My 60th birthday is coming up in a few weeks so I thought I'd post a few of my Stories, while I can still remember (or make up) a reasonable portion of them. None of the following may be terribly true or accurate, but it's how I remember it. It's probably appropriate to start with my "Brush with Death".
Around Christmas 2002 I had a heart attack or two, or so they tell me. They weren't the "clutch your left arm, grit your teeth, and fall on the ground (and die, or not, depending on the needs of the script)" kind like you see in the movies, which is probably as fortunate as it is anticlimactic. But to start at the beginning...
For a couple of weeks before Christmas, whenever we'd walk the dogs, I'd get a dull ache in my left wrist. I'd be thinking, "Gee, I don't remember typing all that much today." In retrospect: duh!
Then when I went to bed on Christmas Eve, it felt like I'd wrenched my back. (Along with, you know, like, every other muscle I own. Despite having done nothing all day to wrench anything. *Willfully* stupid, or just *plain* stupid -- you decide.) I tossed and turned, vainly looking for a position that didn't hurt, and eventually managed to get to sleep.
Christmas Day at my mom's house in Downey. The presents are all opened, and most of the relatives have gone home. I mention to my mom that I've been having this pain in my left wrist, and she says "Go see a doctor". I'm like, "Oh, it's not that bad, and only once in a while", and she says, "Go see a doctor". My dad, whose family all dies from heart attacks, and himself a recent recipient of a quintuple bypass, wanders through, and my mom tells him that I'm having pain in my left wrist. He says, "Go see a doctor, it's your heart".
I say, "No, no, no -- it's just a little ache", leaving out the "that happens when I exercise, and creeps further up my arm the more I do, and goes away as I cool down" part, 'cuz I'm not exactly aware of that pattern yet.
My dad says, "I'll prove it to you", and goes and fetches one of his nitroglycerin pills. I put it under my tongue as instructed, in dissolves, and nothing happens, and I say so.
Side Note: Of *course* nothing happened -- there was nothing *to* happen. I realize now that my dad thought that I was having pain *at that moment*, and his "proof" was going to be that the pain went away when I took the nitro. He didn't know I wasn't having any pain to alleviate, and I didn't know what he meant by "proof". Communication Score: 0 out of 10.
So he says, "Oh, they lose potency when the bottle's open. I'll get you a new one". I take that one, and...
Science Note: Nitro stops heart attacks by somehow magically opening up the (clogged up) arteries around your heart, so all your blood can go there. Very clever -- unfortunately, there may not be enough blood left for your head.
... I immediately faint. I'm sitting on the couch, so I just keel over. I wake up moments later to see my dad hovering over me yelling my name, and my wife on the phone, lying to the paramedics about me having a heart attack. All I'm really having is a nitro-overdose-induced fainting spell, but potato, potahto.
Pretty quick the paramedics arrive and come tromping in in their big yellow pants. The guy asks me if I can sit up, and I'm feeling perfectly fine now that there's blood in my brain, so I say, "Sure!", and sit up and almost faint again, and lie back down, and revise my answer to, "No, I guess not". He says that if I can't get over to the stretcher, he has to take me in, and I figure it probably won't count if I crawl over there, so off we go. (By the way, I can definitively state that having a heart attack on Christmas is the *definition* of "Never live it down".)
On the way to the hospital, I imagine they installed the I.V.s with the blood thinners and beta blockers that I ended up with, but I don't like needles so whenever they bring any out I go to my Happy Place and refuse to notice. Is that a squirrel?
At the hospital, they apparently don't have any rooms for me, so I lie on a gurney in the hallway, and as the nitro wears off, I have another "wrenched back" episode. I tell each passing nurse, "Ouch" or words to that effect, and they each respond the way you do when a drunk junkie asks you for spare change from a dark alley -- pretend you didn't hear and walk faster.
They eventually get me into a room, and very eventually the cardiologist shows up (it is Christmas Day, after all), and suddenly it's old home week. The guy is my dad's actual cardiologist, and it's all "Hey, Don! How you doing? This your boy?" My dad sheepishly admits his felony distribution of prescription drugs, and the guy just slaps him on the back and says, "Hey, don't worry about it! I'd'a done the same thing!"
The rest of the hospital stay is a bit of a blur -- no doubt there were needles involved, and, like I say, once those come out, I'm decidedly Not There anymore. Apparently, they decided that they could run a camera up in me to take a look at the trouble, but couldn't be bothered to actually fix it while they were in there. Sure 'nuff, the pictures show that my hereditarily high cholesterol has caused my arteries to jam up like a grease-filled glass pipe in a Drano commercial.
But apparently they can't just throw some Drano into one of these fifty needles that are already installed in me -- they gotta do it old-school like Roto-Rooter and physically scrape the gunk away. And that takes, somehow, more people in the room than the camera work does, even though it's essentially the same procedure. And it's Christmas, so there aren't enough people around to do it. So they decide to (upside!) ambulance me down to my own hospital in Mission Viejo, where I can be closer to my people, and the equipment isn't left over from World War Two.
At Mission, they put me in a room in I.C.U., even though I was really just waiting around for some doctors to get home from their golfing trips in the Bahamas. Apparently they had rooms to spare, 'cuz, surprise!, most folks try to *avoid* the hospital at Christmas time.
I spent most of the time laying around, getting re-poked every half-hour or so (it seemed) by another nurse wanting more blood. I invariably told each of them that I don't like needles, but since needles are a Nurse's Best Friend, they just laughed it off, and didn't notice me not laughing along. Until one guy who said, "Oh, I'll use the tiny needle, then". What?!? There are "tiny needles"?!? And he went to work and I didn't feel a thing. Why is *this* a secret?!?
Apparently they can tell if you've had, and count, heart attacks by looking at your blood. There might be tea leaves, a carved bone rattle, and some possum teeth involved, too. They told me I had had two heart attacks. Really?!? When? I don't remember clutching my left arm, gritting my teeth, and falling down. But the possum teeth don't say "when", just if. I reckon they were that toss-and-turn night, and the late evening that I spent invisible on a gurney in the hallway.
I was visited in the hospital by a surprising number of friends and family, who apparently didn't expect me to leave there vertically, but who were civil enough not to mention any money I might owe them. And I spent a lot of time trying to sleep with a dozen stickers with wires attached glued to my chest. I finally decided to (Born to be Wild!) just lose the hospital gown that was making it even worse, having to thread the wires out the neck, and, as we all know, doesn't cover anything anyway.
At one point a pretty nurse came in and asked me if I wanted to, you know, freshen up a little. I thought, "Score! Sponge bath!", but she just tossed a packet of giant wet-naps on the bed and closed the curtains on her way out.
