "We don't play bluegrass. We thought that we did, but that was before we went to Oklahoma City and heard some guys that can really play bluegrass!"
I guess I learned that it's not a good thing to become a bitter, scowling, barking old coot, stubbornly clinging to a musical genre which just isn't the "cup of tea" of the people who shop at Rouses Market and are accustomed to hearing Doreens Jazz Band or Tanya and Dorise at that very location.
And, I learned that it is a good thing to play as if you are shooting a video that you plan to show to all of your friends...
Skeezer Attack
I got to my playing spot and was just unpacking when up rode a black guy on a bike who told me "They don't want you playing here anymore, they told me."
Well, at that very second out stepped Lilly from out of one of her gates.
"I own this building, he can play here all he wants!"
And then, there ensued a verbal volley in which the black man was like someone with a knife at a gunfight, against the fury which Lilly unleashed ("Who are you calling a bitch? Get off my property or you'll really see a bitch!" etc, etc).
The guy rode off.
Later that night, I saw him in the general company of one of the dog skeezers; perhaps reporting the news of his failure to have run me off my spot.
The spitting dog skeezer was nowhere to be seen; and I wondered about that

A Strange Monday

• I Lose My Capo
• I Attempt To Play Sober
• A Dog Skeezer Spits In My Face

Last night, I started towards my busking spot; totally sober.
I stopped to get a Monster Energy drink off of my food card; because I was totally broke as well as totally sober.
It occurred to me that I have a compulsion to feed some kind of addiction which the mere thought of busking triggers.

Coming Soon: A dog skeezer (left) spits in my face in front of Rouses Market!!

I had no tobbacco.
I sat down and drank the Monster and saw that Bourbon Street was pretty deserted; though it never is empty.

Tanya Huangs words came to me:

"When it's slow; it's a good time to practice and learn new songs..."

So, I took out my guitar and started to work on about 5 songs that I had been "kicking around," as possible additions to my repertoire.

• Ruby Tuesday, by The Rolling Stones
• Time Is On My Side, by The Rolling Stones
• Glory Days, by Bruce Springstein
• Terrapin Station, by The Grateful Dead

I was half halfheartedly playing through "Time Is On My Side," when a tourist put a dollar on top of my case.
I hadn't even set up my signs or toys or even opened the case to put my piggy bank in it.
It occurred to me that he might have given me the dollar regardless of what I was playing.
"Thank you, I'm just practicing..." I said.
"Your welcome, that's OK..."
Then, it felt like the one dollar was like a test to see if I would immediately run to the store for my first beer with it.
I didn't, because I wanted to continue the experiment; but the "enthusiasm" was slow to come.
Then a man, who might be a local came by.
I had stopped playing and was just staring at the sky thinking "Why do have no ambition?"
He put 5 bucks in with the dollar and said "You need to play more..." and walked off.
I took that as a sign that he might have known what I was going through -it could have been that the can of Hurricane High Gravity Lager was conspicuous by its absence.
Maybe he walks past me all the time and has on occasion thought; that guy seems like he is really "feeling it," but I think he's just feeling the Hurricane High Gravity Lager...
The piano player in Lafitts Blacksmith Shop Tavern started to play; signalling that it was about 9 o' clock and so I knocked off to get my first beer, after playing for almost two hours and making 6 dollars.
I was happy about the 6 dollars, but happier that I had received encouragement from a local resident and happier that I had discovered that I could learn and retain new material "on the job" and on only Monster Energy.
I had "Crazy Fingers," by the Grateful Dead almost down, as well as "Drunk On The Moon," by Tom Waits.
Monday night football was on in a bar; outside of which I stood and drank the 24 oz. Hurricane; and watched.
Then, I grabbed one more small can and went back to the spot and played.
Barnaby arrived at his door and went inside without his usual greeting and wave.
Small slights like that make me wonder.
Lilly never materialized.
It was soon almost chicken bag time.
I got to Rouses around midnight.
There was only one guy waiting for the chicken bag.
Treva, one of the cashiers, gave me a hug and told me that there was going to be a chicken bag and that she was going to hand it directly to me and added "Don't let them grab it from you, Daniel!" (She pronounces it Day-nyell).
Well, soon the dog skeezers shown above arrived.
They weren't interested in any chicken bag; as they had food galore and were on their way to "the hotel," I overheard.
I thought about their sign which they sit with for hours; as they stuff their faces with food and swill down alcohol and feed their dogs.
It reads "Homeless, Hungry, and Broke."
They cover themselves legally by making childish drawings on any kind of cardboard that they can find; and advertising it as "Cheap Ass Street Art For Sale," making them art vendors; not beggars...not at all.
Well, I was standing near them when one of them asked the other "Are you going straight to the hotel, or are you going to hit the liquor store?"
I muttered; half to myself "Gee, I guess dog skeezing is a booming business."
One of them must have pretty good ears; or maybe I am in the habit of speaking loudly from being around Howard so much, but she was instantly in my face.
"What did you call us...dog skeezers?!?"
"What's that?" asked the one who was on her way to the hotel which would be the only one in the direction that she set off in -the one right on Royal Street; the expensive one (and they allow dogs?).
"Are you implying that I exploit my dog for money; just because I'm homeless and I don't want to leave him in an abandoned building so I take him with me?!?"
"Here's 20 dollars; make sure that dog gets some of that whiskey, now." I said in a mocking tone.
She spit in my face.
I saw a very short video; less than a second; play in my head.
It was of my right hand slapping her face with rattlesnake quickness.
I could feel it as if I had already done it; like when Ben Hogan; the great golfer said "When my game is on; I feel a sensation like I have already hit the ball; before I even swing the club..."
I looked at her and all I could think was: "I've never hit a woman in my life; I just don't" Even if the "woman" is a butch-dyke-lesbian type (see photo and "judge" for yourself) who spits.
She spat in my face again; and her dog began to growl.
All I could think of was to say "Get your HIV positive shit away from me!"
That gave me an idea.
I remember hearing that; if an HIV positive person spits at anyone then it is considered "attempted murder," through certain interpretations of The Law.
I opened the front door of Rouses Market and said to the cop who had been standing 15 feet away the whole time, but who had not seen the incident. "Officer, this lady just spit in my face; twice. The one with the dog.
The skeezer was already on her way down the sidewalk with her gormet food and her dog on her way to the swank hotel.


