Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Final Leg finances

San Francisco, CA

Food: $3.70
Food: $4.50
Book: $2.19
BART: $7.40
CalTrain: $9.00
Amtrak USA Rail Pass: $749.00

Total: $775.79
Earnings: $84.00
Net: -$691.79

NORTHERN NET: -$691.79
TOTAL NET: -$2,906.65
TOTAL NET excepting nothing: -$5,589.04

Seattle, WA

Bus Ticket: $2.25

Total: $2.25
Earnings: $43.43
Net: +$41.18

NORTHERN NET: -$650.61
TOTAL NET: -$2,865.47
TOTAL NET excepting nothing: -$5,542.86

Vancouver, BC

Barbecue: 8.00 CAD
Ramen: 9.50 CAD
Tea: 2.40 CAD
(Taxi: 8.00 CAD)
Food: 5.80 CAD

Total: 25.70 CAD
Earnings: 22.35 CAD
Net: -3.35 CAD

NORTHERN NET: -653.96 CAD
TOTAL NET: -2,868.82 CAD
TOTAL NET excepting nothing: -5,544.21 CAD

Chicago, IL

Metra tickets: $22.50
CTA tickets: $7.50
Starbucks: $6.80
干炒叉燒河: $5.45

Total: $42.25
Earnings: $20.00
Net: -$22.25

NORTHERN NET: -$676.21
TOTAL NET: -$2,891.05
TOTAL NET excepting nothing: -$5,566.46

Buffalo, NY

Panera: $4.88
Arizona Tea: $0.99
Chicken Finger Sandwich: $4.99

Total: $ 10.86
Earnings: $3.53
Net: -$7.33

NORTHERN NET: -$683.54
TOTAL NET: -$2898.38
TOTAL NET excepting nothing: -$5573.79

Toronto, ON

Italian Sandwich: $6.50

Total: $6.50
Earnings: $0.00
Net: -$6.50

NORTHERN NET: -$690.04
TOTAL NET: -$2904.88
TOTAL NET excepting nothing: -$5580.29

New Haven, CT

York St. Noodle House: $8.83
Vitamin Water: $2.00

Total: $10.83
Earnings: $16.56
Net: +$5.73

NORTHERN NET: -$684.31
TOTAL NET: -$2899.15
TOTAL NET excepting nothing: -$5574.56

New York, NY

Metro Cards: $40.00
Joy Burger: $9.47
Totto Ramen: $10.97
Naruto Ramen: $8.88
Grand Sichuan: $10.00
Deodorant: $3.12
Coconut Water: $2.09
Naruto Ramen: $11.50
Angelo's Pizza: $15.00
Menkui Tei Ramen: $8.88
Ippudo Ramen: $28.00
Arizona Tea: $0.99
Bagelry: $3.31
Teriyaki Bowl: $6.75
Marketplace Special: $12.00

Total: $169.96
Earnings: $40.00
Net: -$129.96

NORTHERN NET: -$814.27
TOTAL NET: -$3029.11
TOTAL NET excepting nothing: -$5704.52

Miami, FL

Bus x2: $4.00
Bachelor Limo: $40.00

Total: $44.00
Earnings: $0.00
Net: -$44.00

NORTHERN NET: -$858.27
TOTAL NET: -$3073.11
TOTAL NET excepting nothing: -$5748.52

Gainesville, FL

Sunday, October 23, 2011

The Gainesville End, Day 4

Alan and I met up before my final Tom Miller show to polish Hey Jude, Stamsund and The Squirrel Song. I felt comfortable with the minor bit, ready to give solo room, etc. Generally psyched to perform with another musician... and then we realized that his keyboard doesn't lend well to portability. So it didn't happen. We played it at my mom's new place for her return from Chicago, though.

I went to the show anyways. It began with a drawing fail. Lack of practice and my least comfortable subject matter, people, led to a couple really crappy drawings. Speaking of which I need to start drawing. Yeah. That. Tom's blonde jokes ill prepared us for Reverend Angel Dust's strangely more serious (still peppered with his catch phrases) benediction. Perhaps his filming for YouTube prompted the change. Eric followed with a similarly strangely serious and long preface about the Levin law school before his characteristic music parody of Under the Sea with a jab at grading - "Under the curve" and US News & World Report School rankings.

Dan Kahn took the stage mostly to honor Tom, combining disparate actors and singers of the audience's choosing Frank Sinatra/Lady Gaga, Elton John/Lawrence Olivier, Robert Plant/Janis Joplin. A girl in the audience with platinum blonde hair screamed particularly enthusiastically throughout his "set". When he finished, she continued in the same volume to push her play. "I'm in a sex scene!" Great.

Maximum Overdrive, a two piece band who last appeared at the Tom Miller show a year ago, played some power chords with badly wrought yet humourous lyrics. Most of the men in the audience found the both members of the band quite cute. Quite professional at least, with their own beautiful amps, own expensive guitars strummed oblivious to progressively out of tune strings (low E in tune, A slightly sharp, D even sharper, etc.), and riffs from popular songs. I did enjoy their most serious song. Humour can get one far where skill falters.

A young man dressed and styled in a caricature of gothdom read a serious, well written poem written after his sister's death from a drug overdose. Then, to go with the seeming pressure most feel at the Lab (but that I don't?) read a funny one. Chase sang his song again. His mate Max tried comedy. And if I say so myself, I killed it. I felt on the moment I stepped on stage. Again a setlist for my albums (one sale to the lovely Ashley): Car No. 5, Stamsund, and a close out with Crazy.



When I returned to my seat, the pretty pixie-haircut artist girl sitting at a table to the right proffered me a few dollars, saying that she's trying to do the same thing herself with art, putting herself out there, and she knows that in her position she'd appreciate anything. I certainly did and I gave her a couple bookmarks.