Finally, a cardiologist managed to trade in his golf gloves for some surgical ones and come by to see me. (He was Muslim, but who can blame him for taking advantage of someone else's holiday?) He walked in reading the chart, looked up, and halfway turned around to leave. Apparently, by the chart, he was expecting some 70-year-old fat guy, not a 48-year old skinny one.
He ended up doing the procedure, where they run a mini Doc Ock bendable robot arm up from a cut in the big artery under the fold where your tummy meets your leg, up to your heart, swab it out a little, and leave some expandable ballpoint pen springs in the tight parts to hold 'em open. I'd describe it more fully, but I'm getting woozy just thinking about it.
To make it just that much more fun, they can't put you to sleep for it so you don't have to watch, but they can give you a Valium so you get to watch but you don't care. And actually, given the Valium, it's kind of fun to watch the giant industrial robot arm with the X-ray cam at the end, wooshing around you every which way so the doc can tell what he's doing in there, and not, you know, tear a hole in an artery wall so they have to crack your chest open to fix it (which is, it turns out, why there are so many people around -- just in case).
Of course, you spend an hour or so waiting for everyone to show up and get their stuff, and, you know, the extra needles, ready. And you don't want to be thinking about what they're about to do to you, or all those needles. I spent that time running through the most complicated guitar song I know, "Scarborough Faire", in my head, envisioning the left and right hand patterns in 3D space like a guitar-centric version of the beginning of "Toccata and Fugue" in "Fantasia". The Valium may have helped with that...
Anyway, Spoiler Alert!, it all went fine and I survived to tell the tale. In Downey, they cut into my right leg to run the camera up to my heart. In Mission Viejo, they used the left leg. Afterwards, Mission Viejo put in a single dissolving stitch, and by the time I got home, you couldn't tell anything had happened there. On the other hand (or leg), Downey had put a big wad of gauze and, I'm not making this up, a giant plastic C-clamp around to my buns to hold it. Even six days later, it looked like I'd been hit by a truck. The blood thinners undoubtedly contributed to the bruising, but yeowch! (I have pictures, but you don't want to see them.)
Inexplicably, in the following few days while I was resting up from all the fun, I had an urge to document the experience in cartoon form, despite little or no previous experience (or skill) with drawing cartoons. I'll include those here.
It's been more than a decade since all of this, and I haven't had a twinge of trouble since, so, good job, Doc. And it's strangely comforting to know where your weakest link is. Whenever I do something stupid (like eat something that's fallen on the floor, or drink from a BPA-infested water bottle) and my wife says, "Don't do that", I say, "*This* ain't what's gonna kill me".
This was our first Saturday since the official end of summer, and the lack of traffic and ease of parking were omens of how few people would be out, at least for the first few hours.
But around 8:00 the after-dinner crowd started to arrive, and it turned into a terrific night. The palm frond flower guys are gone, and we had almost no distracting homeless people -- just that one large woman who doesn't so much *like* my songs as worship them, and insists on miming every bit of the lyrics, scaring tourists and small children in the process.
My voice was in inexplicably terrific shape, and I could hit the high notes with incredible ease. I think that the amp was up too loud as well, since there was nobody else out playing to be bothered, and I can sing so much better when the monitor is good and loud so I can hear myself.
My cop "buddy" Darren came by on a bicycle, and listened from across the street for a while (so I played "You've Got a Friend", *really* quietly), but I think he was mostly interrogating Crazy Josh over there. He eventually rolled right on through, and didn't say a word. Later on a different cop came by, but he didn't say anything either. Still, it's unsettling to have so much Law Enforcement attention. But probably "Chilling Effect" is what they're there for.
Still, overall a great night, especially after the discouraging nights we've been having lately. Plenty of nice people listening and putting in requests, and a few of them with foreign accents, so not all of the tourists have gone home yet. I sold 10 CDs and there was an unexpectedly lot of money in the jar.
Around 9:30, there was an empty space, so I tried out the new song I've been messing with, "Sultans of Swing". It sounds pretty cool at home, but totally lame out in real life. But two groups of people (embarrassingly) showed up while I was playing it, and sat down to listen, so maybe it wasn't that bad after all. I might give it one more try...
My brother got me a gig playing for his Lawyer Club party, so the pressure was on me not to make a fool out of him in front of his peer group. Not to mention that they weren't altogether sure about paying for a pig in a poke.
It was in the huge backyard of a judge, who introduced himself as "Charlie". HIs wife was the twin sister of the mom on "That 70's Show", and a real sweetie. The group turned out to be mostly people in the right age bracket to like my stuff, and it went quite well. Since it was basically a cocktail party, there was no applause, but fortunately, I'm not as sensitive to people not "actively listening" as I used to be. And people did give me a thumbs-up once in a while, and I take it as a compliment whenever someone comes up to request a song, though I suppose It could be them hoping to find something on the list that's better than the crap I've been playing so far...
After cocktails, there was dinner. I tried not to notice that all the tables filled up except the one closest to me. But after dinner, the spell broke somehow -- I guess they finally had nothing in their hands; drink nor fork -- and there started to be applause after the songs, starting, inexplicably, with the Everly Brothers song, "Dream". I guess it sounds pretty great with the harmony box singing the high part. I'll have to try to remember to bring that one out more often.
After everyone was gone and I was packing up, the judge and his wife came over to talk to me, and she must have used the word "perfect" a dozen times, about the songs, my singing and playing, the fit for the party, etc. She made me a grocery bag full of leftover food, tried to give me two bottles or wine, and slid me an additional $60 before I left. Sometimes it's a bit insulting for people to seem so surprised that I'm pretty good, but I'm sure they mean it as a compliment.
Several people came up to take business cards, including one guy who had hosted this apparently-annual party in years past, and presumed that he'd be doing so again. The judge's wife was sure that other people would be contacting me for future parties, so they must have been talking about me behind my back...
I’m just glad it worked out so well, or my brother'd never be able to live it down. And I imagine that whoever "fronted" the $200 won’t have any trouble getting reimbursed, now that everyone in the club has heard what they paid for.
Warren lives a lot closer to The Corner, so he went down around 6:00 to see if there was any chance of it being available, and to our surprise, he got it and called me and I jumped in the van. Parking was another matter, though, and after I surrendered to the Valet parking garage (!), we started around 7:00.
Unfortunately, the Palm Frond Rose operation was in full swing again, taking up most of the bench. Warren asked them to try to leave some space for the tourists, but they weren't very responsive. And indeed, when Angel arrived and heard that Warren was talking to his "crew" he got very angry and threatening. (He later apologized, but explained that they make way more money when they set up like that.)
I get it that this scam really works for them -- they spend their time reworking free materials into something that they get "voluntary tips" for, and they make way more money than just sitting there looking pathetic with a hand-lettered cardboard sign. And of course the cops can't do anything about it, 'cuz they're just "giving flowers to the pretty ladies", totally innocent.