To Be Continued.

Lost Weekend

It is Monday morning; the aftermath of a pretty lousy weekend.
I feel the kind of depression which usually spurs me to make some kind of positive change. Thank God for depression.
How Did I Get Here?
I woke up at around 9 a.m., at the sign spot; after I had gotten about 8 hours of sleep.
I had 25 cents in my pocket.
I thought about how I should find a spot to busk during the day.
It cannot be on Royal Street; as I have heard too many  non amplified players (excuse the pun) complain about making very little or "I've made nothing; nada; zilch and I've been here since 9 in the morning!"
Then, there is the guy on Royal Street who sings loudly and is amplified through a little Roland Micro Cube with the reverb and the chorus effects pegged; who claims to make $1,000 per week.
Tourists on Royal Street seem to expect a "production," and many will glance at a musician and see that "it's just a guy with a guitar; big deal" and walk on...
Food, Exercise,  
There was a half eaten container of sushi next to me.
Ants were eating the other half. They must have been the ones that hadn't gotten any of my right arm that morning.
There was a container of "bbq pork rib sandwhiches" and another of sushi, up in the tree above my head; which I had been too full to eat.
I feel like I am regaining some of the weight which I felt like I had lost, during the 11 days that my food card ran out...
It wasn't that I didn't have food during that time (in a way I had more food because; when it is free, you grab more) but it was as if the food was just going through me without being metabolized.
This is from the combination of eating with fingers and drinking cheap malt liquor which makes things go through you, as if you were a goose.
I miss the spot on the other side of the river for its .75 mile track along the levee; and its cedar limbs which are good for doing pull ups and ab crunches.
I can do push ups at my present spot; but that doesn't yield the same effect as a jog along the levee to the store for an energy drink and then a couple sets at the cedar gym.
I think my friends, Tanya and Dorise see me as being in decline, as I had worn the same torn jeans the whole weekend; and well; have been losing weight; and was in a foul mood most of the time.
By the time I was ready to go to the Barnaby spot each of the nights; I was in a moody drunken state and had to get the "I don't want to entertain these bastards" out of my head and try to replace it with "Once I start playing everything will be alright..."

Chicken Bag No More
Friday night; I played at the Bourbon Street spot; and wound up making about 35 bucks.
I took a break a little before 1 a.m. to go by Rouses Market; to see about the chicken bag.
There were about 20 people sitting around waiting on the chicken bag.
Seeing the potential for "a gang fight," (they later told me) the staff of Rouses never brought the chicken bag out; and, one by one the 20 people gave up upon it and skulked off.
I went back to my spot and made 20 of the 35 dollars between 1:30 and 3:00 in the morning.
Day Playing Spot
The next couple of nights were sabotaged by my having spent most of the day walking around talking to the other musicians on Royal Street and in Jackson Square and drinking.
I was on my way to go start playing on Saturday night as Tanya and Dorise were packing up to leave after having played for 12 hours.
Their tip baskets were almost full to the top.

