Sunday, June 24, 2012

The Saturday Evening Post

Is She Coming Or Going?
  • The Sue Blues
  • The Megabus
  • Big And Easy Depression
I didn't post yesterday (Saturday) because I assumed that time was "of the essence," and, Sue was with me.
The switch in our relationship was thrown to "on again" Friday,  as I encountered Sue, sitting on the steps around the corner from Sidney's Beer Wine Liquor and Cigar World. There was an older black man sitting with her, who panhandled me as soon as I walked up.
Sue introduced me to him, told me that he had just gotten out of jail, had been in there for a while, and the man added that that was the reason that he was "out here" (panhandling).
The man soon left us alone on the same steps where, the night before, I had sat  next to her, bored out of my mind, realizing that Sue mostly talked about wrongs, both perceived and actual, which have been done unto her.
I went into Sidneys to get a cheap beer. I had woken up with somewhere around 6 dollars -enough for a bus ride to Baton Rouge and a dollars worth of spending money when I got there.
As the 8 p.m. curfew was drawing nigh, I mentioned that I was going to play at my spot until that time.
"Do you want me to come with you?"
"Yes, I would like that very much."
The Girl With The Shaved Head Who Plays The Mandolin, at the spot where I played Friday night
She was carrying 4 bags. One with clothing, one with food; one with Kooky and the last with a pigeon that she found a couple weeks ago, injured and barely able to walk. She has been nursing it back to health and now it can lift its head and almost walk.
I wound up playing at the spot which used to be the spot of The Girl With The Shaved Head Who Plays The Mandolin, whom I haven't seen since returning here.
I made one dollar, while playing a pretty good version of some song.
"Let's just go to Bourbon Street, maybe someone will just give us some money," suggested Sue.
That seemed like our best hope of acquiring anything, on that bleak Friday evening, when jazz bands could be seen packing their equipment up and abandoning the 7 people in the clubs along Decatur Street, who were waiting to hear "The Girl From Opalina."
Somehow, we were getting pretty drunk. You know that you were pretty drunk when you wake up in the morning next to Sue and seeing Howards sleeping spot vacant, ask her "Was he laying there when we came here last night, I didn't notice?"
We had sat in a spot on Bourbon Street not 100 yards from where the horse cops had told me that I was to go to jail if they saw me playing after 8 p.m. It was about midnight.
Despite the influence of all the free drinks that people were handing us, and which I consumed myself, Sue being leery of them having been spiked with a date rape drug, I soon concluded that the risk vs. reward factor was tilted in favor of us getting out of there before any horse cops came.
We went to Uniques where someone told us each to grab a couple of "anything you want" out of the bins of anything anybody could ever want on ice which are everywhere in that establishment.
After that, we went to the sleeping spot and slept until well into the morning.
This was a departure for Sue, who in the past had always wanted to leave at the coming of dawn, so as not to be seen by anyone who might return and rape her the following night.
I took this as a positive sign, that she might actually be serious about leaving here and not concerned about burning bridges and leaving behind rubble.
In the morning, I got up and told Sue that I was running to the store for an energy drink. She asked "Can you get Kooky something?" as I left.
I returned with an energy drink and a can of tuna fish, which Kooky devoured.
We rolled about, cuddling and kissing on each other and we were as happy as we have ever been together.
Then, we were each bitten by a thing about the size of a postage stamp which was shaped like a snail out of its shell and covered with fur the color of a paper bag on top and had suction-cup-like tendrils on its bottom, white in color and had two white spots on its topside, natures way of making it look like the head of a poisonous snake to potential predators, perhaps.
I was woken up by it when it was on my right arm by the elbow.
I didn't brush it off right away, only after I noticed it secreting some kind of toxin which was stinging my skin.
Rather than kill it, Sue lovingly moved it a few feet away with a stick.
It was a Southern Flannel Moth (I Googled it)
The thing, though moving at a snails pace, eventually closed the gap between them and bit her on the finger.
Then, we left around noon and soon were sitting outside Popeyes on Canal Street with her putting a bag of ice over the snail shaped welt on my arm. I could feel pain up and down my arm which felt like it was in the bone itself; a "deep" pain, I guess.
My plan was to make enough money in the afternoon to take the bus to Baton Rouge, where I would busk there, instead of New Orleans.
Walking down Royal Street, I told Sue that I had decided to stay one more night.
She cheered my decision and kissed me.
We were as happy as we have ever been, but all that changed when we got to Decatur Street.
After grabbing a beer at Sidneys we walked along and I stopped to talk to a friend of mine who hand paints wooden doors and further ornaments them using lathes and other woodworking tools.
We were standing there talking when a terror stricken look washed over Sue's face.
'That's him!" she whispered in my ear, pointing to a black guy in his late twenties, who was standing on the other side of me.
It was the guy who has been stalking her; the one who lied down next to her at The Occupation and masturbated and then followed her after she fled to find another sleeping spot -the guy who sits next to her at the library even though there are plenty of other available tables.
The guy tapped me on the shoulder and, gesturing towards Sue, asked "Who is she?"