But because they take up almost the whole bench so people can't sit to eat their ice cream, and many people find the interaction with these polite but scruffy guys uncomfortable, they put a huge damper on our ability to get any audience going. Indeed, we played from 7 to 11:00, and brought in a third of what we usually do on a summer Saturday -- the tips not being really the point, but being a pretty clear indicator of how much Not Fun it was.
Helping to ruin the evening on the Fingerhut side was Loud David, the neo-hippie. Warren at least talked him into aiming his amp not directly at us, so it wasn't as bad as last time, but it's still very distracting, and has to be detrimental to the people who'd like to hear me. At least the fire trucks are polite enough to go on by, eventually.
The saving grace was the appearance of two sets of Superfans: the cute and sweet Vietnamese couple, Phuong and Christopher; and young Gabby from Spain with her family. Gabby used to visit me at Spectrum, almost every time I played there for a while. She brought to show me her new pink guitar once, so I asked her if she was learning to play it. She said "A little", and I told her that that was OK, because she was still little.
It's hard for me to believe it, but I have to think that both of them showed up because, since I had advanced notice that I'd be playing on The Corner, I'd posted that we'd be there on my Facebook "Music Page". I suppose I ought to be posting there every time…
Since there was nobody there most of the time, I did have a chance to play a few new songs I've been working on. People keep asking me for Neil Diamond, and I only have "Play Me" in my book 'cuz all of his popular songs are heavily produced (with horn sections, etc.) so I can't make them sound good. (Actually, that's not entirely true -- I also have "Sweet Caroline", but the part that is true is that it doesn't sound very good.)
But it occurred to me that now that I'm strumming not-half-badly, I might be able to pull off "Solitary Man", so I worked it up again. And I guess it's accordingly just about not half bad.
I also re-worked up "Catch the Wind", just 'cuz it sounds so Laguna Beach to me. Donovan plays it in a flat-picking style that's way out of my wheelhouse, but when I have a plastic fingernail glued on, I can almost fake it pretty well. At least Phuong seemed to like it (of course, she likes anything I play).
So, a mostly terrible night, with some bright spots. It's a shame that the environmental conditions have deteriorated to such a point. I'm pretty sure that if it had been like this the first time I went down there, I wouldn't have gone a second time.
I took aim at 6:30 last night, but there was an accident on Laguna Canyon Road, so after some difficulty parking, I got to the empty corner at 7:15. One of the homeless kids warned me that the cops were giving out tickets today, and apparently expected me to just go home. But I'm not breaking any laws, so I stayed.
Nobody else was down there, but the Flower Kids arrived and set up their workshop on the bench. I requested that they leave some room for the tourists to sit and eat their ice cream, which they readily agreed to, but didn't take to heart, much.
Not a lot of people out on a Friday, though. I got a few friendly groups, and a pretty big Kid Party when I snagged them with "Let It Go", and one little "four and a half" girl who stayed for a dozen songs, practicing her ballet moves.
I was in the middle of "Leavin' on a Jet Plane" when a middle-aged Asian woman came up, singing. She climbed up next to me so she could see the words, and held onto my arm to get in close. Apparently she wanted to share my head mic, but since I'm 6'-5" in my boots, and she was probably all of 5'-5", there wasn't much chance of that -- I can only lean over so far and keep playing the guitar... She sang along an octave higher than me in her church-lady soprano, but then took off just before the end of the song. Strange.
Around 8:30, guitar-scourge Sanchez hustled through, without his guitar, and took several pictures of my sign. Clearly a portent of trouble to come...
And so, at 9:00, as predicted, I was, like Scrooge, visited by three cops, two Beach Patrollers in their polo shorts, and a motorcycle cop who introduced himself as Darren, who did all the talking. He claimed that he'd gotten complaints about the "noise. And when I say 'noise', I don't really mean that, 'cuz I like your music". He said that the complaints were from "a local business". I expressed disbelief, and pointed out that the owner of the ice cream store loves me, and I was way too quiet to be bothering the Fingerhut ladies across the street. He said that he couldn't reveal who had lodged the complaint, and I said, "Of course not" (since it was obviously Sanchez, and not a "business" at all).
He went on to say that I wasn't supposed to have an amp, which I told him wasn't exactly true, and offered to show him the city statute on my iPad, but he declined since he wasn't really gonna ticket or stop me anyway. Apparently, he just needed me to agree to turn it down.
My new buddy Darren also secondarily warned me about complaints of illegal "vending". I pointed out that my sign says "Suggested donation" under the "$5", and he said "That’s just how you’re getting around it", to which I just shrugged, 'cuz, yes, exactly. But is it illegal..?
But to legitimize if it's a "sale" or not, he asked if I chase down people who don’t pay. I told him that I never even look -- they can deposit the money, or not, and just take a CD. Indeed, I sometimes give them away to people who profess a desire for one but a lack of cash on hand. Darren was apparently satisfied by all this, and finally wandered off to chat with his Beach Patrol friends.
(The funny part was that, although I had brought out the CD-holding racks, I'd forgotten to put any CDs on them, so, technically (and accidentally), I wasn't selling any CDs tonight, anyway.)
This second issue was also obviously inspired by Sanchez, who sells his CDs (for $10), but apparently isn't using the "donation" trick on his sign. His getting busted has made him even grumpier, and vindictive.
Anyway, I just stood there and waited for the cops to leave. I didn't want to test Darren's sound level limit, and he couldn't really just ask me to play. I suspect that they were also happy to use the opportunity to intimidate the Flower Kids a bit. And apparently, there's no law against standing on a street corner holding a guitar. After 20 minutes or so, they all finally left.
I did turn down, a lot, but since there was nobody to play for -- whatever. Except a guy came by with his two young teen sons. He sat and listened for quite a while. I thought that he was just stuck there, waiting for the wife or something, but I finally went over and offered him a song list. He said that "Everything you play is great", and told me that he drives down from Pasadena, just to listen to me. Really?!? But he knew that I'm usually there on Saturdays, and he can't be just hanging around South County after work, 'cuz he has his kids with him. Hard to believe, but incredibly flattering.
Anyway, it was a pretty slow night, partially because of summer winding down, and, I think, partially due to the chilling effect of the Flower Kids. Either way, I think Fridays are done until next summer. I did sell one CD to an older foreign lady who apparently figured out from the sign that there were CDs somewhere, and had her daughter translate her request for one. Nice of her to want one bad enough to go to the trouble...
I thought I'd go down around 3:00 and see if there was an after-beach crowd and then just come home for the dinnertime slump. Turned out it was *all* slump, so there was no noticeable "go on home" dead time, so I ended up staying until the batteries died at 9:30, because it got better and better starting around 7:30.