Dave and Roselyn

"12 hours?!?" I said.
"Cake," said Dorise. "A piece of cake..."
Dorise had been only consuming water that day; as part of some kind of fast, I think; and she is thus a role model for me.
If I were to take up her habits; or rather, drop my own, I would greatly improve my chances of making it here. 
D'uh...do you think?
When someone throws money in their baskets; they don't think "...There's another beer, and a sack of weed..."
They think: there's some more security with a roof over my head and the chance to truly relax on my days off...
I've told them that I usually make most of my money after midnight at my spot; and so there was no sarcasm intended when Tanya said: "I hope you make a lot of money out there!"
But I couldn't help re-assessing just what "a lot of money" is, after seeing their baskets.
A guy who was playing a banjo on Royal Street during the day was surprised to hear that one could make 80 dollars in a night; after I told him that I had averaged that, during the busy season.
He had been playing for about an hour and had made 4 dollars.
He was sandwiched in between Tanya and Dorise (who were making 4 dollars every 20 seconds) one way; and Dave and Roselyn (who do OK) the other way.
Sunday Debacle
Sunday all hell broke loose.
I didn't go to church in the morning; which makes 3 Sundays in a row.
All 3 ended poorly.
The Saints were playing at the Superdome; which had always given me the opportunity to make around 30 to 35 bucks.
They only have 8 home games; or 8 opportunities.
I actually got there too late.
It was a short game, time-wise and the place was empty

This Day In History

On This Day
1 Year Ago:

 I was in jail in Baton Rouge, serving 45 days for "disturbing the peace/public intoxication" after I had admitted to a cop that I had had a 24 oz beer after he asked me "Have you been drinking? It smells like it.."

The streets of that city were swept clean of all homeless types the second week in August in anticipation of the LSU homecoming game and the arrival of all the alumnus and fans from both schools.
One guy was serving 45 days for littering, after he opened a pack of cigarettes and then threw the cellophane on the ground.

  2 Years Ago:  

I had just arrived in New Orleans for the first time in my life and I had just met Sue, the Colombian lady; who would become my on-again, off-again girlfriend during the next year; for the first time in my life.

We had passed a couple nights in the marble stairwell of the Marriot Hotel, sleeping on (separate) pieces of cardboard, while a mean tropical storm raged outside.

I want to say that it was tropical storm "Lee."

Sue had her cat, Cookie with her in a cat carrier the size of a mailbox...

I had only been in New Orleans a couple of weeks at that point and the tropical storm put me out of work busking for a few days.
A guy at Starbucks let me use his laptop to e-mail my mother; asking her to send money.
Since I was in a new and strange (and reputedly dangerous) city; and had a new girlfriend, whom I wanted to protect and nurture (and who had a cat to feed), I was able to plead my case and soon 75 dollars was on its way. I wouldn't have to ask again for at least a year...

A picture from that era, which I will call  
"the camouflaged canvas safari hat" era.

4 Years Ago: 

I was in jail in Saint Augustine, Florida, (shown above) serving 76 days for a long list of atrocities; like trespassing and open container violations..

The cops in that city, especially the ones on bicycles, would actually follow the homeless people around, spy upon them with binoculars; and tip-toe around behind buildings trying to catch them drinking or urinating or smoking pot.

Out of the 7 violations that I had; most of them were from the same officer Caroll; who pursued myself and my then girlfriend, Karrie around.

We were given trespassing tickets for sitting one foot behind an "imaginary line" which the officer said ran around the perimeter of the parking garage..."this side is city property; this side is public..." 

I was busking and Karrie was sitting next to me, and at a certain hour we slid ourselves back a couple feet because the sun was hitting us.

The cop was up on the third level of the garage watching the shadows creep and waiting for us to either do that or to open the pint of whiskey which we had.

3 Years Ago: I was in Mobile, Alabama, and had just witnessed their Labor Day Parade and was disgusted by how selfish and greedy were the entire families who scrapped over the candy and junk which was thrown from floats...pushing and shoving and grabbing.

Goodnight, readers...