Albert had me tape Dave's hand-dancing for Julianne. Unfortunately a rather man-hating lesbian couple seemed to enjoy putting their heads in the way, but I did get as much as I could:



I loved his use of The Rose. A song about Jesus by a gay icon. A very strange combination and a cool thing. Dave and I chatted outside while Wesson played, and then remained outside when the next act, a fire poi guy, started up. This act really bothered me. As per usual the audience oohed and aahed about how cool it was, when this "juggler" was really the least talented fire poi artist I've yet seen. Just as Lily noted - add fire to things and suddenly people go all gaga over it. No real tricks just fire poi whirled in circles beside him or above his head. It's about as hard as idling twirling a lanyard.

Our stretch of comedians fared much better than the past week's. Pablo started off with a Lab vibe appropriate discussion of ugly people. The man haters "feminists" they called themselves, interrupted him loudly halfway through with, what was it? "You're a dirty chauvinist asshole shit fucker?" Something like that. Pablo dealt with this deftly by remarking how the Lab got rather a lot cuter after they'd left. His friend Eric, a black guy with dreads and a cap casting shadow over his downturned face, no eyes to be seen, utilized the presence of the pretty girl at his table to warm up to jokes about 3d and high definition porn. Ah the high class and sophistication of Laboratory humour. That same girl took the stage with not particulary entertaining jokes completely undercutting her self-identification as a non man hating feminist. Mystic closed us out with a German exchange student playing his spare flute and two drummers backing him up.

And that was that. I lingered a bit outside to bid everyone goodbye. One girl with a British accent liked my stuff and asked to gig with me. Chase reiterated his appreciation. Dave and Tom wished me luck. I haven't had much here in Chicago, nor found an open mic anything like the Unspectacular.

Earnings: $14.00, 15 minutes
Song of the Day: Stamsund - Terrence Ho

Thursday, October 20, 2011

The Gainesville End, Day 3

I started playing music in Gainesville. So when I return, many of my music making friends are still there. This time I got a chance to collaborate with Christine and Alan, both taking a bit of time away from school, with a few rehearsals. Sort of a band that didn't quite happen. When I told Brent I'd begun practicing with them, he expressed his shock with, "But aren't they both waaaaay better than you in music?" Oh, I can always count on my brothers for moral support. Quite fortunately for me, he's entirely correct. They majored/are majoring in music, while I gave up classical training for many years. I attempted to make up for my lack of skill with enthusiasm, though. We never ended up playing an Open Mic, but at our first memorable rehearsal we began to write a very amusing song: One Red Crayon I hope we finish it.

Since schedules didn't work out, I performed solo once again at the Tom Miller show. One show many months prior adopted a recurring "Is this the show?" gag. This show's tagline? "This is not a gay show."

Ashley and Albert came once again, with Julianne returned Northwards for school. Thanks to Ashley's smiling and encouragement I didn't have the nerves I had the previous outing. Oh, and I didn't go second. That helped too. Reverend Angel Dust returned from his hiatus to open things up, and the show returned with him to its own version of normalcy. I don't quite remember the details of his benediction save that it featured the same homages to marijuana and the Goddess as always. In an early flip up of schedule, Tom put Chase up next to once again sing along to what seems to be his song, Sister Golden Hair.

Along with not being a gay show, the most entertaining portion of the night came courtesy of a rather amorous couple who decided to deal with the strangeness of their first show by focusing entirely on each other. Throughout the night many performers made loud suggestions of local hotels. I suppose with their hormones already primed for anything suggestive, they wildly enjoyed Eric's trumpet and substituted lyric oldie. Cinnamike's connection of actors to Kevin Bacon didn't amuse them in the slightest, however, so they proceeded to find amusement from each others lips.

Poet Dave, of The Word is Spoken surprised me next with a truly beautiful first poem, before satisfying the crowd (and the couple) with two increasingly raunchy sets of verse. At some point "This is not a gay show" became relevant. Tom decided on a comedy transition, and invited Pablo up to the stage. He sang amusing comedic songs which I can't at all remember. Except that they definitely weren't gay. Then an absolutely terrible comedian (who from hearsay the following show actually can be funny if he's not at the Laboratory - I admit it's a unique audience) failed wonderfully and lashed out with epithets and profanity against us (oh and threats which Tom, Chase, and Dave wonderfully twisted to not be gay). I believe Otto exited the stage with "Fuck you guys" and Tom responded, "Meet you in five minutes in the alley?"

Not a gay show.

To capitalize on the complete straightness of the show, Tom started the musical portion with Jesse's new band Deconstructed - a twelve string guitarist and middle aged "hot biker girl" singer taking the place of his mostly ex boyfriend, yet another Dave. I must say I enjoyed their performance thoroughly. My expectations of constant re-starts, fumbled chords, and accented quarreling appeared unwarranted. So entertainment value around the same. A diminutive actor shared his extremely heterosexual specific love of acting with Iago's monologue from Othello. When I took the stagette after, Chase loudly accompanied Tom's introduction with a "and he gets mistaken for a girl when he's hitchhiking." By this point nearly everyone figured out the refrain.

This is not a gay show.

I decided to go with a setlist geared to push the physical release of my Foreign Skies EP: From Dawn to Busk, The Mario Kart Love Song, and A Thousand Post-Its. I couldn't remember the last time I performed that last one. So nervous I restarted three times, I felt very gracious for a supportive audience - people who I've come to know and care for, in my own judgmental way. They even let me play an extra song, Kids per Ashely's request.

And then back to "comedy". Otto's table mates apparently all meant to procure laughs. In my opinion they mostly failed. The first of these left such a large impression on me I haven't the foggiest idea of his name, face, or voice. I did jot down "Another Comedian" in my notebook. I know he existed. I'm mixing up Justin with next week's Eric. I think it's because I'm racist and I remember them mostly as being the only black people at their respective shows. (On another outing to the Lab for Trivia Night, Alan noticed out of the one hundred and five people present, 103 were White and 2 Asian). According to my notes Bill O'Conner did something. I don't know what.

