A LOUD busker

 I should start this post with less doom. When I was riding over to Beth David for the last class session, when I got to where Campbell Avenue does a sort of left turn by the Target store, I heard a trumpet. So instead of going on I went across on the crosswalk, hopped down a curb, and started looking around and listening. 

Set up on the sidewalk of the exiting side of the entrance, was a Black guy with some sort of sign board, sitting on a chair, with I dunno a tip jar I guess, odds and ends probably a Thermos etc., and holding a trumpet. I got talking with him. He played something I didn't recognize, and he played it LOUD. I asked what it was and he said it was "Hot Mama" or something. But the guy has serious skills. Bending notes, etc. 

We had a friendly talk, I said busking might be one of the best jobs an ordinary person can get, and wished him very well and rode on. 

But his technique is very different from mine and it's because I play for people and he plays for cars. Campbell, especially the sprawled-out area West of downtown, isn't built for people, it's built for cars. Whether you're playing for people or playing for cars makes a big difference. 

I play pretty much continuously, because I want people to hear songs they know and like, and see that I'm playing them at least somewhat decently. The only clutter around me is my trumpet gig bag and my red folding cloth box for the tips. I don't need a lot of visual impressiveness and in fact I feel the less the better - I'm playing for people. 

This fine gentleman, and I really do admire his skill, is playing for cars. He's loud as fuck because he needs to be heard over a wide area. He probably has marching band experience, and it's coming in handy because he needs to be heard across football field-like distances. 

He seemed to be only playing maybe 10% of the time. No need to tire yourself out when you're just trying to get attention. No need to play familiar tunes, just make some noise.

When the tips come is when the cars are exiting, they see him, and it's sort of "Oh yeah, that Black guy's out there playing trumpet, I'm gonna tip him". It's not about being musical, it's about being heard. In other words as much more skillful, classy version of Trumpetman playing under the bridge, playing as loudly as he can muster, trying to out-compete the car horns. 

I've thought a lot about these differences because while I'm still in this area, I may have to play for cars, also. I have seen various beggars set up this way, on the sidewalk of the exit side of those enter/exit areas of our contribution to culture; strip malls. I'd probably put up a funny sign myself, maybe dress in a distinctive way. 

Ken called me up in the afternoon to de-list something I'd listed, oops. But I got a lot done, at least for me. I even finished a load of laundry and started another. 

Ken came by in the evening and I got my check, which is good. He mentioned getting a medical checkup and his doctor telling him he's getting worse with regard to blood sugar control and blood pressure. So for dinner he brought a salad and a roll of those little donuts with powdered sugar on them! I said something about the donuts and he said, "I'm not gonna eat them all". 

The thing is, if 7-11 salads are anything like McDonald's salads, they've got a ton of calories and almost all of them sugar. According to CNBC, 

"The salad contains more than 730 calories, 53 grams of fat, and 1,400 milligrams of salt, according to McDonald's nutritional information. As a point of comparison, someone would have to eat three traditional McDonald's hamburgers to consume about the same number of calories." 

Now add a couple of sugar-frosted (even if little) donuts on top of that! The guy has no food knowledge at all, and he and his wife will NOT change their "food ways". I've tried telling them about keto theory and some years ago they literally watched me go from 165 down to 140, maybe a bit less, before their eyes. They saw what I was eating (I was bringing fatty beef and broccoli and they saw how I cooked it and that I ate it) they are just incapable of changing their food-ways. 

We talked about this and that, I heard for the umpteenth time how he repaired the PIN diode switch in a signal generator once, plus we talked about politics a bit (he's astonished by how dumb Trump voters are, while not acknowledging that he's one) and we talked about our respective "plan B's". 

His "Plan B" is to simply turn this place over to an auction house and tell 'em to get what they can for the sales stock. I believe there's still at least a year left on the lease and more like two so I've got this place to live in for that long. 

I gave him a rundown on how my class is going, then I write four essays for my rabbi, I go before a tribunal of rabbis, take a dip in the holy pool down at the JCC and that's it. But I have to be active in my temple for a year after that. That puts me at say, a year and a half. Give Nefesh b'Nefesh 6 months to do their thing and that amounts to two years. 

The process may be accelerated depending on how bad things get here. 

But my Plan B is to slam my stuff into the storage place that's across from the old shop, Tom's said I can always bunk up with him, or I could even hotel it for a bit while I use connections through my temple to see if anyone's got a room or a garage or something to rent. And to stick with the process of conversion and moving to Israel. 

Ken finally left a bit after midnight, and left his jacket here so I tried calling him, then sent a text saying simple, "Jacket" and then called his house. Suzy was nice and polite but she was "business friendly" rather than "family friend friendly". Since she cares about Ken's health more then Ken does, she may want him to be done with this place. If I were her I'd sure want the junk, the expense, the worries, etc gone. 

This means I have to be at least mentally prepared to jump ship at any time.