Ever since my first solar eclipse in 1979, when my buddy John and I drove (and rolled) my old van up to Washington state in the bitter February cold to see it, I've been addicted to them. John and I saw our second in Guadalajara Mexico in 1991, and in 1998 I dragged my wife to see my third in Antigua in the Caribbean.
When news came of another one running across the US from Oregon to Carolina, I knew I had to go again. Wife and friends all wimped out, but I was determined, and started making plans to get under it, solo if need be.
There were two options: up the 5 to Oregon, or out through the desert on the 15 to Idaho. But I've seen how the shadow of the moon itself causes even clear skies to go cloudy from the sudden drop in temperature, so I wasn't going to take the chance in damp Oregon. The plan became: drive out to Vegas; then to Park City (where my sister-in-law Dianne could put me up for free); up into the eclipse path to see it and back to Park City in a day; back to Vegas; and home. Two nights in a hotel in Vegas, two free nights in Park City, gas and food -- I'd get off relatively cheaply, compared to the other three trips. Five days driving for two minutes of totality? Fair trade!
The drive to Vegas was uneventful, if toasty. I stayed at the same Comfort Inn that we'd stayed at on our cross-country trip last year. At first I'd thought that I could find a cheaper alternative, but the online reviews of cheaper places spoke of bed bugs and junkie hookers hanging around out front, so I decided to go with the known quantity...
But the closer to the eclipse, the more dire the predictions of terrible traffic became. 34 million people lived along the same route I was taking, so I decided not to chance it, and I got up and 3am (foregoing the hotel's free breakfast -- even the little fridge was locked: No yogurt for *you*, early riser!), to drive as far north as I could get while still conscious.
But as reward, around 5am, somewhere near the Arizona/Utah border, the sliver of a moon came up ahead of sunrise and perched in the gap between the canyon mountains horizon and the glowering prairie rainclouds, on its way to its appointment with the sun a day and a half later. It was an incredible sight that my cellphone picture does no justice to.
To add to my anxiety that I'd miss the whole thing, as I drove through Utah, even the programmable freeway signs were trying to scare me off, saying "SOLAR ECLIPSE MONDAY, HEAVY PM TRAFFIC", and such. 300 miles south of the path of totality, and they're already panicking about the traffic. Other messages warned that "OVERSIZE LOADS RESTRICTED" in Idaho and Wyoming, and that there was "NO PARKING ON HIGHWAY DURING ECLIPSE".
But all the warnings apparently worked on the non-addicts so no nasty traffic ever materialized, and somehow I never really got sleepy, so I drove straight through to the eclipse path in ten hours, with short stops for breakfast and lunch. Now I was at least assured of seeing the eclipse, but one problem remained: Where to sleep? All the hotels and campgrounds in the path were sold out at outrageous prices, months or years ago. That's why the original plan was to stay with Dianne in Park City.
Fortunately, I had looked into this, just in case. The rumor that you can park an RV in a Walmart parking lot overnight turns out to be true, according to their website, but there were no Walmarts out in rural Idaho where I wanted to be. But there is "Federal Land" that you're allowed to camp anywhere on, if you can find it. I had ended up on a highway that ran up the valley between two fingers of foothills, and the way it works is that all the flat, farmable, land on either side of the highway is Private, and the useless mountainous areas are Federal. But how do you get across one to the other?
I spent the afternoon driving out on a rocky dirt farm road, trying to get to what would be Federal Land, but never found anything to indicate that I'd found it. But back out on the highway I spotted a tiny National-Parks-brown sign that said, "Rothwell Sportsman's Access", pointing to a small dirt road. This was exactly what I was looking for, and even better, the road itself seemed to be open for overnight parking, since there were already three or four trucks and vans parked around the edges, so I didn't have to drive out to the middle of nowhere (well, no more than this part of Idaho was *already* the middle of nowhere) to park. So here it was 6pm, and I was all set with a place that was probably safe, and probably legal, to sleep in my car. Hopefully, I would make it through the night without being arrested or Deliverance'd.