In the middle of Justin's act, Gainesville's unique brand of despicable hipsters descended. Maybe six of them? Men in flannel, facial hair, perma-high expressions, big eyes, unwashed hair, earplugs, tats, bracelets, holes and patches; women sporting generally loose clothing tight in strategic places, seductively parted lips, muted forest colors, large black framed glasses magnifying eyes filled with disdain, boots (remember, Florida)... just in time for one Sean McDonnell to grace the stage as "Cunt Tree Star."

Now I think I've been consistent and clear with my thoughts on the Tom Miller Show. One of my favourite shows filled with warmth, respect, and no surfeit of talent. Ample ribbing occurs. Loving jeers. Supportive insults. I've never felt so disrespected (as one of the regulars, I suppose) as by this gaggle of hipsters. Sean took fifteen minutes to change dress into torn white jeans and other such apparently stereotypical hick clothing, wrapped himself in the back projection cloth halfway through, and essentially screamed and banged a guitar through his own amplifier turned up to ear-piercing levels. He drove everyone out. His hipster buds ate it up. Laughing and wooping with those slack jawed, glazed eyes panting grins. Everything about them spoke of disrespect for the venue, the other performers, other kinds of music or people - anything beyond their own fuck the man uniqueness. I think many people associate me as one of these hipstery anti-norm types, but even I thought mostly, "Take a bloody bath."

One of the hipster supporters - the prettiest least offensive one (or perhaps I forgive her for her prettiness) read an incredibly explicit piece of poetry/prose about sex before leaving a town while one of the males played electronic music from a korg mini keyboard. It was all very artsy in that masturbatory way. In that way that I disliked many of my co-majors at school. Luckily, Wesson arrived to close us out.

Earnings: $0.00, 20 minutes
Song of the Day: A Thousand Post-Its - Terrence Ho

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

What, I write songs too? Part XIV

Apparently when my brothers were traveling together in Israel (or Ireland?) they started talking about how generally useless I am financially. No lucrative skills, yadda yadda. Kevin decided to give me some credit, however, saying, "Well, the thing about Terrence is his dollar goes far." Brent zinged back, "Imagine if he had two." Later on they related this story to me and I knew it needed to become a song. After many different iterations, chord structures, keys, bridges, etc., I finally settled on this duet - inspired by my good friend Daniel's recent marriage. As with many things I'd intended that I finish recording it for a wedding gift. I still haven't. Today, however, I met up with one Haley I found on craigslist, and after connecting on many many levels (we shall be collaborating rather a lot soon), we did a very rough playthrough of the song. Once I start Phase II of this blog, I'll be uploading a high quality practiced version, but for now, do enjoy:



If We Had Two

They say, "Everybody wants a million dollars."
But hey, I don't think we really need that much.
Squabbling for that sum could waste my soul away,
When I just need the wonder of your touch.

They say, "Money is the root of all evil."
But maybe that's just what us poor lovers think.
It's a good excuse to demonize the rich,
Feel better when our savings wash quickly down the sink.

My brothers always tell me my dollar will go far.
I've seen myself the stretching yours can do.
Now imagine all the beauty that we could bring about
If our dollars wed and suddenly we'd have two.

They say "You need savings for the future."
So hey, let's just live for now and for today.
We'll wander town to town, sing joy to little crowds,
When times get tough, we'll laugh them all away.

My brothers always tell me my dollar will go far.
I've seen myself the stretching yours can do.
Now imagine all the beauty that we could bring about
If our dollars wed and suddenly we'd have two.

A penny saved is a penny earned and a penny for my thoughts,
But since I'll share them all for free, a penny's quite a lot.
I'll give no quarter in my quest for the merger of our hearts,
I know our dimes will spin the best in rhythm not apart.

They say, "Never waste time, for time is money."
Well wait, can't we spend our time on better things?
Without a job to slave at, I'll never come home late,
And I hope this song proves more than any ring.

My brothers always tell me my dollar will go far.
I've seen myself the stretching yours can do.
Now imagine all the beauty that we could bring about
If our dollars wed and suddenly we'd have two.

Suddenly we'd have two.
Suddenly we'd have two.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

An Original EP and a Short Story of Its Making

I meant to post this to coincide with the availability of physical copies of my Original EP Foreign Skies. As with the EP itself, this became delayed a few months. I intended the EP for a March release, but it's status as a very understandable low priority for Maria denied me that possibility.

As it stands, the album is almost entirely my work. After a quarrel which I never understood to be a quarrel, Maria sent me the raw audio files from the recording session - and only one take per track, usually the last take. When we recorded the albums back in Denver, I had no computer in my possession, you see. I found this lack of tracks particularly frustrating, as I could definitely remember better takes for the various parts. Some of the parts had upwards of twenty takes. Furthermore, she denied me permission to use her cello tracks - parts we'd worked on together and really filled out the sound (especially on Purple Dress and A Thousand Post-Its). I do not want to harp on my disappointment long. In the end I mixed the tracks on my friends' computers in Vancouver, Buffalo, and Toronto so that I could meet my New York Digital Release date. While I am still proud of the work I did for the album, I know so many ways it could be improved - even with the material at hand.

So I present to you a finished EP, but not a perfect one. I am selling it both digitally and physically. As they are my own songs, I did not need to purchase rights, but my desire to include lyrics inserts in the physical copies really drove up the price per CD. They cost approximately $3.70/each to make. At this point in my musician-ness, having just settled in Chicago and looking to gig and play indoors more than out, I can only hope for the full length album I've dreamed of completing. If I figure out the scene, find out how to get regular gigs and stop spending without earning, find support and a fanbase, and most importantly keep up my motivation - it may still happen. I do not often ask for support - I need yours now more than ever.