I think a big part of the problem was the Flower Guys (Angel and his friend), who make origami flowers from palm fronds, and "give them away" for mostly inevitable "donations". They're nice guys but they take up most of the bench with their tools and materials workshop, so people can't sit and listen to the music. Unfortunately, they do very well with this scheme (the guy told me that they had already made $60 on this very slow day, and that they can make $150-$300 on a Saturday), so I have a feeling that this is a new permanent fixture.
Anyway, around 5:00 a family came up right after the first verse of "Let It Be". The mom asked me, "Can they sing with you?", and I said, "Sure!", and they kind of formed a small circle next to me, and the daughters sang church choir harmonies along with the choruses. The dad was kind of encouraging the girls to sing out, and I looked up at him, and it was Chevy Chase! When the song was over, his wife told me that they had sung "Let It Be" at his dad's funeral the day before, which explained their knowing the harmony parts, their somber demeanor, and the all-white clothes that most of them were wearing.
They thanked me and went over to sit on the bench (though most of them had to stand). I quickly started up the next-best song I could think of for the situation, "Hallelujah". They stated through most of that, but got up and wandered up the street before it was over (and before I could get my camera back out).
I went over and told Angel that the guy that he didn't even notice sitting next to him a minute ago was Chevy Chase, and after a bit of "No way!", I showed him the guy up the street in the cantaloupe-colored hat, and he took off to see for himself. Apparently he caught up to Chevy, who was none too pleased to be accosted on his family outing, but (angrily) confirmed that, yes, he was Chevy Chase. I guess I should have let Chevy get a longer head start before alerting rude Angel...
A cute little girl came by, carried by her father, but she needed to get down to dance when I started playing "Twinkle Twinkle". They stayed for a few more songs, and then re-appeared three more times through the evening. I guess she kept convincing her parents that she needed to hear more music.
A while later, a 10-year-old boy ran up and threw a dollar in the trashcan, and his brother came right up behind him and did the same. Of course, I was in the middle of a song, so I couldn't do much about it, but after a while the dad came over and fished the dollars out of the trash and put them in the tip jar, where they were presumably meant to be. He gave me the universal "What are you gonna do?" exasperated dad look on his way past, and I shrugged in solidarity.
So, although for the first four hours people couldn't sit and listen, they were tipping pretty well anyway. And the last two hours were inexplicably like a Saturday night -- lots of people competing for the next request, and bringing in more people with their interest. It helped that the neo-hippies had shown up, and after a while of monopolizing the little part of the bench that wasn't workshop, they all left together, finally clearing some space for the tourists. But at 9:30 my iPad shut down, and after two more songs from memory, the accessory battery did too, so the show was over.
When I got there at 4:00, there was a passel of young neo-hippies camped out on the corner. I was afraid that they'd be strumming guitars or something and block me out, but they were just hanging around, and ended up liking my music and requesting songs for a while.
I had some trouble with some of the other homeless guys, though. The guy who was such a troublemaker last weekend came around and decided to "help" by bellowing his own songs. Nothing recognizable, but *amazingly* loud. He wasn't acting particularly drunk otherwise, but this was aggressively rude. I suppose I could have cranked up a bit and drowned him out, but I guess I wasn't drunk enough to play his game.
"Frisbee King" Blair had shown up just a few songs before the interruption, which was unlucky for him, but lucky for me 'cuz it gave me someone to talk to while the troublemaker wore himself out. Unfortunately, Blair had better things to do, so after a while he went home. After 20 minutes or so of being ignored, the bellowing finally stopped, and Troublemaker and his drinking buddy Incomprehensible Gordon wandered off. It's wild and wooly out there, I tell ya.
I also had to deal with the Hawaiian Buddha (aka Mark) who kept wandering through, dressed even crazier than usual (Palm fronds and seaweed strapped to his chest, and is that a trash bag diaper? And I can't even guess what's on his head...), and shouting at nobody. It was a bit alarming, actually, but he kept the worst of it across the street. I did keep wondering "Where are the cops when you need them?"
But it was a pretty slow night for a summer Friday. I did have people stop and listen but only in small groups and I never got a critical mass to get some real participation going. People were listening and smiling and choosing songs but for some reason it was one of those quiet nights with little or no outward applause. On the other hand, I did sell 12 CDs and the tip jar was pretty heavy, so it was a quiet night but a good one.
My last Sawdust gig this year was on a Wednesday night, which I expected to be pretty slow, but there were quite a lot of people there at the Tavern. And all about the right age to appreciate my song list.
The layout of the place is a little strange, with three tables right up front of the stage, and some "stand up" tables behind them, demarking the pathway through to the Beer Window. And beyond that, more tables. The far-away tables can hear, mostly, but they're too isolated to interact with, either by applause or requests.
There were two nice ladies at one of the close tables, who were on a bus trip from San Diego to do the Sawdust Festival in the daytime, and then go over to the Pageant of the Masters when it got dark. They were apparently done with Sawdust, so they were just hanging out in the Tavern, waiting. Fortunately for them and me, they liked my stuff, and stayed around for three of my half-hour on, half-hour off sets.
Near the side of the stage attached to the front of the bar building itself is a small TV set, running random stuff, with the sound off. I, and everyone else, ignored it, until a show called "Dating Naked" came on. Suddenly, six or seven 10 or 12-year-old kids appeared out of nowhere to watch the naked people, even though the naughty bits are blurred out. One of the san Diego grandmas couldn't take this, and went up to the window to tell the guys inside to "turn off this X-rated television show". That suited me fine, 'cuz I don't need my audience distracted by a TV, naked or not.
There were a couple of guys on the main stage, and they were pretty sloppy with following the half-hour schedule, but they were nice and quiet, so it didn't really bother me. In fact, it would have been fine for both of us to play the whole time, but the Sawdust people don't want the customers to get comfy and not be up buying art.
Anyway, I love playing there, even on slow nights. There's no traffic noise, and the people are there to browse and don't mind sitting a while to listen.
I drove down at 3:00 to try to beat the Tommies to the corner, but instead I was blocked by Cranky Fiddle Girl, and I've seen how lame it is to play on the Fingerhut side that early, so I just went home.
I waited until 7:00, had a proper dinner for once, and went back, resigned to having to play on the Fingerhut side. But when I got there, a homeless friend of ours was there with his new guitar. He had been keeping the Tommies away, but was happy to turn the corner over to us. Thanks Mike!
Unfortunately, Neo-Hippie David, who, the night before had been commiserating with me about what a loud jerk Sanchez was being, came back with his amplifier, and set up across the street to be a loud jerk. Warren tried to get him to turn it down some, but he said that we were just as loud as him, and wouldn't budge. What was worse is that he had (correctly) decided that you do better if people can sit, so he'd moved into the middle of the corner area to play directly at the bench, which put his amp directly across the crosswalk from us.