I couldn't risk leaving my spot, in case a mob of other eclipse campers descended on it, so I had a dinner of lunchmeat ham, cheese, and peaches, read my book, and played some on the "camping guitar" I'd built back in the seventies by chopping a cheap pawnshop guitar down to just the working section. Or tried to, but it was hard to hear what I was playing with the *loud* neo-country music coming from the truck down the way...
Finally it got dark enough to try to sleep, and I was certainly ready to, having gotten up at 3am. It was mid 80's in the afternoon, but it was getting cold fast, so I put on the parka I had thrown in the car at the last minute, and settled into the leaned-back passenger's seat. It was tough, but I finally fell asleep despite the thump-thump-thump from next door.
Woke up at 10, and again at 11, with the country music still blaring. And cold. Starting to get a bit *too* reminiscent of the snowy night Johnny and I spent in a rented Ford Fiesta in the parking lot of the Washington State Highway Patrol office, waiting for them to clear Snoqualmie Pass of the avalanche. But that's a different story...
Dianne called me at 6:30am, on her way up from Park City with her son and his girlfriend. Even the morning of the eclipse, the predicted disastrous traffic hadn't appeared, so they drove right up to find me.
One feature of a total eclipse that you don't hear about is the incredible sight of the actual shadow of the moon, rushing toward and engulfing you as the eclipse becomes "total". It's the most mind-blowing aspect of the eclipse for me -- it's when you get a gut-level impression of the solar system as a 3D device. Your whole life, the sky seems to be what the ancients called it, an upside-down bowl with the sun and moon painted on it. But in the moment when the shadow crosses over you, you feel/see and truly *know* that you're standing on a rock in space, with another rock passing in front of the light source. Mind blowing. Life altering.
Johnny and I saw this happen the first time, but not the second, nor did it appear the third time. I had ascribed this to the geography -- you'd need a place where you can see the ground, far out to your west, to watch the shadow scream across at 1900 mph. We'd had that the first time, just by accident, but not the other two.
This time, I was determined to see it again, so I deliberately stayed a little south of the centerline of totality (i.e., maximum duration), in order to avoid my western flank being interrupted by the foothills. Even a mile or three of visible land before the mountains will go by in a blink at 1900 mph. I dragged Dianne and co. out to the middle of the farmland so we had an unobstructed view far out to the west, and we set up on a farm road among the alfalfa.
I had brought my small but powerful telescope, and had practiced setting it up and getting it "aligned" so the motor keeps it centered on the object in question while the earth spins out from under it. I did all that while the eclipse started the boring "partial" part. I'd check it every once in a while, and the tracking was working, but not very accurately.
We waited as it got darker and colder, and at some point it got dark enough that I took my sunglasses off and put them in my pocket. Then it got darker, and darker, and we looked to the west...
And it just got darker, and at some point it was clear that it had gone total, but no rushing shadow! What happened?!?
But no time to worry about that! Look at the eclipse! But it's all blurry! Where are my (not-sun) glasses?!? In the car, in that clever glasses compartment in the ceiling! Run, open, reach, find, grab, put on! Much better! Looks cool, but far away. Where's the telescope?
Look in the telescope, and it's much closer, but not centered 'cuz the tracking isn't working right. Correct that with the four arrows on the remote, and come to realize that the telescope magnifies the sun to just about the full frame of the image, so it's mostly just the big black spot of the moon (with the very cool day-glo pink prominences), but the corona (which is what a total eclipse has that an even 99% partial doesn't) is outside the view. Screw that!
Back to naked eyes, but fortunately Dianne is thinking much better than I am and offers me the binoculars I'd brought. These are the Right Tool For The Job, it turns out. Lower magnification lets you see the whole thing: corona, prominences, and all. Very cool! That's what we came here for!
I'd checked the star charts beforehand, 'cuz in a total eclipse the stars come out. Indeed, one of the cool features is that you get to see Mercury, which is, obviously, close to the sun, and therefore usually obscured in the glare. Through the binoculars, sure enough, there it is, bottom left. And at top right where Mars should be (just a coincidence of lineup): nothing. And to the left should be Regulus, one of the brightest stars in the sky, but: nothing.
