Mandatory Fun

I drank more than I should have last night, but *less* than the night before. The dreams were weird, trust me. I was up late/early listing Ebay things and didn't go to bed until, again, about 7 in the morning. I woke up at around 10, due to Crazy Chrissie using some really loud tool in front of the Mr. Softee.

Chrissie's got a generator, a sander of some type, and puts so much time into sanding her car down that I'm amazed it's got an exterior skin any more. She doesn't paint it, just does the prep part, over and over. Come on, Chrissy, you can trade a few skanky blowjobs for some paint, can't ya? Even a brush job with house paint would be better than the Bondo and grinder wonder that's mottled like a giraffe with light and dark grey patches.

I went right back to bed and woke up at 2. I debated going out at all, then did the stuff I didn't do last night like wash my head/hair/arms and shave, cleaned up in general and put on some fresh clothes.

What I did not do, was take my cornet with me. My ear's really improving but my cheek still looks angry and I'd rather not be out there looking like a menace to public health. I'm aiming for Monday, it being the actual holiday in this holiday weekend.

I rode to Japantown and stopped at the blessing box, and neatened it up, and put in a book and some "institutional" packets of painkillers and cold pills we had around here and never use. Then I waited in line at Nijiya and while I waited, a skinny white zombie came staggering up, and looked like he might hassle the people in line so I gave him the death stare and got my less serious pepper spray out. He gave me the finger and eventually just sat on one of the benches slumped over.

I got a bento and a cold can of coffee, and paid using my card since I have zero cash right now. I ate on a bench across the street by that large white abandoned building, but it turns out, that's where tons of old people take their walks and hang out on a weekend. I got to listen to some fun old-people conversations while I ate.

After eating I went over to the Amazon hub and picked up my back-up pair of Crocs. Then I just rode around, looking at various places. I rode by Cafe Stritch, where I want to do some playing just in memory of the place. But it's become a bum hangout, and I overheard part of a scratchy conversation about "Bike Trailer Bob" and "2-dollar whores". I realized I'll play down there all right, but in front of the opera house, to make use of the great resonance there.

I then went by Paseo de San Antonio and I heard a harmonica, and the player sounded really good. Not sure if it was just someone's car radio, but it sounded live so I circled the light rail station, zeroing in on the sound. I found the guy, an overweight guy who looks like a friend and his girlfriend used to describer her, laughingly, "BMW" for Black, Mexican, White. He had a beat up BMX bike and a missing front tooth, and he sounded really good. I pulled up to congratulate him for being so good, and to say that I'd gotten this really nice harmonica, a Suzuki Manji, but never learned to play it; playing trumpet instead.

"You wanna sell it?" he asked. After much fumbling around I got a pen out of my bike bag, and he got out the iPad his mother had got him since his phone broke. He lives in low-income apartments on 2nd. I didn't get Bob's number just his name, but he got my number and I'll just wrap the harmonica well and keep it in my bike bag. We sort of hammered out a price of $40 and if we can get back together, I'm going to say, "Hey, I'm not gonna take your money, the government just gave me $1200, I can't take your money. Just have it". He needs it more than I do, that's for sure. I thought he might be one of the guys who plays at the Poor House Bistro, honestly. Instead he's just some poor-ass fucker with a missing front tooth, who must really love playing the harmonica to get that good.

That's how the natural society Marx wrote about, works. If you're good at something, others will help you. I was considered to be talented at art (I was not, just had a lot of exposure to it) so I was always having art materials shunted over my way. The kid who's good at guitar will always get someone's closet guitar they never played. If I didn't have a trumpet and had no money, I could jump on Trumpet Herald and someone would give me one. It's an instinct that capitalists try to pretend doesn't exist.

I've given away pennywhistles, recorders, even a cornet that I was given, twice. The first recipient was too lazy and too much of a smoker, and said he couldn't get a sound out of it, and I got it back. I then gave it to a buy I found at this gas station place where you have a card for that place and fill up your gas or diesel, so there's no attendants. This guy was practicing in the back of the place. I tried to teach him "Saints" with mixed success as I'd not been practicing that much myself. He had one of those cheap Jean-Baptiste horns and I gave him the cornet for a back-up. I never saw him after that, though. Maybe he was embarrassed that he couldn't play better. I hope he's doing well, wherever he is.