Fortunately, apparently, the people sitting across from *my* amp could hear me better than I could, and claimed that the crosstalk was no problem for them, so I just barreled through. (In retrospect, David might have been amenable to an offer of both of turning down simultaneously, so that we'd cover our respective areas, but not carry across the street to each other so much. Wish I'd'a thought of that at the time...)
But apparently it really was OK for my audience, because I had lots of appreciative people -- listening, asking for songs, and having a good time. It coulda gone smoother, but it was a pretty great night.
I decided that going down at 4:00 and then not getting the corner anyway, especially on a Friday, was too much trouble, so I went at 6:00 instead. And, of course, the Tommies were bogarting the ice cream corner. It's not so bad if they're playing, but they were mostly just hanging out, preventing anyone else from playing, and waiting for the crowds to show up to make it worth their while to actually play. That seems pretty uncool, but what can you do?
Sanchez was in Acoustic Alley, as he has been since he got ticketed, so I set up on the Fingerhut corner and played to my reflection in the window for a couple of hours. Even 6:00 is "too early" to be on Fingerhut on a Friday. Noted.
I did have a few groups stop to listen a bit, but without a bench, it's tough to get anyone to stay very long. I was playing "Kiss the Girl" for some people, and a tall slender 60-ish woman couldn't help but stop to do some solo Samba. She was completely unabashed about dancing right there on the street corner. I asked her to find a song on the list, and she chose "Under the Boardwalk", which normally has a Calypso beat, but I do it -- cleverly, I had thought (and necessarily, due to lack of drummer and bass player) -- in straight four. It's the first time I was embarrassed by that, since she probably chose it for the expected danceable beat. She danced anyway, but oops.
Around 8:00, a group of teenage girls appeared, as, coincidentally, did Warren. They stayed for quite a while, dancing, singing along, and generally acting silly. It was good for us, though, since a crowd attracts a crowd.
Still, it was mostly awful, but about to get worse. At 10:00, Sanchez relocated to the "other corner" across the street from the Tommies in the other direction (the intersection is actually a three-way meeting of PCH, Forest, and diagonal Park Ave). He cranked up really loud, clearly deliberately trying to drive them (and us) away. Warren went over to ask him to turn down or at least maybe turn the amp so it wasn't pointing right at us, and he responded by threatening to go get his "big amp" out of the car. Apparently, the gloves are off...
The Tommies gave up, since it was late anyway and they're all-acoustic and didn't have a prayer of competing. On their way out, they walked by us and told us how, a few days before, Sanchez had cranked it up directly across from them, and when Tom went over and asked if he was deliberately trying to drive them away, he said, "That's why I'm here". He had also told them that he "owns" Thursday and Friday nights. Presumably that was before the cops showed him differently...
But rather than give him what he wanted, I just started playing my loudest strummy songs: Mrs. Robinson, Cinnamon Girl, etc. I was in the middle of one of those when Devon, the homeless ex-Marine came over and urgently told us to "cool it" while "they" were there. I turned around to see four cops around Sanchez -- Devon had called in a "citizen's complaint".
I figured, it's late anyway, let's just pack up and leave while the cops hassle Sanchez, so we're not here, or at least not playing, if they decide to pass out tickets all around. I was almost done packing up when, incredibly, Sanchez started up again! The cops were gone, so he fired back up and was playing just as loud as before. Amazing! Devon immediately borrowed Warren's phone and called the cops again, but from experience, he figured they wouldn't respond a second time to his call.
Meanwhile, just 'cuz there wasn't enough drama yet, a looking-for-trouble homeless guy started hassling Devon about a cigarette lighter he'd supposedly taken. That dispute spilled over to the ice cream corner where Ruby's Diner Girl got involved and ended up calling the police on Troublemaker. I looked up the street, and Warren was on his way home, but simultaneously calling the police about Sanchez!
Five minutes later three pairs of cops showed up, but it was hard to tell for which complaint. Some of them broke up the cigarette lighter dispute, and some of them talked to Sanchez again, though they didn't give him the promised second ticket. Still, he obviously couldn't play with all these cops around "taking statements", so after a half-hour or so, he decided there was no point in playing anymore anyway and packed up, leaving Neo-Hippie Guitar Guy, who had been waiting out the Tommies, to take the late-night shift as best he could. I had been waiting to hear his stuff, but he was terrible: crazy melodies over wildly out of tune random chords, so I went home. What a night!
I got down to Laguna at 4:00 but although there were no Tommies in sight, there was a girl playing classical violin songs on The Corner. I set up on the Fingerhut side, hoping that she'd been there a while and would be done soon.
No such luck. Not only did she stay until 8:30, she kept coming over to ask me to turn down. I politely complied the first time, but that made my output so quiet that I couldn't hear it myself, which really puts a damper on my ability to perform well. When she came over the second time, I told her that I was already too quiet, and that she couldn't really expect concert hall silence out here on the street corner. I've certainly had my share of someone else playing too loudly nearby, and I'm sure I wasn't half as loud as what I've had to endure.
She even convinced the junior cop that was monitoring the crosswalk to come over and make a speech about some vague "chain of command" that wanted me to turn down. And that I "wasn't really supposed to have an amp, but if it was quiet enough it would be OK". That, we know now, it just a lie, since I really *am* allowed to have an amp, but I didn't bother to correct him. I just pretended to turn it down, and he disappeared soon after anyway.
I did have a few moments with nice families that were waiting for a table at the pizza place. And a local guy who I remembered from the Fete came by and was apparently impressed. He bought a Kids' CD, and said that he's been doing puppet shows around town, and was going to see if any of my songs would work, and maybe we'll do some gigs together. Sounds fun! I told him to listen to "Waltzing With Bears" especially -- it made a good cartoon, so it would probably make a good puppet show.
But finally Fiddle Girl left so we quickly moved over and had a great gig from then on. There was this sudden surge of people in the right age-range, and we had a pretty big crowd going. It helped that the weather was so nice that the ice cream store stayed open really late.
A guy asked me if I knew any James Taylor, which, of course, is my specialty. So first he asked for "Shower the People", which is on the list, and then for "Copperline", which isn't. But it's in the book, and I can play it, but not too well if I haven't in a while. After about a third of it, I got the hang of it again and did OK. He was impressed, anyway.
Bottom line: It was terrible on the Fingerhut side, and terrific once we moved to the ice cream side. I don't think I'll bother with the Fingerhut side anymore -- it's not that there's no tips over there (though there isn't), there's just no fun.
I went down at 5:00, but despite the three-hour limit supposedly going off at 5, the meter still wouldn't let me pay for more than three. The random meter rules are really getting frustrating...
Anyway, there was a new guy sitting on the bench with a 12-string, playing the chords to songs. Not singing though, so it was impossible to tell what songs they might be. I suppose they sounded good in his head...