5 Years Ago
I don't know what exactly I did on this day; but I was in Jacksonville, Florida, where I started busking and where a Morrocan lady who worked at a certain Circle K store actually encouraged myself and my friend Larry to busk out front.
We split anywhere from 35 to 75 dollars per night, playing a couple hours each.
People were starting to tell us "You should go to Saint Augustine," (where all the street musicians go).

Old Government?!?

United States   44
Russia	17
China	3
Germany	3
Canada	2
France	1
Ghana	1
Mexico	1

United States   44

Russia           

17

China

3

Germany

3

Canada

2

France

1

Ghana

1

Mexico             

1

Russia Grooving To Protest Song
My post of yesterday, entitled "This Danged Old Government," and including a link to Brian Hudsons song of the same name, drew some extra traffic from Russia...
I just hope that if Brian Hudson is invited to tour that great country; he will invite me along as a translator/food tester/backup singer...
Money
Yesterday was miserable money-wise.
Royal Street was slow; and I was hoping that Bourbon would be the converse; as it sometimes is when large groups of people are "done" with Royal Street and saving Bourbon Street (and their money) for last.
That wasn't to be the case; and I played for a couple hours; mostly working on new material; and was visited by a couple "wanna be" musicians; one of whom said that he was going to go get his bongos and jam with me.
He never returned.
 
Above, if it displays right, is what looks like an early morning jam between Doreen (Ketchum), Dorise (Blackmon) and Laurence "You've got something to say on that guitar" (Ketchum).
I found it on Youtube, where anyone can; but I have gone through the trouble of embedding it here for your listening pleasure; at the click of a mouse.
The coffee cups in so many tourists hands are a clue to how early in the morning this must have been; it's not a bad version, and a chance for Dorise to have escaped from pop music for a time...

Back to the wanna be musicians of Tuesday night, September 3rd...
And another; who was pretty drunk and who became angry at some perceived slight; and who stormed off, yelling "I'm sorry, but I'm not a great guitarist!!"
He didn't even turn any of the few heads within earshot...

The guy dressed as a restaurant employee  who had given me some excellent tuna salad (with a lot of egg whites) and whose name I forget, came by and I returned his tupperware to him and thanked him...
More Wasabi, Please
I stopped playing at 9 p.m., and found so much food (including 3 containers of sushi, and 3 of Greek salad) outside of Rouses Market; that I decided to not even wait around for the chicken bag; and to give myself a chance to test out such an all-sushi-and-salad diet for the day.
I thought about Tanya Huang while I was eating it.
In the morning, I felt great
New Glasses In Sight
I guess one of the good things about my failure to have left here a month ago; when I first started trying to; is that I now have the paperwork from my Unity caseworker; which "documents" my homelessness; and I can take this to the Rebuild Center as soon as I finish here; and they will set up an appointment for me to see an optometrist and I will be able to get a replacement for the eye glasses which I am now wearing which are being held together by guitar strings and which have badly scratched lenses.
I had sat the glasses next to my backpack and forgotten they were there when I dragged the heavily stuffed thing towards me to get something out of it and in the process raked the glasses across the concrete under the weight of the bag..
A Marked Man
My choice of frames will be limited to the few which are covered by whatever organization is footing the bill.
I suppose that they (the organization) are in cahoots with the government; who want to make the homeless distinguishable from the rest of society...to facilitate discrimination....
They give them (us) free cell phones; which many believe are a way to factor the homeless into the census (just count how many phones were given out) and others believe are actually monitored for criminal activity and tracked using GPS.
The easiest way to count the numbers of homeless in a community, they have rightly guessed; is to set up in a park and start handing out something for free.
The homeless can even use their free phones to spread the word that something else is being given out for free. 
I suppose that if I am wearing my eye glasses and talking on my phone it will be easy for them to pick me out of a crowd and thrust me up against a wall some day; if the backpack isn't enough of a give away...
Crazy Fingers

 My Newest Song
I have learned most of the Grateful Dead song with the above title.
It was requested of me by Barnaby about 2 weeks ago, and it is the lyrics which are slowing me down.

"May Lady Lullaby sing plainly for you, soft, strong, sweet, and true"

I could never hear them (all) off of the cassette recordings of the band which we made in the 80's because they are sung so softly; so they are new to me.

This Danged Old Government

Keep Your Posts Short
I haven't posted since last Thursday's1,900 word entry; and have broken two of the rules of the bloggers bible:

Had never seen so many Mrs. Ropers...

• Keep your posts short.
• Post every day.