Jacket Art
Lyrics Insert Booklet Art


Listen to and Buy the CD at my website

Thursday, October 13, 2011

The Gainesville End, Day 2

I didn't bother writing notes for this return to my home Open Mic. So lucky you, it might be a shorter post! Albert and Julianne returned with another friend, Ashley, in tow, providing me no shortage of nervousness. Tom opened the night with a set of
bawdy dark humour jokes. With the realization that he might be a clown, he announced a hiatus on his "No clowns, jugglers, or mimes" rule, and with the Reverend Angel Dust missing for a consecutive week, a trumpet toting man with all the appearance of a long and trying life permanently hunching his back made his way up to the stage to open. And oh, did he surprise all of us. Eric played us a rendition of Under the Boardwalk interspersed with his own absolutely hilarious drug and sex filled lyrics - all delivered a capella with a crochety seriousness in a brilliant use of the apparent dissonance of his look and soul. Ashley asked me if I was as good as this guy, and I had to admit that, no, in fact, I was not.

The stunners continued as Tom called me up next. I'd never played before 11.30 before and this caught me entirely off guard. Add on the silly nerves, a half formed set list, and an last minute decided new song opener - I flubbed my Aussie song entirely. I couldn't remember the lyrics after the first chorus, tried to keep going, continued to come up blank, and essentially melted at the post. I haven't played it since, and I wonder if I should keep it? And if so, if I should rework it entirely. I think this moment I realized that my creativity dried up over the past months as I strive too hard to make songs demanding and complex. My lyrics remain natural but the chord structures and melodies emerge contrived. Also, I'm probably too damn happy to be particularly inspired.

So I had to follow with somethings strong - Stamsund. My confidence renewed by this, I played my cover of Collide while large patches of people filed out. I don't know if my song choice, performance or the show in general prompted this, but the message I received at the time read "You're not good enough to keep us around." My performance, especially my falsetto, suffered. I couldn't go out on this note. Tom called for an encore, and I played my Squirrel Song, safe with the assistance of audience participation.

Wahoo sang a few oldies once again while Albert and Ashley threw quizzical looks in my direction (I did not hazard a glance to my right lest I fall into a fit of staring admiration). Dave performed his hand dancing in front of a projected purple background, and with Chase's audible appreciation of the beautiful silhouette's created, he performed an encore Bad Romance in profile. The shadows entranced for but a little time, as I preferred the communication he achieved with facial expressions and the visual flourishes intended for face on viewing.

As tradition seems to be, Chase followed his brother with his standard not-quite-karaoke, joined by his goth teen twig of a daughter for his final numbers. His daughter kept the stage for a painfully nervous recitation of, well, a 14 year old's poetry. It took me back to a time reading my own particularly poor verse at Oak Hall Assembly years ago. I think I called that poem Rain. At any rate let us return to the show. Which went outside. __, well known as "the helicopter guy" shared his passion for flying remote control helicopters with rotary speeds that might literally take one's head off. I watched safely behind Albert's six foot plus frame.

And finally, the most bizarre part of the night. Chase's daughter wrestling Mystic Mike on stage. Apparently they hate and love each other intensely and wanted to settle something. Chase decided to volunteer this feud for our "entertainment", making odd bets on the outcome while commenting on his own parenting prowess. Even me, veteran of so many shows, found this intensely disturbing. So we watched, but watched each other's faces more keenly for reaction cues, surreptitiously trying to glean the appropriate comportment from each other and upon realizing that no one knew quite how to take it, settling on utter confusion.

Wesson arrived just before the show ended, in time to start a trademark wandering, ear-splittingly loud performance. Maybe my allergic reaction to Florida (and I have one) made my sensitive lobes that much more delicate. I couldn't remain within as my tablemates watched in that "is-this-for-real" awe particular to Wesson's performances. On return we turned to random.org, and the rulers of string theory decreed me the winner once again. I used a dollar of it for tea this night, and couldn't fathom how I could possibly finish off the remaining $49.

Earnings: $25.00 tab, 15 minutes
Song of the Day: Stamsund - Terrence Ho

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

The Gainesville End, Day 1

So after six months away, I returned quite happily to Gainesville. Naturally I went nearly immediately to the Tom Miller (Now Winter-Summer) Unspectacular. Between preparing to move, calming my mother down from her emotional swings as a result of said move, and job hunting, this ended up being the only show I played.

The Tom Miller show is so much more fun with allies. Especially allies that come wide eyed and uncorrupted. This first night back I brought two with me, my friend Albert and his astonishingly, distractingly pretty friend Julianne. Luckily, I had ample opportunity to be distracted at the start of the night, watching their reactions to Tom Miller's antics. Owing to a small showing, he took out a manuscript from a book of his (I do not know if this book is a fabrication or not) and commenced reading excerpts of alternately shocking and lascivious prose. One of these short pieces even berated his friends for not giving him money. I enjoyed them immensely. I owe this delight, probably, to my "in-the-know" status. As Albert later put it, the Tom Miller show elicits an initial reaction of is-this-really happening coupled with what-am-i-doing-here. The vibe settles on you later, and as you become more comfortable and included to begin to let go and enjoy, but those first few moments are priceless.

Tom continued this theme of "words" by inviting an author to the stage next. This author read from his recently published book in a hilariously conceited and faux accented style (obviously he was quite pleased with his book, reading a random passage for about twenty minutes) before leaving. "Words" continued as a young man read a passable river poem.

Finally we moved out of "words" into "music." Tom introduced a local hillbilly banjo player as having come from out of town despite numerous audience corrections. I can confirm that he entertained us. I cannot, however, vouch for his sense of intonation. Either his style intentionally involved playing with progressively flatter strings (from the high string to low) and a oppositely scaling flatness to his voice or he was tone deaf. Both are possible. A good sense of rhythm, however, thrummed through the Laboratory with the assistance of a nearly catatonic drunkard who clapped along (generally behind) while he nourished the table with his flask of beer. By the end of our banjo player's set, the chrome tabletop resembled a modern infinity pool or fountain.