Not that anybody could hear him anyway. I just sat on the side bench and waited. After a while he broke a string and came over to ask me if I had a spare, which I didn't. I took the opportunity to ask him how long he'd be playing, and he thought maybe another hour. But then he said that he was going to take a smoke break so I could set up 'cuz he'd like to hear some of my songs, and maybe jam a little. I told him that I don't really know how to jam -- I just play the songs as they are.
So I set my stuff up, and of course, with my amp, people could actually hear my songs, and were stopping to listen. When he seemed ready to play again, I felt like I had to let him, since it was still "his" corner. So we kind of traded off, with people looking at me like "What's going on?"
I hadn't brought out any of my "marketing" stuff: the song lists, CDs, and my tip jar, but when people would stop to listen, I pulled out a list and handed it to them, and they'd pick a song, and I'd have to wait for the other guy to finish one of his before being able to fulfill the request. It was really awkward, but he seemed oblivious -- and he did have "first dibs".
And then people started coming up to hand me money, which got even more awkward, 'cuz I had to get my tip jar out, and no one ever put any money in his guitar case, just my jar. Finally around 7:00, he caught on that people wanted to hear me play actual songs instead of his random stumming, and he wandered across the street to listen to the Tommies.
So I really only had an hour left on my parking meter to play without the confusion. A girl and her boyfriend came up and stood right next to me and right in the middle of the song she asked me "Were you born in 1951?" That was an unexpected question, not to mention the awkward timing, but I managed to spit out "four" in a break in the song. By way of explanation, apparently, she said that I play all the same songs her dad likes. OK, good to know.
Anyway, it was mostly a blowout because of the Corner ownership confusion, but the good news was that the rain from the night before had soaked the "merchandise table" trashcan lid so I was able to clean it up pretty well -- you can imagine what the trashcan in front of an ice cream store gets to be like -- and wipe down my song lists to get some of the sticky handprints off of them, too.
I got down to Laguna at 4:00, but Tom is clearly on to us, and was already on the ice cream side. I'd played the Fingerhut side a few days earlier and found it pretty awful, but thought I'd give Saturday a try anyway. And it was a little better -- more traffic, and less "local color". But still not a lot of people stopping since there's no ice cream, and no bench.
But we had a few nice moments, usually when a parent would stop with a little child. One little girl in pink just danced and danced, to the delight of many other passersby. The family was there for maybe a dozen songs. After a while, the little girl came over and just stood up against my leg. Hiding? Resting? Hard to tell...
Discovered something I hadn't thought of. I made some "Kids' Music" lists with pictures of the associated characters next to the song titles. This lets even the kids that can't read yet find the song they want. But I had a family from Spain come by, and the kids were able to choose the song from Tangled, even though they didn't speak any English. I didn't realize that my lists were "multilingual" by being "nonlingual".
A guy came by with his family that I see all the time at Spectrum. He asked me when I'd be at Spectrum next, and I said, "Never. They changed the way they book it." He sighed heavily and said, "Oh, they have terrible management. I know some people. I'll talk to them." I hope he can get me back in there, but I won't hold my breath.
Around 9:00 the "possible thundershowers" that we'd all discounted actually arrived. We got some sprinkles, then some more, so I laid my plastic-protected song lists over the top of the electronics. But it finally got wet enough that we had to pack up for fear of the guitars and getting electrocuted.
By the time we were completely packed up, though, it had stopped. The Tommies had cleared out too, so I figured, what the heck, and rolled over there to play some more. But I only managed to play two more songs when the battery quit. Oh well.
Got to The Corner ahead of the Tommies at 4:30. Fridays have been unusable lately because of Sanchez, but since he got busted for "unreasonably loud", he hasn't been a problem.
Of course, everybody else has to work on Fridays, so it's pretty dead at 4:30, but by 6:00 or 6:30 it livens up. I had a lot of friendly people and a huge Disney song party happened around 9:00. I had a nice and not-in-a-hurry local couple volunteer to watch my stuff just at 7:15 when I needed to go put some more money in the parking meter. The city recently reprogrammed the meters, and the rules are implemented somewhat randomly these days.
I was hoping to get myself to quit somewhat early to save some finger stamina for Saturday night, but that never works. Fortunately (?) around 10:30 some surly homeless guys came and started demanding songs, so I decided it was time to go home. Overall, it was a pretty good night; lots of friendly faces to play for, good tips, and seven CDs sold. Fridays are worth doing, but only on the ice cream corner.
I didn't have anything else to do so I thought I'd see what it was like in Laguna on a summer Tuesday night. Turns out, pretty poor.
Or at least, pretty poor on the Fingerhut Gallery side. The Tommies already had the ice cream corner staked out. There are some benches on the Fingerhut side, but to play towards them, you'd have to play directly towards the Tommies too, and that would be really rude. So it's impossible to build up much of an audience other than my own reflection and people who are willing to sit on the gallery's windowsill.
But the Fingerhut side has other disadvantages. It's mostly where the local homeless guys hang out. There's Disabled Veteran Guy, who's really nice and not scary, but still sitting there with a cardboard sign, which puts people off.
Also big-bearded Gordon, who's OK sometimes, but not when he's drunk. Which he was. He tends to babble stuff at me that I can't decipher, except the part where he hates James Taylor for some unclear personal reason.
And young Crazy Dancer Guy who stops at random spots in the sidewalk, throws his hat on the ground, and dances weirdly to the music that only he can hear through his headphones. Unfortunately, people encourage him by giving him money, though it's mostly on account of his ridiculousness, not his dancing.
And Hawaiian Buddha Guy (aka, Mark) in his weight-lifter leotard, whose Crazy Street Artist routine is, I think, entirely an act. I guess he's decided that paint dribbled onto a sheet of paper sells to tourists better as "art" if they go home with a "wild man" story to go with it.
None of these guys are actually dangerous, probably, but tourists from Poland or Argentina or wherever don't know that, and tend to just hustle by, just in case.
I did have one brave Norwegian lady stop and listen for a while, and then come up to tell me in her outrageous accent that she loved my voice, because "it's like... everything I like!" She wanted to know if I would be there tomorrow, because she wanted to buy a CD, but didn't have any cash with her. But after that compliment, I insisted that she just take one on the house.
Later on a guy came by who was very complimentary about my playing and my singing style, and asked me if I'd ever played on a cruise ship. I told him that I'd thought about it, after seeing a guy on our first cruise who, objectively, wasn't as good as me, but then I'd talked to another guy who told me that it's a terrible gig. This guy said that he'd done it and liked it, saw all these European countries, and since your room and board is covered, the money is mostly free and clear. He said I should re-think it. And, since I don't have a Real Job anymore, I think I will.
Around 9:00 the Tommies packed up, so I moved over to the ice cream corner and did way, way better until it went dead at 10:00, and more-than-tipsy Wendy showed up and stood way-too-close and demanded song after song. Sorry Wendy -- let's just say you're not my Target Audience...