A few thoughts raced through my mind in that instant.
He's trying to see what Sue means to me...am I going to say 'that's my girlfriend, or just some chick I met today...
I also thought about Sue's tendency to exaggerate things. Like the time she cussed out the guy who runs the Royal Cafe after he asked her to leave, saying "You come in here every day and use the wireless, and you've bought like one piece of toast about a month ago!"
Sue left, but not before going inside and causing a scene by cussing the guy out; the gist of her argument being "You want me out of here just because I come in here and use the wireless every day and I've only bought one piece of toast a month ago and cause I'm Colombian; You're a racist pig!"
I just told the guy "She's my friend."
I didn't have to say any more, as Sue took up where I left off, and began to give him a public dressing down, asking him what his problem was, why was he stalking her and then listing his offenses in chronological order.
The guy who paints doors was saying "Not in front of my business; take it somewhere else."
The stalker was standing there grinning at her, letting her make the case for him that he would later espouse; specifically that she was a crazy lady and he had no idea what she was talking about and that she had some kind of paranoia that he was stalking her.
I managed to drag her away towards my playing spot.
We arrived there, but she wasn't finished.
I had my guitar out and my harp around my neck and my case open and Sue was still yelling at the black man, although he wasn't there.
Tourist after tourist walked past; cutting a wide swath around the ranting Latina.
I "needed" another beer, and I told her so. I wanted her to realize that she was driving me to drink.
By then, she had stopped a couple whom she knew who were walking past. A large black man and his female companion.
She was telling them about the stalker and his close proximity to her at that very moment.
The large black man was asking "Where is he?" in a tone of voice that suggested that he was willing to have "a little talk" with the guy.
Now, I felt that Sue was looking to someone other than myself to stand up for her and protect her.
I went and got another beer; the hard stuff; Steel Reserve 211.
I got back and again prepared to put the drama behind me and play music.
"You don't give a shit about me; all you care about is playing music and making tips. They could find me floating in the river like that lady the other night!"
By now, we had an audience.
Across from where I play, in the second level balcony were about a dozen revelers who had turned their stereo off in anticipation of hearing me play.
Instead, they were treated to hearing Sue ranting, and myself trying to apply cool-headed logic to the situation.
Apparently, Sue hasn't read the dissertation I wrote while in the military called "10 ways to kill someone with a sheet of paper...
I would keep an eye out for the guy to see if he is in the vicinity of Sue in an amount which is disproportionate to that of someone who is coexisting in a 12 block by 12 block French Quarter. I would also see if he showed me any disrespect or became territorial about Sue.
"Sue, I've seen what the guy looks like. Let me point him out to some people I know who have been around forever and have connections; maybe I can find out something about him and if I think he's a threat, I'll set Howard on him."
Not a good time for humor.
"You think this is funny, you think this is a joke?
And on and on she went, as tourists after tourist walked past.
She accused me of being in cahoots with the guy; after all, he had tapped me on the shoulder and asked "Who is she?" as if we were old buddies. Was I helping him stalk her?
"I know how you guys are, it's a male kind of thing; let's get this girl!"
"Let's let the thing run its coarse; you know how the mafia handles business; they don't yell and scream in the street; the guy just disappears one day...You should have noticed that he was behaving himself with me there with you; outside of the inappropriateness of his question...besides; if you come to Baton Rouge with me, you won't have to worry about it; of coarse you probably don't feel like I can keep you safe there..."
Finally, I got mad (What, am I supposed to do; cancel my Saturday night busking so we can sit somewhere and you can rehash this over and over) and told her that I was going to go and get yet another beer, to try to numb myself to all the drama.
She picked up her bags and started to walk off in typical Sue fashion.
I told her that "This is it, then" and that we were probably looking at each other for the last time in each of our lives.
She walked off.
As she did, the dozen or so people in the balcony all stood and applauded.
...great, now THEY'RE all "in on it," too...
I guess they had taken my side.
"You need to find a new girlfriend," a female voice cascaded down.
"Yeah, how am I supposed to play beautiful music with my head full of that?"
"I know, we were waiting to hear you jam" rejoined the same voice.
Instead of getting that next beer, I began to play, noticing that Sue had "forgotten" one of her bags and would have to catch up with me sometime, in order to get it back.
I played alright, knowing that I had a captive audience in the balcony and got one 5 dollar tip during a Beatles song, and about 8 or 9 ones.
I got back to the sleeping spot where Sue was nowhere to be found.
I woke up kind of depressed; thinking about a song that I have been working on which has Spanish lyrics and which I wanted to sing to Sue. I guess now I know a Spanish song for the sake of mere catharsis.
The Megabus
There is a purple double-decker bus which comes right by the sleeping spot, which has "Megabus.com" written on it and lists the cities where it stops; amongst them, San Antonio, Baton Rouge, Atlanta etc...with fares starting at $1 (*plus a 50 cent reservation fee)