(or your readership may shrink).
For a lot of the 3 Day Southern Decadence event; there was a sound system blasting out of the Lafitts Blacksmith Shop Tavern; and the only time I played through it was to tune to the thing and learn songs like "Material Girl," by Madonna.
After making about 50 bucks Friday; I had made only a handful by mid afternoon; and so; took a break, hoping that they would shut the sound system down at a certain hour, then I would return.
Tanya And Dorise
Tanya and Dorise were back in my life a good amount while I was waiting (all day) for my spot to become playable.
I told them about how I had learned some new songs off of the sound system at Lafitts.
At one point; after Dorise had run off to the restroom, Tanya asked: "You learned Material Girl?"
I began to hum the melody and she picked it up an played pretty much the whole song; on her break.
Then, the Decadence Parade came through; and out came everyone's cameras and video recorders...even Tanya's...(above).
They had to move their stuff out of the way in a hurry; as the parade rounded the corner and started to bear down upon them.

It was mostly a lot of stuff like to the left.
One highlight for myself was the "100 Mrs. Roper March," (100 men all dressed like Mrs. Roper of the "Three's Company" TV show.
I suppose that that particular 70's show was kind of a breakthrough for the homosexuals; as it depicted a guy whom we were all "pretty sure" was gay; which paved the way for the undoubtedly gay guys to come...
Money
Diminishing Returns Return
After the 50 dollar Friday, I had an almost break even Saturday; the same on Sunday; and Monday was a loss.
It seemed that all the people here for the festival; were using Monday as a day to travel upon; and by noon, we could tell that most of them had left...
I've got new strings and enough money to take a couple days off from heavy busking; and to focus my energies elsewhere.
The food card will become boosted with 200 dollars in about 48 hours from now... 
New Style
I am making progress in my studies of the guitar style of the Hokum Highrollers guitarist; who has given me the advice that "anything by Mississippi John Hurt" would be an excellent starting point in learning how to play that particular style.
Practice

I am very psyched to practice and will hopefully do so over the next couple of days, on the other side of the river.
Retreat
I am thinking of going to the spot where Howard and Ron the surfer have their tents pitched; and bringing with me a fish hook and some line and some chicken and seeing if I can catch and fry catfish and live on them for the next 40 hours or so, until I get money on my food card.
I guess all I will need is my knife to gut and clean and scale them...
I'll grab a few of the many heavy aluminum foil basting or roasting bins which Rouses throws out nightly
Xanna Sightings
I have seen Xanna a few times; forging her way up Canal Street with a scowl on her face

Lady Anger

which stands out in a crowd even here.
She came here, ostensibly, to perform music and most likely learned the harsh reality that; since she has not been playing 8 hours a day regularly the past 25+ years; she might not be up to speed with what is expected of a pianist here.
I am not sure beyond that because she will not speak to me.
The story that I wrote and predated 2001 on this blog; about the year that I lived with her; has been read by at least a couple people here and I think she may have found out about it and read it herself.
I might go back and cut "Xanna" and replace it with "Savannah" or something and include an asterisk denoting that "names have been changed to protect identities."
And Now For Something Completely Different...
Brian Hudson has been good about playing one of my favorite songs of his almost every time I stop to listen; after I requested it once...
I hope the plug in or whatever it is above will work and you will be able to hear "This Danged Old Government," which proves that the protest song has lived on and thrived; well past 1967 .

$17.50
Last night, I sat down at the Bourbon Street spot at a good early hour. There was still daylight.

The Guy Who Dyes Himself Red

I was talking on my phone with Ted Broughey, my old high school and college friend, who was telling me that he would try to wire me some money today.
Ain't Nobody's Fault But My Own
It is my own fault that I hadn't eaten anything in 2 days except the piece of chicken which had fallen on the sidewalk; I mismanaged my food stamp money and will have to go the next 7 days without the "benefit" of it.
I had lost track of time when I was blogging and had missed the meal at the Rebuild Center that afternoon (my drive to write being stronger than my hunger drive) and my own fault that I was starting out with an empty case (I had spent the 5 bucks that I had borrowed from Howard on an energy drink and then a couple beers -which are *like* food- before going to my spot).
I should have known also, about the "slow season" from looking back one year at this blog.
One year ago, I was in jail in Baton Rouge, having fled to that city due to the slowness of New Orleans.
I could have put some money aside after getting the 175 dollar tip, but rather chose to buy a harmonica harness, picks, strings, a capo, a purple shirt; and a few packs of cigarettes when there were perfectly good ones on the sidewalks. And a few beers.
Jim
Jim, the guy that I had coffee with and who said that he had a Roland Micro Cube amp pulled up in his white van and parked directly across from me in the spot that is hardly ever available.
It was available because there were so few people at Lafitts Blacksmith Shop Tavern.
I was in a dilemma because I had Ted on the phone, talking about sending me money the next day; and Jim standing in front of me, who might have bought me a sandwich had I casually mentioned that I hadn't eaten in 24 hours.
I told Ted that "this guy that took me out for coffee" was there, as Jim was about to get back in his van.
Jim took out a harmonica and asked me if I could play in the key of A.
I played in the key of A and he tentatively blew some weak sounding notes.
I jumped in on my own harmonica and Jim soon appeared to be upset and told me "You sound like Troy!" (the guy who plays guitar and harmonica at Iberville and Royal and about whom Nervous Duane said "When he wants to, he can play the hell out of the blues!")
I thought it was a compliment.
"The guy that's pretty good?"
"The guy that used to be good!" said Jim and then went off in a huff.
The First Tipper
Then, I played as a handful of stragglers went by. Most of them were employees of the nearby places; or local residents.
One young lady stopped and asked me how I was doing.
"Well..."