We went down at 4:00 to get the ice cream corner, which worked. There was a slow section around dinnertime, but it was a pretty great night, overall -- lots of friendly tourists.
And not-so-friendly. A family came and sat on the bench to eat their ice cream, so I brought a list over to them. The mom curtly said, "No, thank you." Ouch, but OK. I put it back, and played a few songs anyway, as I do. After a while, they apparently noticed that I was really playing decent music, and not some kind of panhandler. The teenaged girl came shyly over and looked at the list, and picked "Time After Time", and put a dollar in the jar. By this time, I could tell they were Not From Around Here, and asked. Apparently, in Austria, us street musicians have a reputation of being shifty. Or something. But it was gratifying to earn their trust after such an awkward introduction...
The Tommies were playing on the opposite corner, and we had a short visit from little Tomi herself in her jaunty hat during their break.
Around 9:30, there was a vacationing family from Arizona on the bench, and a group of dressed-up young ladies appeared. They both were big Disney song fans, so I played "Part of Your World" from "The Little Mermaid", and we had a huge sing-along. So I invited them to come up for the next one, and ended up with a "battle of the bands", with two girls from each group singing away on "Let It Go".
The Dress-up girls had somewhere to be, though. After they left, the Vacation cousins wanted to sing "I See the Light" from "Tangled". I had them stand in front of me, moved the music stand so they could follow the words, and let them hold my mic between them so they could be heard. I almost never let someone else sing on the mic, but they had proven themselves with the previous song, and it was great -- and probably a pretty good vacation memory for them.
It went dead at 10:00, so we packed up. The owner of the ice cream shop is always inviting us to have some free ice cream, but I can't eat it while I'm singing, so it never happens. But this time, we were done, and the shop was still open, and he was still there, so I finally had a scoop. Pretty good, too.
It's a long ugly story, but since Spectrum changed the way they book the gigs, this was very likely my last time ever. It started out pretty hot, but there were lots of people out. Not a very responsive crowd, but quietly appreciative, I think.
A lot of my family turned out for the occasion, my brother and his wife, and my wife and kids with the dogs. And my wife's best friend (with dog) who's been promising to come out for a while but could never seem to make it...
Lots of little kids in the beginning, and a girl (now young lady) that I know from the Trailmates program came by on a scavenger hunt. Her team needed to record a 90's love song, so I did "Whole New World" from Aladdin (1992) for them.
Anyway, I'm glad that it was a really good night for my last time. The sound was good, I always had people listening, and my voice was in fine form. I had lots of fun from 11 to midnight singing my best stuff (and the high stuff) for my older daughter, who stayed quite late with me, which was sweet of her.
This gig is kind of a pain, and they treat the musicians poorly, not to mention the $50 charge for the privilege of playing there, but I'm sure I'll miss it.
I didn't really intend to go down, but I wasn't doing anything else, and a girl who had bought a CD the night before but had mistakenly taken the Kids' one was wondering (by email) if she could trade it in, and I felt bad about that, so I told her I'd be there. I didn't really have a full charge in the batteries, so I didn't know how long I'd get to play. Turned out: four hours -- I played from 3:30 until everything just slammed off at 7:30, right in the middle of "Let It Go".
It was a pretty slow day, though. I should probably quit thinking that Sunday afternoons are a good time to go down. Of course, come wintertime, I'll be wishing it was as "bad" as a summer Sunday...
I did have some cute kids and a sweet couple on their first date (to the beach?!?). The girl was a big Disney song fan, so the guy wanted me to keep playing for her, 'cuz it was really making the date special.
I kinda turned into a circus, though. I was on the ice cream corner, and the Tommies came and set up on the Fingerhut side. Then, to our horror, Sanchez showed up and since the corners were taken, he set up in the alcove of the art school museum, just a few shops down the street. And of course, although he could have set up in the alcove corner facing *up* the street, he deliberately set up so he was aimed diagonally across the street straight toward the Tommies. What a jerk -- but at least the Tommies had prevented him from setting up across from me.
And then, when my amp shut down at 7:30, since my car was close and I still had lots of time in the meter, I put my stuff away and came back to listen to the Tommies, and chat with the big sister and little brother. Apparently there's been some drama between Sanchez and the homeless people (who hate him) and some other musicians (ditto). The guy does show some impressive determination, coming back again and again in the face of such animosity...
Anyway, right after I abandoned the ice cream corner, a guy came with his electric guitar and mic, and stood up on the side bench like it was a stage and started his screech-singing songs. He was way too loud (surprise!) and his amp was pointed straight at the Tommies, too. Fortunately, he just played 4 or 5 songs and left.
But about that time some teenage girls were hanging out on the Fingerhut corner, waiting for a table at the pizza place, and decided to do an impromptu "talk show", telling "jokes" to passersby, asking them when their birthdays are and then singing to them, regarless, and generally being obnoxious. The Tommies couldn't take it, so they packed up and moved over to the ice cream corner. The danger was that Sanchez would notice the Fingerhut corner being empty and move over, but I'd had enough craziness for one night, and went home.
They apparently love me at the Artisan's Faire, 'cuz I'm kind of the default band. I only didn't do last month because it was the same day as the Fete de la Musique in Laguna.
I asked for, and got placed closer to the other booths, 'cuz last time it was pretty lonely way out on the edge. Being closer also made it a little easier for people to come up and look through the list and/or buy a CD.
One lady came up and said that she'd seen me a few weeks earlier in Laguna. She had taken a card because she works for Ayres Hotels, and wants to call me the next time she's planning a party 'cuz, "You're great!" Sounds good to me.
But there were hardly any people there, again, although that makes it nice and quiet. Which makes it easy to hear what I'm doing, but puts a level of pressure on me that I'm not used to 'cuz it means I can't screw up...
So since I was done at the Sawdust Festival at 3:30, I packed up and drove down to see if The Corner was empty, and it miraculously was. *And* I found a parking space. Of course, having played for five hours the night before at Spectrum, and 5 half-hours at Sawdust, my fingers were already pretty sore, but I couldn't resist.
It was pretty hot, even still at 4:30, but there were lots of nice people out, and the ice cream shop was doing good business, and so, so was I. at least two groups of people who had seen me at the Sawdust Festival came by and said, "Hey, didn't we just see you..?"
The CD buying spree continues. I brought ten of each, and sold out of the grownups' CD, and seven of the kids'. I just don't have room in my bag to bring any more inventory than that -- I'll have to think of something.
Warren showed up awhile after I started, but he left at 6:00 or so to get down to the Full Moon Drum Circle. I carried on solo until my fingers couldn't take any more at 10:45.
