Presidents Day

Hi, mom. Everything is fine here in NOLA!

• More Musings On Beer?
• Shaman encounter
• Sue holding on to her anger
• Tip jar breaks 50, twice

It is Monday morning, the 20th of February,
and the library is miraculously open, on this special day, designated as a time for us all to contemplate the presidents, past and present....
...well, there's Lincoln, saw him about 5 times last night...Hamilton doesn't really count as a president, but helps your tip jar add up if he comes around a few times...Jackson was not around last night....
Thursday night was a rain soaked occasion. I played at my Decatur Street spot, after finding it devoid of a guy sitting on a stool playing a badly distorted electric guitar. That guy must think that it is a bad spot, after he had made only 6 bucks Wednesday night.
I had scraped up a buck in change out of my left rear pocket, and gotten a Hurricane High Gravity Lager, then, playing a bold gambit, spent my "last" dollar, in the form of the gold coin that I had been carrying around for about 12 days, at Stanley's on a second beer.
Starting my case out using only worthless tokens and Mardi Gras coins of equal "value," and thus fortified, I was able to parlay them into about 40 bucks. I had 20 dollars in debt at that point (Howard had lent me a total of 10 dollars, dating back to Superbowl Sunday; and a certain rasta farian had extended me 10 dollars of credit, on one of his "product lines").
Waking up Friday, Howard asked what has become the regular morning question of "How did you do last night?"
The tenor of this question takes on a different insinuation, when I'm in the state of owing him some money. I think that he is just concerned about me and is hoping that I will prosper in whatever I do.
I told him that I had "cleared" about 30 bucks, after ale and cigarettes.
Howard took that moment to mention the unfortunate circumstance of McDonald's restaurant having done away with a certain bargain menu for the Mardi Gras "season;" a menu upon which Howard had been steadily dining; at approximately 6:45 a.m. each morning.
"Yeah, now I have to pay extra if I want the fries," or something, was his lament.
I broke off 5 dollars and cut my debt with Howard in half.
Then, Friday night was a rain soaked debacle when I spent more money than I made.
Then, Saturday night, I broke the 50 dollar mark for probably the first time since coming to New Orleans.

Is the skull laughing at
the guy who just paid $1.83 for
a 12 oz. bottle of him??

I ended that night with about 70 bucks in my pocket, after having started with 30, and paying back Howard and the rasta farian and having the usual expenses, which have been slightly higher since I have been rewarding myself with only the finest ales, which cost me about 75 cents more than the bottom of the barrel, "high gravity" slothing froths, which had been my regular stalwarts.
When I go into Stanley's, I usually look at all the Laughing Skulls, IPAs and Arrogant Bastards with their $5.49 price tags, like a kid looking at a Corvette through a display window; dreaming. Then, I go to the last door and grab what I always grab, after looking at what I always look at.
"Why do you take so long to get your beer all the time?" one of the cashiers good naturedly asked me once.
I explained the above, then appended a second reason: Sometimes when I'm drooling over all the pretty bottles, full of envy for the monks holding mugs with smiles on their faces and glassy looking eyes on the labels of some, a well-to-do shopper will arrive on the scene and often a conversation is struck up between us about ales and smiling monks; a conversation into which I might slip something like "Yeah, I always look at all the great brews and am tempted; but I always wind up getting the only swill that I can afford.."
The well-to-do person might, at that point say "You don't have to drink that stuff and wake up with the runs...Grab whatever you want, it's on me!"
Am I being manipulative, and basically panhandling, using a sophisticated angle, or am I just being myself and having people reward me for being who I am?
Shaman Encounter: Correction Forthcoming?

Saturday evening, I was walking past the residence of caveman guru, who was standing on the sidewalk, and who told me that he needed to speak to me "for a minute."
I told him that a minute was about all the time that I could spare.
Five minutes later, after he had expressed anger over having seen my posts from last week, which detailed Sue, the Colombian lady's and my experience with him, I had to practically tear myself out of his grasp, after promising that I would either delete the post, or print some kind of "correction," as he called it, or "clarification," as I am inclined to think of it.
The anecdote about the Shaman, was meant to focus upon Sue, the Colombian lady and her actions during, and reactions to, our visit to the Shaman's shrine.
Sue sees the world with a wary, suspicious, and some might say paranoid eye.
Her conclusions are always skewed towards thinking that the whole world is stalking her, and she trusts nobody.
Caveman guru did nothing to undermine his integrity as a spiritual teacher and holy man.
There was a nice vibration in the music that he did. He served us an excellent meal which was exotic in its inclusion of ingredients from the rain forest.
He may have seen the tension in Sue's body and have merely been applying what believers would see as a healing touch, by rubbing her shoulders. The "mal intent" was a product of Sue's imagination, which works overtime creating mal intent out of everything. The story was meant to be a humorous look at Sue and her over reaction.
Pieces Of Homeless Trash On The Street

Sue might seem crazy sometimes, but...

That being said, the Shaman berated me over us having left without showing appreciation for the meal, nor saying goodnight. It is true, that I was following Sue's lead in leaving in a hurry without exchanging a word.
I was raised to be more courteous than that, and thanking him on the way out would have been the "manly" thing to do in many cultures; but; I also envisioned having to argue with him for an hour about why we didn't want to stay another minute, and so I left without saying goodnight.
"I showed you hospitality. I opened my shrine to you, and you were ungrateful," he said and then added that Sue and I were lowly, worthless homeless trash from the street and that we should have felt like he was doing us a great favor, by deigning to host us.
By the time I had assured him that I would re-read my post, to see if I had been unfair to anyone, and print a "correction," the "minute" that he claimed to have needed to talk to me, had ripened into ten minutes.
As I went to leave, he blocked my path and told me that he wasn't done with me, or something like that. He was belligerent and threatening in his words and body language. He grabbed at the strap of my guitar as I started to push past him, after the "minute" was up, as if he had the notion of ripping it from my grasp.
I don't really have an opinion of the man. Holy men can be overcome by anger and snap on somebody, just like anyone else, I guess is what I learned.
Sue Still Angry
Sue is still angry. She is convinced that the kid that she invited to crash at our spot had his feelings hurt, after overhearing Howard to say something to the effect of expressing his concern that having a fourth person at the spot may be the straw which breaks the camels back; the camel that has been looking the other way and allowing us to sleep there.

"Rain On Royal Street"

I don't know how Sue can like me so much when she does like me, but then hold long grudges over less important things each time.
60 Dollar Saturday
Saturday, I made about 60 bucks, by my estimations, based upon how much I started with, how much I spent and how much I wound up with. So, this is the reality of playing Mardi Gras, in New Orleans; a time that was promised to be so good that "you'll be able to take the next month off!!" as one chap put it.
25 Dollar Sunday
I woke up with about 75 bucks in my pocket this morning, a half pack of smokes, a half pint of vodka that someone gave me as a tip, and the food which I never ate last night; the food thats purchase depleted the balance on my food card; and a bunch of Mardi Gras related stuff, which I am thinking about trying to mail to family members in New England.
I figure that I made about 25 bucks.
Songs which worked well were:
"Heart of Gold" -Neil Young
"Evergreen" -Barbra Streisand (you read right)
"This One Goes Out To The One I Love" -R.E.M.
All harp worthy