She asked if I remembered her.
She looked vaguely familiar.
She used to work at Sydneys Beer And Wine store, she said; about a year ago.
I started to recognize her (I must have seen her at least 20 times at that store).
I think she is the one who gave me 5 dollars once and said: "Go! Leave here!" after I told her that I was thinking of taking the 5 dollar bus to Baton Rouge.
She dropped a dollar in my case, saying she was sorry that she didn't have more, then told me to be careful "because I care about you."
I always make an effort to try to charm beer store workers, as they are such important fixtures in my life..
Lilly Sees Red Over Yellow
Then, Lilly came out of the gate to my right with her youngest daughter in tow.
"I'll be back."
"You always will be back."

"I have to go get my other daughter."

"You always have to go get your other daughter."
"I'm so tired, I cleaned the house all day."
"You're always so tired from cleaning the house all day."
And off they went, but not before Lilly admonished me not to ever use yellow to color my paragraphs here, because they don't show up against her phones background.

It was still only about 6 p.m. and I took a break to go spend the dollar at the Unique Boutique.

The Second Tipper
I was back at it by 7 p.m. with the new strings sounding good.
I decided to just do as good a job as I could.
I set up the full stage, signs, trinkets and all, and tried to play my best.
Shortly after dark, along came a tall thin young man who wears the white shirt of a restaurant worker, and who, only a couple weeks ago approached me and left a tip saying "I walk by you just about every night and you're always playing the perfect song."
"This is all I have," he said, as he placed $1.50 in my case.
He sat on the steps and talked for a while. He is learning the trombone.
The Third Tipper
As we talked, a couple came out of Lafitts and stopped in front of me and exchanged words; then the lady put 5 bucks in my case.
I wasn't playing at the time, but they had heard me on their way in.
The Last Tipper
Then another couple approached and asked me what my story was and dropped 10 bucks after I told them the abridged version of my story.
Chicken Bag War II
I put the 17 dollars and 50 cents in my pocket a little after midnight and made my way towards Rouses Market; where the same basic group of people were sitting on the curb across the street.
I overheard the biggest and blackest one giving what sounded like instructions and orders to the others.
I approached him and asked "Are you in charge of the chicken bag, or something?" trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum.
"Yeah," he said, and before I could respond with any more sarcasm, he said "Everyone is gonna get some; that's the way it's gonna go down tonight..."
Well, to make a long story short; I had drifted off to the nearest trash can about 75 feet down the sidewalk when the chicken bag came out the door; but rather than walk it to the trash cans, which would have been in my direction, Tiffany handed it off to the biggest and blackest man; and it went in the opposite direction, with about 8 guys swarming around it.
In the few seconds in which it took me to close the 75 foot gap which was separating me from the chicken bag; it had been placed on it's customary ledge and set upon by the 8, so that when I arrived; all the containers of chicken and ribs and vegetables had been accounted for and were being bagged up, in lots of 4 or more each (2 or 3 for the couple of white men there).
I again asked if I could have some chicken from someone.
One of the white guys gave me a thigh piece which was hot and moist and tasted good and I had no complaint with God for having provided enough to get me through the night (combined with a loaf of the ever abundant bread) but I had a problem with the stone age mentality which is harkened back to when the biggest blackest man has control over the chicken bag.
"You gotta just grab it, man" said one young man to me.
I threatened to do something to make Rouses stop putting the bag out each night; even making up a phoney person whom I purportedly went to high school with and who could stop the flow of chicken bags with one phone call.
The biggest blackest man started towards me; pointing his finger and saying "Let me tell you something...!" but before he could tell me; the other white guy said: "We aren't in orange jump suits!"
This got the big guy off of me and onto him; but it was just a verbal exchange.
Fisticuffs would draw the attention of the cop stationed at Rouses Market and would put the chicken bags future in jeopardy.
I complained to the cashier, briefly, asking her who put the biggest and blackest man in charge of the chicken.
She just shrugged her shoulders, but the cop followed me outside and said, and I parapharase:
Listen, we have nothing to do with that bag once it's out the door; it's supposed to go in the trash; but we're nice enough to give it to the homeless; the executive management over at the big store doesn't even know we do this.
They chop theirs up and pour bleach on it; they do the same thing over on Carrollton Street...
You guys are just going to have to work it out yourselves; because if it becomes a problem; then they're gonna put a dumpster out here and lock it at night...
You need to find a way to work it out.
Famine Relief
My Friend Ted in Boston has called to say that he has wired me 70 dollars; and given me the test question and answer in order to pick it up.
I know that is kind of "cheating" as the scope of this blog is to see if I can go from the streets to superstardom; on my own, 
I'm glad he didn't do it last night when I was so angry.
I probably would have gone into Rouses at about 11:45 p.m. and purchased a lot of chicken; so that when I emerged; the guys across the street would think that it was the chicken bag and would become indignant and feel like they had been betrayed and would surely ask me "What dat is?"
To which I would reply; "It's a bag of chicken," coolly and then added something like "If I had wanted to*; I could have taken the whole thing. There's still more coming out for you all..."
I might have even bought a fifth of liquor and made a show of standing in the light of Rouses entrance and hoisting it up and tilting it over my cup, as I spiked a juice drink with it; so that it would appear to them like a gemstone.
And then have "When I asked you for some chicken what did you say?!?" locked and loaded in the chamber, ready for the first one who tried to skeeze me.
Thanks to the cash from Ted, I should be able to tide myself over until the Southern Decadence Festival this weekend.
This festival is right up my alley; both literally and figuratively in that I play in the gay part of the quarter, so that the revelers will be all around me; and in that I play a pretty gaily tailored set list; having learned through trial and error which artists works work the best to bring in tips....commencing countdown; engines on...