I did take two breaks, which I never do. The first one was to eat half a gyro for dinner. And then I had two of the local beach bums show up and monopolize the bench along with an elderly guy who comes by once in a while to tell me that he used to be a folk singer. I needed a break anyway, because every time I played a barre chord, my index finger was seizing up and wouldn't bend anymore, so I sat down and talked with the folk guy until the beach bums got bored and wandered off.
He's 73, and has lost most of his short-term memory. He asks me the same questions, over and over: Where you from, originally? What's your name? Where do you live? He must have asked me if I know the old Harry Belafonte hit "Down the Way" (actually called "Jamaica Farewell") 10 times. I suppose I ought to learn it, just to have a different answer next time he comes by. Frankly, I don't know how he finds his way home.
I was kind of hoping to be able to stop earlier than usual, just to give my hand and fingers a break, but of course, as it gets later, the car traffic, Harleys, and sirens lessen, and my quiet stuff starts to really work. I don't get many "golden hours" like that (and the way my hand is getting, I may not get many more), so I gotta capitalize on them when I can.
The tip jar was a new record, and I know I'll be suffering all day tomorrow with my back, knees, feet, and fingers, but for now, it was totally worth it.
This year I only got two gigs at the Sawdust Festival (last year I got three), but one of them was a Saturday, which is pretty cool. It was at the Greek restaurant on the south corner, but the restaurant was closed due to "equipment failure" for most of the day. Which was OK -- it just made the seating area into a nice place for people to stop and rest, and listen to me.
I played from 11:00 until 3:30, but in their enforced half-hour-on, half-hour-off schedule. This is meant to prevent people from staying and listening to a band instead of looking at, and buying, art. And it works. And it's a bummer to get an audience established and then have to shut down so soon. Though it is flattering when everyone gets so loudly disappointed.
My brother, his wife, and their grandson came by for the last set. It clearly blew his little mind to see his (great?) uncle up on a stage playing music instead of at, say, a Christmas party.
There was a big "trumpet playin' band" up on the main stage. They were supposed to play the half hours that I wasn't, but they always cheated over their stopping point, and they were *really* loud. Much louder than I would have thought was allowed, since the contract you have to sign is 90% about not being loud. And if you are, they'll ask you to turn down. And if they have to ask twice you'll be sent home and not invited back. But I could hear these guys from out in the street in front of the Festival grounds when I'd go out to the van. But when my slot came around, I'd just start anyway -- I'm pretty used to playing over the top of a nearby rude band...
Other than that, it's a perfect little gig for me, perfect for the style of music I play, and for the kinds/ages of people that are there. And the sound was really good -- I guess I'm not used to not having either automobile or mall shopper traffic noise while I'm playing...
The cool part was, it seemed like almost every group that stopped to listen bought a CD. I had to go out to the van during my breaks, twice, to fetch more of them. I ended up selling 17 CDs. I think that, now that the $5 price is more obvious, people are buying a CD instead of just tipping -- if they were going to throw a couple of bucks in anyway, why not just up it to five and take a CD home?
So, I had a *terrific* time, and got paid, and more than doubled that with the tips and CD money. Sure wish I could do more of these!
Really nice weather, but not many people out, since it was a Friday. The people that were there seemed to be on their way to something, not just strolling, so most of them couldn't/didn't stop. I did have some young families, so of course, a lot of "Let It Go", including one on-stage sing-along.
But sometimes when there's only a few people, they get embarrassed to be clapping into the silence, so they don't, making the silence even worse. Then other people come up, and when the next song is over and nobody else claps, they don't either, and the cycle perpetuates. I hate to be an applause whore, but if I want to play to awkward silence, I can play at home for my cat.
So I did the unthinkable: I took a break. My wife was there with the dogs, so I just sat down and waited 15 minutes or so. And it worked -- by the time I started up again, the non-clapping people had wandered off, and the new crowd wasn't in that mode. It doesn't happen very often, but I'll have to remember this "fix".
I knew I had to play at the Sawdust Festival (for money!) the next day, so I tried to quit earlier than I usually do, but around ten o'clock, people started hanging out, asking for songs, and dancing (!), so I ended up playing until 11:30.
A few days earlier, I got an email that they're going to start using an agency to book the music, starting in August. That probably means the same agency that books the other Irvine Company mall, Fashion Island, and since I made that guy mad (for having the gall to expect him to return emails) a year ago when trying to get in there, I'm pretty sure I won't be playing at Spectrum any more, after one more later this month.
This is the only booked and scheduled gig I have, so I consider it my "best gig", but it is pretty awful, really. The $50 fee, the obnoxious house music that won't turn off and the fountain noise... I have a feeling that I'm the last band that puts up with it, so they had to find a new method. Of course, they'll have to radically improve the conditions to get any "real bands" to play. And pay them, instead of charging them. Doesn't seem fair that after 6 years and more than 150 performances there, I'm gonna be shut out.
The summer is really here -- the Sawdust Festival is open, and they've changed the rates and rules on the parking meters downtown. A few months ago it went from a dollar an hour to a dollar twenty-five; not so bad. But now it's jumped to two dollars. But what's worse is that you have to pay up until 9pm now, instead of 7pm. Cost of Doing Business, I suppose...
We thought (incorrectly, it turns out) that there was still a three hour maximum, so I arrived at 6:15, so my three hours would span the 9:00 end time. But since that was when all the Sawdust and Pageant of the Masters people were arriving, finding a spot was impossible. I circled, hoping to catch someone leaving, for 45 minutes. The upside was that when I finally found a spot, I only had to pay for two hours...
With so many people, locals and tourists, out, we were amazed to find The Corner open. But right off the bat I had an equipment failure -- my Old Faithful thumbpick cracked at the tight bend. I've been using that one for years, and frustratingly didn't have a spare. (There are some in the guitar case, but I leave it in the van). I had to bind it to my thumb with a rubber band, which worked quite well, except it precluded me from taking it off to play those few songs that I play without a pick.
We had lots of people there listening all day, and some familiar faces. The super-friendly HR lady from Linksys happened by, and my doctor with her husband. She asked for several songs, and then "Your Song" by Elton John, which she said that her husband had sung to her at their wedding. They slow danced to it, and when she turned around, she was crying.
Also our cute little Vietnamese super-fan came by. I'd been holding copies of the CDs that I don't normally bring, just for her. Now she has a complete set of four.
The good part about starting so late is that it's possible to play later. And there were people to play for until midnight, when it finally got slow enough that I could try some new songs out. But then a guy came by and wanted to "buy some songs" with a ten-dollar-bill. So I played a few for him, and then the bar traffic suddenly started up. So I tried to be a party band, playing upbeat songs for the party kids, until finally at 1:00 am, by battery just quit, forcing me to try to finish "Sweet Caroline" acoustically (which was a *big* fail).
So, big night, big fun, big tips, and I sold eight CDs. I need summer Saturdays to last all year long!