Which leads me to believe that the high haze that we started with had condensed to be thicker in the cool moon shadow, obscuring the stars and planets, and blurring the shadow's edge so it wasn't defined enough to really see as an edge coming across the landscape, as Johnny and I had seen in Washington in '79. (My new theory: see an eclipse when it's already cold outside like that, so the moon shadow doesn't make it colder enough to cause any condensation.) Oh well. Best laid plans and all that. But the eclipse itself, naked eye and through the binoculars, was spectacular.
And over. With all my bumbling, the two minutes and eleven seconds were gone in, I don't know, fifteen? Your first instinct is to chase it down. But I'm pretty sure I can't run, or even drive, 1900 miles an hour. It's over, and you get what you get, and it was amazing, but frustratingly short, but still mind boggling, and I wish I'd'a... and when's the next one?
We'd watched the eclipse as it inched towards totality by projecting the sun's image through the telescope, the binoculars, or pinholes made by lacing your fingers. I didn't have any Eclipse Glasses, nor needed any. You just need to keep track so you'll know when to look for the approaching shadow (if any). People across the country were happily watching the partiality as it came and went in their area, but lemme tell ya, once you've seen the totality, there's nothing more boring than the lame ol' crescent sun as it grows back to a circle.
So it's time to tear down the telescope and get back on the road. As I took the telescope off of its tripod, I noticed that I hadn't remembered to set it to the angle corresponding to the latitude of my location, which explained why it hadn't been tracking properly. Stupid, stupid. Next time.
Apocalyptic traffic once again failed to materialize, at least in Idaho. I was afraid that all the people who had come to Idaho at various times up to a week in advance would all leave at once, but it wasn't bad. There was some jamming where the two-lane out to the country merged into the four-lane going south, but it only added a half hour or so to the drive to Park City. (Reports said that the five-hour drive to totality from the Chicago area had turned into a 15-hour drive back, though.) I spent a nice evening with Dianne and her husband and dog, and left about noon to drive to Vegas (watching the amazing desert clouds), stayed the night at the same hotel, and drove home in the morning.
When's the next one, again?
Terrific night, seemingly custom designed to make me forget how terrible the previous outing was. I sold three CDs in the first five minutes, which led me to discover that I only had five with me, even though I distinctly remember making "a million" just a few days ago. Where do they all go?
Anyway, lots of people out on this fine summer's evening. Lots of kids to play for, and requests coming fast and deep.
And then suddenly we had a *huge* group of people that turned out to be a big family vacation group from Utah. They stayed a long time -- their kids came up to do "Let It Go" and "True Colors" singalongs, and even the adults were loudly singing along with "Country Roads" and such. They definitely made our night, if not week.
Later on, two college girls were walking by and clearly intended to just keep on going, like 95% of people do. But one of them was roped in by the song that I was doing, and then they liked the next song, and the next, and eventually they went ahead and sat down when their intended blow-by turned into a six or seven song stay. It's always enheartening when I can catch people like that and keep their interest for a while.
Tom (of the "Tommies, our rival street band) has somehow decided that Warren has slighted him in some way(s), so he's abdicated our "every other weekend" deal and is monopolizing The Corner almost every night, but especially weekends. To try to "fight back", we decided to play on the opposite corner, but I don't think it worked. His novelty act (his young daughter and him) somehow trumps our good music one, and they get all the tourist attention. It's depressing and humiliating.
To make it worse, the homeless guys have somewhat gotten the word that they're not welcome on The Real Corner so they tend to hang out opposite, which is great when we're there, but in this case, it meant that we were plagued by three of four of them all night.
We did rope in a small family and I played kids' songs and let the little girls sing along with my toy microphone. That was big fun while it lasted.
And our old friend "Silly Patty" came by for a while, and since I had no audience to service, I got to talk to her for a while.