Tom's antics at the start of the show made sense with the show's own particular logic. A very small showing of acts necessitated that he drag the show out to it's normal length my any means. Most show's last around three and a half hours and he wanted to make sure this one did not disappoint. He enjoys putting what he considers as talent near the end (especially newcomers) to see how many people the show will drive away first. Only the hardcore who stick around through all the shenanigans get to reap that reward, and one has to remain for the end for to win, too. At any rate, "Broadway Dave," my personal favourite regular, charmed us with an excellent karaoke rendition of Zoot Suit Riot, and Be Prepared. After audience pressure he introduced Albert and Julianne to that uncommonly beautiful hand dancing style to The Circle of Life.

Dave's brother Chase karaoke'd a single song in honor of his grandparents. His rather brilliant tactic seems to be to use original tracks (with the vocal parts still playing) at high volume such that his voice is hardly distinguishable from the true lead voice. I suppose this hides flubs and things so that we concentrate more on his stage presence and appreciate the music as it was first recorded. If nothing else, he introduces his generation's music to a new crop of people. A comedian followed him up - one I can hardly remember beyond the fact that he existed - and then, finally, me.

I asked Julianne to choose a cover off my Live on Street Corner album. The last time I played at the Laboratory, this CD remained unfinished and I nursed high hopes I might sell a few to this warm group of patrons. I sandwiched I Will Follow You Into the Dark between two of my newer songs Silver Lining and If We Had Two - written after last January - and as an encore my Forever & a Day. I remained surprisingly collected and confident so long as I avoided looking towards Albert and Julianne. I guess I'm most comfortable playing for strangers.

I plugged my CD a few times through my performance and Tom replugged it after I left. When Chase asked to talk to me outside I assumed he wished to purchase one, so I left happily with one in hand. It turns out he wanted to confront me about my blog posts. Throughout the night, Tom and others alluded to my blog with sarcastic recommendations to read it, mentioning how I talk about "everything." Apparently many Tom read a post or two one night that I'd written about the show, and some of the performers took offense. I couldn't quite remember what I'd written as I talked with Chase and felt like I must have greatly denigrated the other acts in various ways. Chase said that some wanted him to beat me up when I returned. He, however, held the opinion that I simply spoke the truth. He told me he admired that I write things how I see them, and that I don't hold back. In fact due to my blog he quit smoking. In my amnesiac state I apologized for slights I imagined I cast, while he assured me that of the silliness of said apologies. Upon review of my posts at home, of course, I concurred with his assessment. There's not an over-reaching offensive thing in there.

I re-entered the Lab at the end of Mystic's flute performance, relying as ever on cavernous reverb, and chatted with Julianne and Albert while we waited for the winner to be announced. Random.org decreed me that winner of $25 store credit. Petite Julianne took Albert off to see a lingerie store while I remained entangled in a lengthy conversation with the oppositely proportioned James Wesson on the porch. Oh the inequities of life. The distance between musician of popular opinion and the real musician's lifestyle.

Earnings: $25.00 tab, 20 minutes
Song of the Day: I Will Follow You Into the Dark - Death Cab for Cutie

Monday, October 10, 2011

Who New YorKoming to my Gig? Day 2

Fail voice - that horrible feeling where you know you're not singing well but you gotta do it... and all your friends are there...

Forever and a Day
Silver Lining
Mario Kart Love Song
Hello
From Dawn to Busk
Six Years

A/C

Audience, late start, vibe throughout

couples

reunions

gabe's comments

kirk's

going out after.. meh

what it is to be mature (my khanh, kimmie, being privileged)

Earnings:
Song of the Day: -

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Miami Happy, and So Are They, Day 2

As per usual, I arrived in Miami with no prior arrangements for getting picked up. Daniel's address in journal, I took a sequence of buses with extraordinarily kinds drivers to the nearest stop. My backpack strap had broken again somewhere between Chicago and New York, and this combined with hot Florida weather and a heavy, useless coat and hoodie left me rather burdened for the mile jaunt. Just as I debated which way to turn at a crossroads, however, Daniel's brother, Josh, began to pass slowly in the back seat of a car full of people. I recognized him from our meeting in the Bass Library over a year ago and hailed the car - they were slowing to inquire at the same time.

And so began a weekend infused with peace, life, and above all love. Everything connived to work out beautifully, the guiding hand of God touching events and bringing people together, knitting two families together, laying calm on every mind, smiles of patience smoothing normal brows of worry. But first, the bachelor party. A tradition I never quite understood and continued to be perplexed by this night. We took a large limo around the city and alighted in a strangely dead "happening" center of town. Busking changed my eyes like rock climbing did, and my study of art. I saw every corner and awning as a possible busking locale, but after just a few minutes I knew the Miami vibe would quickly kill any busker's spirit. Materialism beyond LA, alcohol, glitz, machismo, hilarious gender divisions. Much of the world I'd seen but never the closest big city, and now I saw no charm to bring me back.

The morning of Daniel's wedding and the house filled with music. Brooke's vocal warmups. Her rehearsals with Josh. David's guitar and my irresistible draw to the keyboard. The wedding itself - the first I've attended as an adult, I'd say - easily the most beautiful ceremony. Daniel's personality suffused everything. The two groups of groomsmen entered to lip synched song. An retooled Blower's Daughter emotional from him as Patti strolled down the central aisle. Daniel and Patti singing an adapted Juno song together, blending a fruit, milk, and honey smoothie and drinking it in metaphor for their relationship. Josh and Brooke's How He Loves Us, and a bilingual service presided over by Daniel's father and a Brazilian pastor.