Cold Turkey

• $1.50 Tuesday
• Lilly In The Field
• Help On The Way

Dying But Not Shaking
Monday, I woke up with like 7 cents in my pocket.
I walked past Uniques which is my usual route. This made me want a beer. I wasn't "shaking" or anything; but rather just "dying" for a beer.
I got to the corner of Iberville and Royal and ran into a guy I know who dyes himself red on occasion and retains a reddish tint in his hair and skin on every other occasion. He must use a "permanent" dye.
He is not allowed to go into the Unique Boutique because of an altercation stemming from the fact that the store wouldn't take his money one night because it was splotched with red dye (so it looked like it came out of a stolen bank bag?).
He said that he would buy me a beer if I would go in the store and get him one.
I did.
I decided to cross the street to drink mine where I could watch sports on the Checkered Parrots many TVs.

As I reached the other sidewalk, a couple was approaching.
The man took a sip off of a large cup of what turned out to be Abita Amber; winced; then set it on a trash can a few feet from me and they walked on...
I found it to be warm, but mixed it with a cold Hurricane Lager; making the Abita colder and the Hurricane taste better.
I walked on; noticing how deserted the streets looked and how clean the sidewalks were. 
The street sweepers have gotten way ahead of their game; having very little trash to sweep; and I walked the length of Decatur Street without spotting a cigarette butt. There certainly weren't the usual 100 dollar bills laying everywhere...
I had a chance to do some soul searching; as the two beers began to wear off; and I walked past all the people with drinks in their hands and cigarettes in their mouths and thought about how wonderful it would be to be free of all addictions.
On Esplanade Avenue, I decided to bend my path straight to my playing spot.
I got there and sat next to my guitar; still in its case.
There was nobody to play for.
Jim
A white van, just like the one that (addiction free) Tanya and Dorise own, stopped in front of me.
A man in his late fifties with gray curly hair, who was driving, asked me if I remembered him. "We've talked before...a couple times."
The same problem which had cost me a free ride to Atlanta reared its head in the fact that I didn't recognize him.
He wound up parking the van and sat by me; reminding me of our conversation, which brought back the memory that I resembled a friend of his so much that it was striking; and he had told me about the guy.
He is a portrait artist; and is much better with faces than I am. And a guitarist.
He invited me to the nearby Community Coffee, where we sat for a couple hours, drinking excellent coffee and talking.
We talked about all kinds of things; and he said that our conversation was exactly like the ones that he had had with my twin; whom he thinks is in California now.
As we parted, he gave me a couple dollars and told me that he had several guitar amps and a Roland Micro Cube "right in the back of my van."
"It takes 6 AA batteries..."
That would be a good amp for me to start with, but I would need a way to tote it around and would need at least a microphone to plug into it for starters.
I had a feeling that he was contemplating just giving it to me, but he asked me if I was going to be on my spot regularly.
I gave him an outline of my typical schedule there and we parted as friends.
Maybe he will show up when I have some money and I can buy the amp.
I wondered later he had really been Dorise Blackman, morphed into a gray haired man, with the white van being the only clue to her identity. 
It would explain my striking resemblance to her friend "He even wears a hat just like that and boots just like that..." 
Maybe when she (Dorise) takes on different forms; they exist in parallel universes and maybe I even do and don't realize it. 