So, all in all, a pretty awful night -- but they can't all be winners, right?
This was my second time here (of five scheduled so far), and it worked out much better. I mostly solved the feedback problem by moving the amp to my right so it's projecting half of the sound into the room and half out onto the patio (where most of the people are anyway, since it's hot). I also walked out in front of it to hear what it's really like, and the wait staff weren't jiving me -- it does sound OK out there (unlike how it sounds back where I am).
Anyway, with that solved, I feel better about it and can focus on the music instead of the sound. It was a bit less noisy, too -- I think there were just fewer people in the room.
A guy in the back read through the list and decided he wanted none of the above, and did I know any Johnny Cash? I do, and played "Folsom Prison Blues" for him, after which he came up and dropped a $20 in the jar. Nice!
Near the end, a group of college kids came in and sat at the nearest table. Pretty soon I had them singing along to "Do You Want To Build a Showman" (and they even provided Elsa's sole line, "Go away, Anna!", for me), "Hotel California", "Mrs. Robinson", and I volunteered "Don't Stop Believing", even though I keep it off the list. A splendid time was had by all.
Anyway, after the first difficult outing here, I wasn't sure this was what I wanted to do with my time, but this time was much more fun, so I guess I'll keep doing it. For a while anyway.
Started out pretty slow, except for a guy carrying an orange Bearded Dragon who told me that he'd buy my CD if I played "If I Fell". I told him I'd be happy to play it even if he didn't buy a CD, but he insisted. I played it, and he said that he figured I wouldn't be able to do the harmony 'cuz it's so clever. I didn't point out that one guy can't do the harmony on *any* song (he was unaware that I do have harmony from the box on lots of non-If I Fell, songs) by himself, easy or not.
The slowness gave me a chance to practice my two new kids songs, "How Far I'll Go" from "Moana", and "True Colors" from either the new kids' movie "Trolls" or 1986 and Cyndi Lauper, depending on how old you are. The Moana song is surprisingly popular with kids and teenage girls -- when "Frozen" was big, it was all over the place. Moana seems just as popular, but quietly, somehow.
"True Colors" turns out to be right in my wheelhouse, and a blast to play and sing, so I'm glad when someone spots it on either the Kids' or Grownup Request lists.
Early on, a group of 5 or 6 old ladies came and sat on the bench, deliberately ignoring us, refusing to look at me, and irritably declining to look at my proffered Request List. Who knew that the bicycle was the logo for the Grumpy Lady's Club?
A couple came up and were standing and embracing and waiting for a song. I played "Leaving On a Jet Plane", and apparently that was right on target 'cuz the guy got out a twenty and had her put it in the jar.
Two ladies came by later in the middle of "Wonderful Tonight", and when it was over, they insisted that I play it again. They were just so enthusiastic and effusive that I had to conclude that they weren't from around here. I asked, and one was from Venezuela, and the other was from Costa Rica. They stayed for a bunch of songs, and basically showed the Americans how being an audience is done.
At one point, I looked over and there was something non-green in the tip jar. People sometimes put weird things in there: business cards, bible tracts, origami, flowers, non-US currency, etc. I went to see what it was, and it was a change purse, full of change. When I counted it later, it came to $8.65. I guess somebody liked us, didn't have any paper money, and didn't want to dump so much loose change in the jar, so they just threw in the whole purse. Weird, but, thanks!
The Tommies let Warren know that they weren't going to be on The Corner this Sunday, but Warren had a concert to go to so I went down alone. Unfortunately, two other guys had snagged The Corner. I asked them how long they were going to be there, and went down the street to wait them out.
Much less traffic down there, but kind of pleasant, and much quieter being away from PCH. After the proscribed "couple of hours" I went back to The Corner and they finished up a few songs and politely relinquished it to me, just as Warren showed up.
So a short night (8-10:15), but a nice one. The sound seemed unusually good, and my voice was strong with a good range. We did have some issues with homeless guys -- Way-Gone Gordon was parked in the middle of the bench, gesturing and arguing with the voices in his head. Fortunately, he does it quietly, so he's not too scary. Later on a guy was across the street yelling "Why you?!?" at, his shoes, I think, over and over in a loop until it sounded more like a European ambulance than actual words.