Daniel's mother tasked me with filming the event, and I boldly wandered the church throughout, feeling awkward and paparazzi. She relieved me, thankfully, halfway through. A glorious reception highlighted by a break dance battle between the groom's middle school aged cousin and the bride's post college friend. An after party moved away from the drunk crowds of the original locale, Oppa, and onto a quiet beach kissed by shadow.

I returned to the beach the next morning with Daniel's friends from home. The Yalie's had already left. I felt comfortable with these kindly strong people. I brought my guitar, remembered Copenhagen, Hawai'i, Brighton Le-Sands, Williamstown, Vancouver. ___ requested I sing How Great is Our God and my voice rang strong. The perfect song for the moment. Other beachgoers turned to watch, eyes rapt, and clapped, thumbs upped, smiled, nodded. One nearby complimented me grandly and ___ responded "You should hear him play the piano!" and I smiled inside at the irony. Then Hello, basking in the sun, shirt on embarrassed with the atrophy of my once muscled form, with my mind in the Prague dusk.

We played soccer afterwards, on the beach. With the Brazilians on my team against a squad of Haitians, I found that I didn't suck.

Earnings: $0.00, 30 minutes.
Song of the Day: How Great is Our God - Chris Tomlin

Miami Happy, and So Are They, Day 1

Failing to get to Montreal worked out well. Instead of a rushed tour of the place bracketed by two day long trips, I enjoyed a few placid days continuing my job searches in Hong Kong and Turkey. By this point I'd become convinced by the many older people I'd spoken with along the way that one year sufficed. Now I needed to be more responsible.

My good friend Daniel, who I'd originally planned on busking with until he decided to head to peace corp in Mozambique, found himself a life partner there. Fortuitously, their wedding coincided in time and place with my journey back home. En route to Miami I pondered our split paths. I think we both chose well. I wanted to finish a song I started in Jakarta on the familiar twenty eight hour journey. Most trips home from Yale involved these same rails and modest trains. I set myself up comfortably inside the cafe car with my guitar, expecting no interruptions on this route, as past conductors welcomed the music. This held true, at least a while.

Across my cafe booth sat an ex-marine with a warm, friendly manner. His worldly outview - self forgiveness for joining the force as "a kid", taking in the things he saw and learned maturely with no radical swings towards either political pole - flattened me. His eyes spoke of incredible tragedy and a mind gentled by horrific violence, a violence he once contributed to and might again in anguish. A little later on his military foil, a Coast Guard reserve officer joined us. This Osvald harbored extremely strong views delivered with unabashed prejudice, but his story of the origin of his speech impediment, medals and reserve status quashed much of our fire in retorting back.

Eventually someone convinced me to sing a tune, rather than hum quietly to myself as practice. I sang Streets of London, I'm not sure why. As I began to play nothing really changed, but once I began to sing the ambient sound rushed out of the cafe car like the air from a stoppered vial. I swear I heard the pop of the silence. A group of young black girls behind us loved it and clamored for more after I finished. Even the cafe attendant stopped taking orders from a passenger whose gaze redirected from the overhead menu. I began Forever and a Day only to be hushed halfway through by the barely noticed arrival of a female conductor. She had one of those frumpy not enough sex looks I once noted in ticket office workers as my friends and I argued for art student rates at the Musee Picasso in Paris. One of those arched eyebrows, eyes constantly threatening to roll back into her head, thumb poised above the appropriate button on her walkie talkie to call down retribution. I thought it best not to mess with her and quit, even after she waddled away in post office blue slacks. Until the next morning when a new conductor took over.

My tablemate bought a CD from me directly afterwards.

I chanced to sit to lunch with one of those cafe audience passengers, one Pastor Enrique from Ecuador, a missionary who dropped esses from English and Spanish. I spoke only Spanish with him, determinedly, despite mistake after mistake. A blessed meeting for the both of us, for I brought his contact information to Daniel's pastor father, and he passed energy, enthusiasm and spirit back to me.

Earnings: $9.00, 10 minutes
Song of the Day: Streets of London - Ralph McTell

Friday, October 7, 2011

Who New YorKoming to my Gig? Day 1 by Basak Otus

Terrence dropped by New York City and on the third day of his arrival, he said, “Let there be my new CD.” The release party to go along with that was at Kirk’s apartment at 86th and Lexington. As people started to drop by and made themselves comfortable on the couch (and eventually on the floor), Terrence’s performance began.

Here, I have to take a step back and admit that this was actually the first time that I heard Terrence sing. Yet it took me no more than a few seconds to realize that my freshman year pre-orientation counselor has a uniquely beautiful and comforting voice. He played some well known songs, including the Mario Kart Love Song (one of our favorites), but I was most impressed by those that he composed himself, such as his Forever and a Day. Terrence is a truly talented musician.

The artistic beauty of the night was accompanied by a generally chill environment and Terrence’s entertaining interaction with the audience. In-between the songs, we had a chance to hear more about Terrence’s life as a musician and his stories from his travels all over the globe.

Terrence’s release party turned out to be a perfect Friday night for all of us, and I’m already looking forward to his next visit to the city.



Earnings: $20.00, 2 hours
Song of the Day: Forever & a Day - Terrence Ho

Thursday, September 8, 2011

I (K)New, Haven('t) You Guessed?

Haha. Another long hiatus. I can't seem to stay focused for the end of this blog. If it is to end, that is. Even my journal lies mostly untouched for weeks. From a torrent to a sad trickle - is that the fate of all things?

The preface to my journal entry on my busking session in New Havens runs: "I jabber a bit too incessantly. Humility, t!" In my own defense (from myself) I think my overeager chatter resulted from hours of sad waiting. You see I notified all my New Haven friends I'd be setting up for an "office hour" under the awning of the British Art Center in the late afternoon a two and a half hour timeslot that seemed to agree with everyone's schedule. Unfortunately no one showed up until the two hour mark, when I'd basically given up on them.