The train came and Harmonica Bob got on, and I rode around a bit more, trying to find different streets than I usually use. I decided to visit the Little Free Library that's behind Bad Boys Bail Bonds, and took out a book of short stories that might be good reading when the internet goes down. I noticed the little door on the front was loose somehow, and got my Swiss army knife out and checked the screws - half of 'em were loose. So I tightened them down, and the door worked better.

My vegetable dumpster on 10th wasn't out, but up around the college-student area I'd found a nice stalk of celery that's only a bit floppy and have it standing in some water now to firm up. And a head of broccoli that's a little foosty but no worse than when I've bought it at the store and kept it a bit too long before using it.

I didn't see the guitar guy playing in front of his house but I think he waits until the sun goes down so he's not got the sun in his eyes. There were a fair number of bums and crazies, and one angry crazy who was yelling and cussing and waving a long stick, I gave him a wide berth.

I got back here and Crazy Chrissie had water running all down the parking lot, washing her shitty-shit mobile, and now she's masking it off like she's going to paint it. With a roller maybe? And now she's driven off in it with it half-taped. Meth: Not Even Once.

It was 6:30 when I got back, and I relaxed a bit after putting things away, and I decided I'd not quite had enough fun, and besides, if I'm to play music on Monday, Memorial Day, what if it's hot as hell and I don't feel like playing then?

So I got the cornet and discovered that the strap I have on the cheesy little gig bag I have for it isn't long enough, but the whole thing fits in my bike bag OK. I also took about $12 in quarters because I planned to first go find the guitar guy, because now the sun would not be in his eyes, and maybe we could find some musical common ground and play together a bit. Then I'd go to TAK Market and buy something, probably in liquid form.

So I took off and where the guitar player was, there was obviously a party or a "quincinera" which is a girl's 13th or 14th birthday, or something, going on in back of one of the houses, and I think the guy was practicing up to play at that, and was playing at that now. It was a happy sound.

I swung by TAK and there were too many questionable characters hanging out around the front, so I decided Why not just go downtown? Show those bums hanging out in front of the Stritch they can't take that area away from musicians. So I set up in front of the opera house, and started in playing "We'll Meet Again". Wow, was I ever rusty as far as setting up on the street and not fucking up a song. But I kept working at it, and at one point a guy came out of one of the bars there and got into a nice car that was parked right there at the curb, and asked, "Is that 'We'll Meet Again'?" and I said it was, and that I'm glad he could recognize it. He said he had it put on his father's grave stone.

I kind of lost my composure then and managed to mutter that that's why I'm out here, and had to turn around and closely examine the posters on the front of the opera house while I got myself together, and then got back to working on it. This, though, is why I could never be satisfied being a sign painter. I just can't imagine someone saying, "Gee, 'NO PARKING' that's exactly what I had put on my father's gravestone!"

I wasn't sure what reactions I'd get to my playing, but other than that one guy, no one showed any notice. I went over to the Paseo de San Antonio and played by the closed theater, then The Old Spaghetti Factory, then in front of that wall that's the corner of the Starbucks in San Pedro Square. By this time it was just a bit after 9, and I figured time to head home.

I rode by the old post office and there was a bum-ess with her little camp in the doorway, having a really psycho fit and hitting the door really hard. It was bad enough that I called 911 and of course the 911 op wanted to know her race and all kinds of stuff, but hopefully the cops or an ambulance or both showed up because that gal really needed some time out in the rubber room.

My last stop was Japantown. It was very quiet with a few people moving around, and I set up by the spike-shaped monument on Jackson and 5th. I played "We'll Meet Again" a couple times pointing one way, then pointing the other. And that was it. I packed up and rode over to TAK Market which didn't have any "types" hanging out, and the gals inside were playing really boistrous Indian music. I told them the music was great and I ought to get my cornet out and play along, and they thought that was great too.

I looked through the store to see just what they have, and they even have rubbing alcohol, given it's in small bottles and they're $3 each. I finally chose a bottle of Pliny The Elder which was $7-odd, in quarters. They said, "We like your review, too!" so they figured out I'm the one who just wrote a glowing review on Google.

Riding back on 5th, there were a lot of flashing lights like an accident or police incident, so I skipped over to 4th, and one end of the incident was there too. So something big happened that involved a lot of fire trucks and some police. I'll probably find out on Reddit tomorrow.

Dinner was beef with scrounged broccoli, scrounged poblano pepper, and garlic. It was delicious. Not only great ingredients but I seasoned it with about equal amounts of "S&B Seasoned Pepper" and "Vegeta", both of which contain good amounts of MSG.