A teenage girl ("Frankie") came by looked at my list, and asked if she could sing "Part of Your World" from "The Little Mermaid" with me. I said sure, and gave her the toy kids' "microphone". But after a few verses, I could hear that she knew what she was doing, so I stopped the song and put my head mic on her. She did great.
Other than that, we had plenty of nice people to play for, and the usual stream of not-interested bar-hoppers, beach people, and those girls who are so tall and willowy that they clearly grew up on a planet with lesser gravity than ours...
A couple of weeks ago, some ladies came up to me while I was playing at Dana Point harbor, and asked if I ever played at "Taco Surf". I said no, 'cuz I've never even heard of it. They said that they love that place and I'd be perfect there, etc.
So I looked it up, and it looked like a fun place to be and/or play, so I gathered up my nerve and walked in and asked about playing there. They referred me to the owner, and he took one look at my list of songs and asked if I could play Fridays. I told him I could play any night, and he went in the back to consult his calendar. While I was still wondering what the audition process was going to be, he came back with a list confirming me as playing the next five Fridays!
He hadn't even heard me! But I've subsequently gathered that his wife, who runs the joint on Fridays, has been nagging at him that they should have music on Fridays, so he just jumped on a chance to fill them all, sight unseen (well, sound unheard). So here I was expecting to (a) audition in some fashion, and (b) maybe play one night as a trial, possibly even without pay, but instead I had to frantically check my calendar to see if my next five Fridays were free!
So it's a kind of "Mexican Cantina", with the walls covered with surf and beer posters, fake thatching here and there, and crazy rustic architecture. There's a long skinny room as you enter, with the two-sided bar on the left that also serves the outside patio. In between is the main dining room, with eight tables, and a little stage at one end.
I set up and started playing, but maybe because the room is so small, I was having terrible feedback problems with my guitar. It was a struggle to be loud enough to fill the room (and the patio outside) over the load ambient noise of the restaurant without causing feedback.
But, even though I thought it was sounding terrible ('cuz I had to turn the bass on the guitar down to zero) and that nobody could hear me ('cuz I couldn't), the waitresses, bartender, and owner's wife kept telling me that it sounded great, perfect volume, and great music. OK, I guess I'll just have to take that on faith.
Of course, at a restaurant, people are there to have fun with their friends, not listen to a "concert", so it was noisy in there, and people generally had other things on their agenda than paying attention to me. I passed out my songlists to every table, and that kept them a little more involved, but the cleanup lady kept taking them and stacking them on the bar (after the first one she didn't recognize as Important and threw away), and I kept having to go out and fetch them and put them back on the tables. Maybe we can come to an agreement on those, next time...
One guy from out on the patio must have really liked my stuff, 'cuz he kept coming in and asking for a song, listening from outside, then coming back in to clap and ask for another one, and for me to turn it up (which I couldn't do).
Later on, some old ladies came in, and when I walked over to ask if they had any requests from the list, one lady said that she was just still deciding which one she wanted to sing with me. *With* me? I told her that I only had one mic, and she said that was OK, and just stood up there next to me and we sang "Fire and Rain" together. She said that she was sure that the other ladies in the "Ukulele Club" would get a kick out of it, as her friend took pictures (and video?).
Anyway, it was generally fun, if sound/musically disastrous. I guess I'll go back, at least one more time. Hopefully I'll figure something out to fix that feedback problem.
Warren and his other friend Jim usually play on Wednesday nights, but Jim couldn't make it so I went down instead. It was a pretty nice night with lots of people out.
For some reason, it was "Buy a CD night" and I sold nine of them. A little old lady came by and sat on the bench listening for a while, and then dug into her purse and was scribbling something in a little book. It turned out to be a check book, and she dropped a check to "the name on the sign" for two CDs, "one for me and one for a friend".