My trouble with recognizing faces is diametrical to Jims (as that was his name) who said he could now do a portrait of me from memory, after just sitting over coffee for a couple of hours.
One quirk about parallel universes is that it's easier to drive the same van in each one -saves money at the DMV.
I also thought about the resemblance to my brother Jim of the guy who gave me the hundred dollar tip about 6 weeks ago; and this guys name being Jim (and having a brother named Daniel) and thought about how the thing that I miss the most about sobriety was cosmic connections like that becoming elucidated.
Tuesday Night

Tuesday night, I got to my playing spot and had the dilemma of trying to tune my strings; one of which was an "electric" and not "acoustic."
I gave up upon it. I wasn't going to play out of tune; even if I did have less than a dollar in change on me.
Then Lilly came out of her condo. "Consider the lillies of the field," I began to sing.
She was pretty drunk on Chardonnay and Pinot Grigio "from my house," and was ranting and stirring up trouble with the gay guys walking past.
She owns property in the gay district, where I play, and was yelling things like "God made Adam and Eve; not Adam and Steve!"
And, I sat there, totally sober and pretty hungry, because I had only eaten one meal that day at the Rebuild Center; and decided that I needed to go on a scavenger hunt.
I would look for drinks, food, and more importantly, guitar strings.
Lilly wasn't offering me any of the wine that she had in her house, but she did let me in the gate and show me around her place.
She has a swimming pool behind the place (and out of place with the rest of the 300 year old decor).
"I'm going to try to find a drink," I answered to her question.
I couldn't think of many friends that I had in the city at that point.
I didn't want to ask the Hokum High Rollers for a guitar string; having only just made their acquaintance; and I set out in the general direction of where Jesse plays; though doubting very much that he would be there.
I wondered how much I would really need a new string to play for nobody.
I came to a certain hotel across the street from the Supreme Court building and there was a full cup of some kind of expensive whiskey on ice.
I took a few sips and then a few steps and then spotted Brian Hudson (a friend who hadn't come to mind) playing on the corner of St. Louis and Royal.
He let me get a whole new set of strings from him on credit.
Then, the guy from a previous post, who bought my old Jasmine guitar walked by and gave me a fist pump.
Then Lilly and her two daughters walked by; and it felt like I was watching a Broadway production of my blog...
The Chicken Bag
Having only eaten two ham sandwiches the whole day; I wasn't ashamed to go to Rouses Market at 12:30, after having played and made only $1.50 and wait for the renowned chicken bag to be thrown in the trash.
I should say: thrown towards the trash, because it never lands there.
"Make sure everybody gets some," said Tiffany as she delivered herself of it.

Isn't the guy in the blue shirt decadent?!?

The bag was torn open and all I saw were elbows and guys taking 4 or 5 containers of chicken and ribs, and I kind of stood there waiting for someone to make sure that everybody got some, but all the food was pirated and whisked away.
I even said "Hey, I've only had two sandwiches for lunch; all day!" which got no response.
There were a couple other guys who didn't get anything, and we talked about reporting back to Tiffany, who would probably tell the guy (and it was the biggest blackest guy who took possession of the chicken bag, harkening us all to the stone age) that if the food isn't shared; that they are going to start pouring bleach on it.
I managed to get a thigh which had fallen on the sidewalk that nobody wanted. They weren't that "starving," I guess.
This morning, I borrowed 5 bucks from Howard.
I'll be able to pay him back after playing the new strings tonight and certainly after the Southern Decadence Festival which is this weekend.