A Christmas Story

If you want to win, you have to play...

I woke up Christmas Eve and had a discussion with Howard, who asked me if I was going to go into town and play...

I told him that I was going to "show up." Woody Allen said: "90% of life is showing up..."

I knew that, on Christmas Eve there would be money out there; maybe if only from people who purpose in their hearts to give to those less fortunate than they. Maybe even the Clarksons might be counted amongst that fold; especially after their patriarch made a joke at the expense of myself; and I turned the other cheek, rather than scorching his ears.

I walked down Decatur Street. I had $14.99.

I decided to try to spend 5 bucks on some weed; a departure for me, as I usually wait until it finds me.

I ran into a young guy with one very lazy eye, whom I had seen about a year before.

He said that he would walk me to a guy whom he had dealt with before and who would sell me a sack so large, that I would be able to smoke him up.

This was still the morning, and he was right about the sack; but had annoyed me to buy him a honey bun along the way.

I then ran into a guy  who was suffering from the same cold as I, and who gave me some diaphrenziline, or some thing like that.

I washed the things down with a very good beer from Sydneys. I'm sure that the "warning' which comes with the diaphrenagoogalene states: "Do not consume alcohol while using this product -they all do -they should put that on bottles of Jack Daniels: "May cause drowsiness; alcohol will intensify this effect.."

So, then, the day followed a more drowsy cadence.

I ran into a guy who asked me if I had weed and even offered 5 dollars if I would smoke him up.

The 50 Dollar Man

Then, I somehow made it to Canal Street, where I decided to play on a spot which used to be perpetually occupied by a cranky cantankerous guy on guitar and harmonica (who would stop playing and spew forth diatribes on political topics for longer than any of his songs ran).

A guy came along and eventually, I sat and played while I waited for him to get his guitar from a nearby hotel room, as he wanted to jam.

This is a good feeling; it either means that your playing is at such an intermediate level (or lower) that he feels that he could hang with you, musically. Or it means, at least, that your stylie is right in line with his.

He returned in about 10 minutes with a Martin guitar, which I tuned to, and we played together for a while, during which time; a couple of other people showed up on the sidewalk and shot videos of the two of us, and threw 5 bucks in my case.

The guy said "Come on, I want to play some more," as he threw 20 bucks on top of the 5.

We played some more. More videos were shot. 20 more dollars went into my case. The guy gave me his name and number on a slip of paper and told me that if I was ever in Houston, to look him up. He seemed sincere.

When I was packing up; I noticed a second 20 dollar bill in the case; plus some random ones which were actually made while myself and Houston were jamming.

Then, with 50 extra dollars in my pocket, I made my way to the ferry terminal,which I thought was closed because I didn't understand their policy of closing certain doors but not others, when it got late.

I decided to go and sleep along the tracks in a place that I knew about.

I must have slept pretty soundly, because I woke up in the middle of the night to see that my backpack, which I was NOT using as a pillow, because I had made one out of the shirts that I peeled off me after the walk to the place, was gone.

My guitar was still where I had laid it; and the 50 or so dollars was still in my left rear pocket, but the little change holder was sitting on a ledge above me with its contents splayed around it; nothing missing.

I somehow didn't want to continue sleeping there; I walked along the tracks and found my backpack with its contents spilled on the ground around it; nothing missing, including this laptop, and a bunch of other stuff that I would think had value.

In the morning, I discovered that the only thing that I can't find is the slip of paper with the number of the guy from Houston on it. Everything else; still there.

I slept until the sun came up, under the dock for the ship Nanchez.

Then, I started what could arguably be the worst Christmas ever.

I won't go into the details, but it involved extreme hardship.

Nothing was open; no restrooms; security people with their eyes peeled for the homeless, who wouldn't be able to use public restrooms; their ticket books ready...and it rained and was very windy; and, every bum in the city was around Unique Boutique, it being one of the few things open...

Out of time.....

And it's raining again....

Note to self: Investigate the Megabus schedule/rates.