  • Departs 4:45 PM New Orleans, LA , Bienville Ave b/t N Peter St and N Front St
    Arrives 11:15 PM Houston, TX , Clay St and Travis St
  • 6hrs 30mins
  • Megabus TEX
  • 1 seat = $7.00
Well, there you have it; right from the horses website. $7.00 to Houston, and from there to San Antonio is only another 3 or 4 bucks, depending upon departure time!

6 comments:

  1. Sex in front of Howard LOL!! "Is that your penis? What are you going to do with it?"

    I suggest you stop sticking your dick in crazy and get the hell out. I think NOLA's a good place to get "discovered" as the Kool Kids, the ones with $500 and upwards a month to spend on the latest camera phones and connection speed etc., go there and you're more likely to get filmed there by them, put on YouTube and "discovered", than trying it on your own. But, you keep getting put in jail there. Rotating in and out of jail may have worked out OK for Huddie Ledbetter but it does not seem to work OK for you.

    I *was* a huge advocate of your getting out here to CA. But that's changed, realizing that you don't want to climb the ladder back up to being able to rent a room, then an apartment, etc. You're happy on the street. And living on the street means, better find a place where the winters won't kill you. There are migratory bums, and I think it's a great life, winters in Phoenix and San Antonio, summers in Flagstaff and Boulder. But you lack the ability to travel very far. So it has to be a year-round location. Except for all the jail time, NOLA seems Pretty Darned Good. I guess the jail time's not even all that bad, it's generally considered an R&R time for the least ambitious bums.

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  2. OK I want to add: You would probably like Santa Cruz pretty well. There *are* minimum-wage jobs to be had, amazingly. The panhandling's good, I know. And busking, crafting, etc. It's a cool, coastal climate, and "Ugg Boots" aren't a fashion statement, part of the year they're a necessity. But you'd be able to find a niche for yourself there, and could live out your life happily there. It's where I plan to go if I feel like dropping everything and declaring myself fully retired, even if it means becoming a professional bum myself.