She went back to the bench for a while, before asking if I knew any Mary McCaslin songs. I think she wanted to hear "The Bramble and the Rose", but knowing even one Mary McCaslin song is rare enough, and the one I know is "Waiting", so I did it for her. That great but obscure song pretty much chased the small crowd that I'd gathered away, but it was worth it. Nobody *ever* asks for Mary McCaslin...
Pretty early on, a policeman came by on his official bicycle. He stopped over at the side and just watched and listened for a while. That makes me nervous, of course, but it was way before the 9pm curfew, so I just kept playing -- and actually felt pretty good that he was there to observe the lots of people smiling and having fun.
Warren finally said to him, hopefully jokingly, "We thought you were here to shut us down!", and he said, "Oh, no, even if there were complaints, I'd work to keep you guys here -- I like you guys!" That was amazing to hear!
Not bad for a Monday night. I love summer in Laguna.
We had lots of kids at first, including a trio of tiny 3- or 4-year olds from Mexico who didn't speak English but were able to choose their favorite kids' songs from my picture menu. Then two ladies came by with their 6-year-old daughters all dressed in formal kimonos. I've been inexplicably learning some Japanese lately, so I went over and said "Konban wa", but only the moms spoke it, so that didn't go over as well as I'd hoped.
Later on, some oldsters came by and listened for a while, then came up and asked me if I knew any Sam Cooke. I played "Wonderful World" for them, and they immediately busted into some wild swing dancing! People cleared out of their way, and got out their phones to take videos. And now that I knew what they were up to, I did a couple of similar songs (like "Dream Lover") until it looked like the old guy was going to pass out, so I kind of stopped to give him a break. (No pictures -- they were moving too fast!)
They told us that they did swing dancing at Laguna Woods, and we ought to be playing for those dances. I said that, despite appearances tonight, we really weren't a "dance band" (lacking bass and drums), but I wonder if there's any opportunities for "concerts" there...
Our "every other Saturday" arrangement with the Tommies is fracturing, so we decided to at least try some weekend nights here in the summer. But it turned out that this particular Thursday was the "first Thursday" which makes it "Art Walk", where the galleries and shops stay open late and people come down for the free wine and cheese on offer there.
Which has usually proven to make it a terrible night for busking, 'cuz who can compete with free wine? But we actually did pretty well this time, and had fun.
Since I mostly play in Dana Point during the daytime these days, I'd completely forgotten about the fingerlights that I used to give out to the kids when it's an outdoor night gig. I brought a bag full this time and gave out a handful. It's fun to "make their night" with those.
So we started around 6:00 and by 10:30 we were down to just two people so I figured I'd do my usual Last Song, "Let It Be", but as I was singing it, a big family from Mexico City showed up and was all thrilled and singing along and dancing. And when it was over they wanted "more Beatles!", so I did "In My Life", followed by "Something".
While (and because) they were getting into it, more people showed up out of the empty night, including a young couple. The girl clearly wanted to ask me (for?) something, and finally found an opening and the nerve to march up and ask for "Hotel California" in her strange accent. I said I'd be happy to play it, but first, where was she from? She was reluctant to 'fess up, but finally with the encouragement of my new Mexican friends, said that they were from Azerbaijan. That's a first for me. Not sure why it's embarrassing, though.
When that song was over, she jumped up again and wondered if I knew a song, and she started singing pieces of "San Francisco", the "flowers in your hair" one. Warren and I were both surprised that a 20-somethig girl from Azerbaijan would want or even *know* a song like that, but she and her boyfriend assured us that it played on the radio back there. Gonna have to take their word on that.
I do happen to know it, so I happily played it. Partway through, though, two heavily armored Laguna cops came by and took up a post over to the side. I was sure they were going to call us on the 9:00pm curfew that we were almost two hours over, but it felt like, if they were being polite enough to at least wait for the end of the song, they'd probably only give us a warning.
But, instead, they clapped and told us "Sounding great, guys!", and walked on. That was a surprise and relief.