I'm clearly getting ahead of myself. Two full hours ahead. After a beautiful chance encounter with Nedelman getting on the subway in the morning, a nice lunch and nearly missed career meeting I braved an uncommonly hot day (though of late heat hasn't really bothered me in the slightest - maybe I need to get muscles back before it will) to set up in that lovely acoustic gem of a spot. And was promptly moved by the security guards such that I'd face the building, and not stand below the awning - cutting out a lot of the natural amplification (at least so far as I could hear - which made it harder to stay in tune or hear how loud I was singing...). In the end I mucked up my voice pretty well for my gig the next day. More on that when I get to that post, of course. Though humid, the heat managed to keep my throat dry. Or something did. I had to take a couple of breaks in the next door Starbucks to avail myself of their honey sachets and free water.

Just like my last time playing here, the passersby generally payed kind attention to me, though perhaps because of lethargy inducing heat rather than ohmygod cold and windy energy, most strolled slowly by with a slow smile rather than a quick tip. Gotta go with the vibe. Throughout the first pitch two architecture grad students wandered around the entrance measuring various features with their body parts. We had a nice chat a bit later, but I don't think they really liked (or disliked) my music. I forgot to bring seed money, so my first tip was that much more significant. An African man with a French accent tossed in a mix of larger coins and a single bill, stuck around by a pillar, requested Hotel California and continually encouraged me for a lot of songs, some my own, until his friend dropped by to fetch him. Explo kids - privileged high schoolers on a summer program on campus - generally had absolutely no idea what to do with me. The Asian kids especially seemed extremely curious. I saw them peripherally many times over over a half hour span. In the end the white girls of the group ended up shyly tipping while the rest passed on with that still looking at me but "chatting" with each other demeanor. Not long before my first break, a young couple sat down at the other end of the piloti raised area to listen for quite a while, smilingly and with some clapping. Eventually they requested There There. I sang it with aplomb, but it's demand on my range meant the rest of the day should have been... well a rest of a day, but determined to stick it out as I was in the hopes of friends dropping by, I trudged on.

Both times I played a shy black woman gave me a thumbs up and a broad smile. I think my favourite experience, however, was hearing another person's tune. A rather overweight couple stopped at the light to the left and the man burst into happy impromptu song about having found a parking spot. Aside from the silly happiness they embodied, I also derived a bit of pleasure from the fact that these large people in an appropriately large van delighted in finding a closer spot from which to procure ice cream. Can't be burning those calories after all. Winter is coming. Ne?

Actually I began my second pitch not as a pitch but by leaning against the central pillar and practicing my original songs quietly for the gig. And writing. I didn't even bother opening my guitar case. Until Eric showed up! I played him quite a few requests and then what do you know, along came Chika with some art friends. Naturally I prodded at Chika to sing along, finally successful with my best new addition to my repertoire, Collide. I tried to hastily get a run through of my duet together with her, but we didn't quite have time for her to learn lyrics and melody. But next time!

Earnings: $16.56, 2 hours ish
Song of the Day: There There - Radiohead

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Toronto の Totoro

So it's not a relevant pun at all. I just like that hiragana character a lot. It's kind of adorable and peaceful all at once.

I took Greyhound to and from Toronto, since Amtrak's railpass won't cover that travel. Actually as I canceled my sojourn to Minneapolis/St. Paul and the floods in the Midwest robbed me of the chance to take the Empire Builder (and I'd later miss a jaunt to Montreal) I think the pass turned out to be an unwise investment after all. Meh. When the bus arrived in Buffalo from New York and discharged it's passengers for a fuel change, I saw that the majority were Chinese. So I knew I was on the right bus. A bit late due to a girl in the bus in front of us having fallen asleep and forgotten to get off and now stuck at customs without a passport, but the magic of cellphones enabled me to meet up with Geoffrey nonetheless.

Remember that theme I hinted at development in Buffalo? Well it flowered into full effect in Toronto. Geoffrey and I tend to be of one mind when we hang out, although our personalities and styles (especially when directing) differ greatly. This time we fulfilled the necessary tour of Toronto in an efficient few hours - necessary so I could say I saw Toronto (another place I reputedly spent time in when I was small and cute - that last state apparently existed as per my older brother's testimony) and so he could say he was a good host. After that we returned and played Starcraft II, Halo: Reach, and Super Smash Bros. Brawl with the occasional break to make risotto, sample sushi pizza and marvel at a lactose free refrigerator.



Games composed the greater part but not the entirety of our pastimes. On my final night, Geoffrey helped me balance out my forthcoming EPs tracks on Garage Band. You see, after some... altercations with the friend who graciously mixed them originally in abysmal (Photoshop analogy: take bunch of images. Throw them in a psd in layers. Flatten without regard to where they are or why - hm, I would use a graphic analogy for music. I did in fact mention to this friend how I don't really understand soundscapes and so I needed her help) I finally procured one take per song of each track of my recordings. I'd previously thought I would make a digital release date of July 22 to coincide with a house gig I'd planned, so now I needed to remix everything double time. Without my own computer, Geoffrey's Garage Band capable PowerBook gleamed enticingly and so I finally excused myself from being a good guest to do necessary work. (I'll be posting information on my EP presently.)

On a brighter note, Geoffrey and I composed a song one afternoon with that same wonderful software. From the piano and guitar to the computer and loops to lyrics based on his dog Kungming... maybe I/we'll finish it someday. Probably not. For now it exists as a bonus track on the physical version of my EP.