    Differences from NOLA include:

    Cooler climate, coastal, right by the ocean so sea air and seafood
    Lots of homeless services - it's a homeless magnet, this is good and bad
    Largely white population - your type of music more popular I think
    Lots of heroin for some reason. Easy enough to avoid but it's a feature
    Lots of pot - I don't smoke it but easier to stay smoked-up there than anywhere.
    Lots of really freakin' cool people. Lots of cool "characters".

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  3. Dude we're working fast.

    I didn't get a chance to check out the creepy-crawlie but you found it. Amazing. I was gonna guess a leech or planarian, although that doesn't account for the fur.

    I just checked out MegaBus and got fares from $12-$18 to Houston, which would get you into TX anyway. Looks like you found something cheeper.

    I think it comes down to this:

    * Stop sticking your dick in crazy

    * Stay in NOLA and maybe append yourself to one of the successful acts like Doreen's or the violinist's, and try to stay out of jail

    * OR - Get your pasty white ass out to California where by California I mean Santa Cruz.

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  4. That's hillarious; I had been saving my work every 10 minutes after having had to re write almost the whole damn thing after I lost the connection.
    My final draft spared the reader from the visual of sex in front of Howard, as, the truth is that Sue hasn't given it up to me yet; too crafty too wily too slick for that; she didn't get to be a 49 year old homeless lady by being stupid! LOL
    But, yeah, I published it in chunks and remembered 90% of what was eaten by the agents that are following me around New Orleans and probably wouldn't hesitate to molest me sexually...wait; is Sue rubbing off on me (figuratively of course)??

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  5. Comment eaten again;
    I was saying that I kind of have a chip on my shoulder about capturing my music playing when I am not distracted by waveforms and flashing LEDs; like when I'm in the zone...
    then, I can go back to creating stuff that will be ignored by my generation but venerated shortly after they chuck me in a paupers grave LOL!
    I feel like I have a fancy digital camera and I am poring through the manual figuring out how to use all its features...by photographing a lump of coal...then adjusting the tone, hue, saturation exposure and tint and....a decent photo but still a lump of coal...
    My latest Idea is to play the bucket drum along with the click track and then to cut and paste it so that I don't have to stay on time for 8 minutes on the bucket drum, just 8 seconds and then cut and paste cut and paste, so that I can hear it so loudly through the headphones that it will cut through what I am doing live; and I won't have to pause every now and then to pick back up on the beat; I think that is why my recordings sound to me like I am doing them in the back of a van that is bouncing along a rutted pock marked road; "jostled" sounding is the term I'm looking for....yeah..

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  6. Several years ago when I had an apartment and a business and a Prius, I had visions of going out to Santa Cruz with a video camera and filming odd people and odd doings, and being a sort of twisted Huell Howser. You'll have to look him up.

    Well, things happened including a financial crash and as the years have gone by I've gotten further, not closer, to ever filming or recording or taping or digitizing anything.

    Meanwhile Homeless Mustard figured out the right way - work on the MUSIC and the Kool Kids who can spend $500-$1000 or more on the latest gadgets will record you, me, and Homeless Mustard and make us viral if we merit it.

    Just. Work. On. The. Fucking. Music.

    I *will* suggest, though, that you put a sign with your email address, web site address, something, that those who film you can send videos to. I'm actually thinking a paypal email address could be a real virtue to the modern busker.

    You have no rhythm and sound awful, EXCEPT, as mentioned on my own mediocre blog, somehow you climbed up out of a slimy dumpster and pulled off "Dancing Days" successfully. This leads me to believe that there's a chance you actually sound OK in real live and The Internet is just making your tracks sound like a dog vomited, then shit it out, then ate it, waited 2.5 hours, then vomited it again. Complete with fly-buzz.

    So your time spent recording, like 99.9999% of time spent on the Internet, is a black hole of despair, and thus I recommend to stop it. Just work on sounding good in real life. Just work on the MUSIC and let others take care of the recording. Trust me, this is exactly how I plan to do things, once I'm past "Cockles And Mussels" in the Mel Bay book, and probably a couple more books worked through, and sound decent. I actually plan to take vocal training at the local jr. college in the fall too.

    ReplyDelete

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