Last year I was lamenting that my home town doesn't have any "casual strolling" venues like Laguna Beach's downtown. And it occurred to me that we do, but only once a year. So I asked the lady who runs the 4th of July Street Faire (and the Holly Trolley that I play for every Xmas) if I could set up on the corner furthest from the Rock Band Stage (to flee the thumping bass), just for tips -- I didn't need anything from the City except permission.
By the time I thought of all this and asked, she thought it was too close to the event to do that, but promised to look into it for next (i.e., this) year. She invited me to play, and not only reserved me a spot, but, because our City Manager can't seem to do anything half-way, they purpose-built me an "Easy Listening Stage", with a canopy for shade, patriotic banners all around, a tall plants enclosure, fake grass covering the hot asphalt, and chairs and sun umbrellas for the audience.
I had originally agreed to play 2-6, figuring that four hours would be my limit in the usual 90-degree heat, but then they went and built me this fancy stage, and asked if I could extend that to be Noon-6. I reluctantly agreed to start at noon (when the Faire opens), but couldn't promise I'd last all the way until 6.
But I did, and, since I'm writing this, apparently survived it. And it was bordering on fun, too. I had people filling the chairs the whole time (though I suspect that comfy and shaded chairs would have attracted people even without me being there), and lots of people stopped to listen for a while from the street. Unfortunately, the umbrellas happened to be exactly tall enough to prevent anyone standing at the back from seeing my face, which kind of puts people off, and kept them from hanging out too long. That, and the sun.
With the predictably 90-degree heat, it was hard to complain about there being a breeze, but it kept bringing the blue streamers they'd seen fit to hang at the back of the Easy-Up to "attack" me from behind. And people kept finding the "short cut" of walking on the sidewalk behind the street booths, which led them to walk straight through my "stage", despite my guitar and amplifier cases laid out to indicate "no passageway". Rude, distracting, and potentially dangerous, cable-wise.
Anyway, I happened to look at my clock at 5:55, announced that this would be my last song, played "Let It Be", thanked everybody, and started to tear down... and almost passed out. While I'm playing, I never notice that I'm hungry, tired, in need of a restroom, or that my back, knees, and/or feet are killing me. But as soon as I stop, all those things come rushing in. But I've never spun out before. I blame the blood thinners they put me on recently.
I'd been selling lots of CDs lately at my street corner gigs, so I figured I'd better make a whole bunch for this thing, especially the Kids' one. And then I sold... two. It seemed like the relative formality of the setting prevented folks from wanting to come up to the "stage" to check out the CDs, or drop some money in the jar. So I wasn't expecting much, but was surprised when I counted up the "take". I guess even a trickle adds up if you play for six hours straight.
And near the end, despite there being no agreement of my getting paid for this at all, indeed, despite my original proposal a year ago to play for tips-only, a lady from the Activities Committee walked up and handed me a check.
So, yes, assuming they ask me back, I'll do it again next year.
It was basically 4th of July (4-day) weekend, so I was worried because every other holiday has been worse than a "normal" day, not better. But it was pretty great. Curse broken?
I had already played at Dana Point that morning for two hours, but I've done that many times before and never had a problem. But this time, after an hour or so, my left (fretting) hand started to cramp up really badly. I stretched it between songs, but it only got worse until, in the middle of "Cinnamon Girl", my big finger got stuck straight out, and I had to try to finish the song with the three remaining fingers trying to form the chords. And failing.
I took a seldom-seen break after that, and sat on the bench. Warren went into the ice cream shop and procured a banana, since their potassium is supposed to fix/help cramping. Meanwhile, I sat on the bench next to the crazy old Korean guy who had been enthusiastically listening (and coming up to raggedly sing snips of songs he wanted me to play; "This lando is my lando!"). He saw me stretching my hand and decided to help by grabbing it and applying some ancient secret Korean juju/massage, while I ate the banana with my other hand. After all that, my hand quit cramping and I made it for another three hours without any trouble, but I don't know if it was the massage or the banana...
We were also visited by a nice Persian lady who came by, and then came back a while later to sit down and listen. She asked for several songs, and sang along with most of them. She told me many things about something, but it so quiet a voice that I had no idea what she was saying.
Eventually she revealed (loudly enough) that she was an author ("nine books in the last year"), and some kind of spiritual/life coach. She produced, and made to take, a book jacket to one of them, featuring quotes like, "... Balance of dimensions and shades of all essence I call Patterns, that enable any individual or nation to succeed and prosper societally, without compromising inner hymns of wisdom to nurture the progressions of Self and the Sound of Humanity..." it goes on. And on. I guess I can see how she could write so many books -- it's just strings of gobbledy-gook! But she was sincere, and a sweetie. She said she's in the process of finding a place in Laguna to start a new "Center".
Towards the end, a young guy stood up against the ice cream shop for a while, then came over to watch from the bench. When the batteries on my amp ran out, shutting down the show, he came up and wanted one more request, "Hallelujah", even though it's completely inaudible out there without amplification. I played it anyway, by feel, since even *I* can't hear the guitar. He's a beginning Player himself, and was obviously watching to learn whatever he could, which I totally approve of since it's how I learned everything I know, too.
Started off as a nice bright sunny summer day, and became a lovely night. Lots of nice people, and appreciative too, according to the tip jar.
But the highlight was a pair of young girls, one of which was just incredibly full of life. She truly "danced like no one's watching", and I couldn't do her justice without resorting to this faux-multiple exposure picture I 'shopped up. If you've seen the Netflix show "Anne with an 'E'" (and if you've had daughters, you definitely should), she reminded me so much of Anne. Made my night. Heck, made my week!
So last Sunday, a guy walked up and asked us what we were doing Thursday night, and ended up hiring us, sorta, to play what we understood to be a gallery opening party -- with a hundy in cash as a deposit. With his accent, we didn't catch his name, nor the name of the gallery, nor even the location that he only mentioned had something to do with "the pool store" and "that famous florist".
We waited for an email to explain some or all of that, but it never came, but with some clever Google Mapping, we had a best guess candidate location. I sat in my car outside the (probable) pool store, and finally got a phone call, wondering where we were. Turns out his "gallery" was more of an apartment, which he's styling as a "studio", and it's just above the pool store. And his name turned out to be Claudiu (he's Romanian).
So it was "the opening" of what will be, stay with me here, a free "art lessons" studio for kids, that's really a daycare in disguise, since he can't "do commerce" up there. So he'll give free art lessons, and take donations from grateful parents. But it was also his birthday, so he hired a band -- us.
We thought it was an actual event, of course, so we showed up plenty early to set up and be ready to play for the party, so we were by far the first to arrive, and by the end of it, practically the *only* to arrive. A nice lady, Christie, from up the street showed up, and eventually brought her nine-year-old son down, and one other guy came by, but that was it, all night. If you don't count the Dominos guy...
But he paid us the balance of the $300 I asked for right at the beginning, so we hung around, played when Christie would come out to the balcony, and played some new stuff I've been working on, just to pass the time.
Around 8:30 Claudiu ordered six pizzas, but before it arrived, the cops had come by reporting a complaint by some neighbor, and shut us down. Warren went ahead home after that, but I stayed for some pizza and to make poor Claudiu's birthday a little less sad. Six pizzas for four people was a little much, but Claudiu still held out a conviction that his "mates" (he grew up in Australia) would be there any time. I hope so, but I gave up just before 10:00.
I'm pretty sure he hadn't hired us to play for his birthday just to have someone actually at his party, but if you don't count the child, there were as many band members as guests. Fortunately, Claudiu is a big happy, friendly guy and it didn't seem to bother him much. He was mostly unhappy that his new neighbors would ruin his birthday by calling the cops on his band.
So overall, a really weird night. The venue was crazy, the host was crazy (spent the evening telling us all his big business ideas), and even the pizza was crazy (who orders Dominos "Thin Crust"?!?). And getting shut down by the cops for volume was a new one on us. But we got paid, and made a new friend, so, success?