Song of the Days: Panda Song (unfinished) - Geoffrey Liu and Terrence Ho

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Niagara Falls and So Do We, Day 1

Alrighty then. Chicago's happy furniture and cooking frenzy softened out on a peaceful overnight train ride to Buffalo. Piotr nabbed me at the station and we proceeded to mostly sequester ourselves inside his home - a theme in its beginning stages. On the few notable occasions we weren't talking or playing Starcraft II or jamming and editing songs (more on that later) or eating his mother's delicious pierogies, we headed off for some longish excursion thanks to his taking time off work. I'd pretty much packed it in for busking for whatever reason, but we took our guitars to Niagara Falls anyways - in my mind so as to just play at a park nearby.

My parents told me I saw Niagara Falls the last time I went to Ontario. As my memory works exceedingly poorly in correlation to how far removed in time the event occurred, I don't remember a thing. In fact, I hardly remember anything before age five, and really not much before grade three. As if I've a set decade and a half of clear memories and before that nothing. Well suffice to say - Niagara Falls is freaking awesome. Not holy crap it's photoshopped huge (see the Grand Canyon) or Waaaaahhh (see Zion NP), but friendly in a you're totally gonna die if you fall in me sort of way. As one approaches from the American side it's immediately clear the river means business.





At any rate we didn't tarry all that long out there so as to wander over to the Canadian side. A characteristically lax border guard there waved us through and Piotr found some happily free parking about a mile away. Local knowledge! I figured since we'd brought our guitars in the car we might as well lug them down with us. (I was a bit more reticent since mine lived in my trademark absurdly heavy hardshell.) You'd never believe Canada has fewer citizens than Florida from the discrepancy in tourists (and in displayed wealth via tourist attractions) at this border. A perfect place to busk, maybe, but I'd not looked up the rules and I didn't really feel like ruining the immersive roar of the waves with some folk tunes. It's kind of like disrespect, no?

Piotr and I claimed a bench facing the falls. Some disagreements over twelve bar blues progressions and the subsequent failures at jamming with these disagreements further enforced my decision not to actively busk. My busking is an art form, a performance, prepared and practiced and delivered professionally. Practicing on the street is precisely not what I see busking as, so I pointedly opened my case with the top facing the sidewalk and the opening facing me (still open so I might grab tuner or capo or lyrics as I'd need).



Piotr soloed off the chords I laid down, until eventually I decided I didn't particularly care about the magical aura anymore and sang a few songs, giving him space between verses to solo for extended periods. I'm not much of a guitar soloist while Piotr inclines towards shredding. An interesting collaboration, certainly. Luckily he's far less snobbish and closed minded about music than I am so I didn't have to try and play punk/metalcore/screamo style and he adapted to my folkiness. Aren't I a pill? But really, I do believe folk tunes are the least offensive to the average passerby - would you be more likely to deplore a folk busker or a metal screamo busker at a National Park? Folk seems to fit. At least I'm rationalizing it to be so.



Reactions... mixed. As per usual before I started to sing (maybe five to ten songs) in the long bouts before where I just played chords with my head down and my hair partially obscuring my face, men took an inordinate interest in us. A lot of bending over and not at all surreptitious scrutiny of as much of my face as they could see behind the veil. To further illustrate how I wasn't busking I faced Piotr the whole time (who looked at the bench in front of him), or turned to the falls, mostly ignoring the passersby except for the occasional nod and smile. The usual young kids, some groups of university students, a request or two. I felt strange yet liberated to play without performing. Our session further underscored precisely what busking is by all we did not do. In fact I believe it was this short session that convinced me I was well and truly done with it, at least for some time.

Probably that and the following day's free concert from the John Butler Trio. John Butler's a busking legend from Fremantle, Western Australia (a busking town, so they say). His absolutely phenomenal skill spoke of tons and tons of practice. And that's what I haven't had much of any opportunity to do this trip - practice. It seems to me that one gets better at something by simply doing more of it. This holds true for climbing, and art, and certainly in my experience with the violin. But busking is about performance and as a performer you cannot practice at all out there on the street (save for those few instances suddenly alone in a tunnel). That's rude. So I'm a damn decent performer now who's cemented bad technical habits in his voice and guitar style. Now I need that time I devoted to travel and blogging and seeing and planning and cooking for practice, and I need to spend some time not performing at all.



As for tips we got some coins from kids particularly keen on us (who came all the way up to the bench and practically right up to us to drop them around the black top screening them away). Pretty courageous, really. Most amusingly, we got a $2.50 casino token. We didn't use it.

Earnings: 1.02 CAD, 2.50 casino token, 1.5 hours
Song of the Day: Where is My Mind - The Pixies

Saturday, August 20, 2011

Chicago, and All That... Furniture

Pop quiz. Given reagents less motivated Terrence looking for teaching jobs and the upcoming start of the school year, titrated with indecision catalyst and processed through tired-as-hell filter, what pH (propensity to fulfill hoped-for-blog-output) can be expected? So let's do a rather whirlwind-esque rundown through the general lack of busking from the last month.

My train into Chicago arrived about three hours late, which by Amtrak standards for a long haul is actually somewhat early. Others were a bit bothered and worried by it. What with my extremely strict work schedule, however, I didn't care a whit. Brent found me inside and I happily complained at him until we reached his new flat in Hyde Park. I happened to alight at the start of the fourth of July weekend, which he happily whiled away buying kitchen supplies, playing Tesla Wars (both of us on one iPad makes it rather a lot easier), watching movies and generally not seeing much of the outside world. That suited me.

Tuesday happened, taking Brent back to work and me to my purpose of visiting him - to move him in. I'd spend the rest of the week researching and calling and visiting dozens of furniture stores, cookware shops, designing and printing coasters and placemats, and trying to get him internet. I'd say I succeeded in all of them but the last, which really was nothing I had any power over. In fact, in AT&T's great wisdom Brent had to pay to not have internet.

Another weekend swept Brent and me to a happy hour with Technori Unwind through a happy coincidence in a Starbucks. Back in Mountain View I stayed a night with my friend Michael Ma, and his roommate's girlfriend Val happened to be visiting at the same time. Three weeks later in Chicago she decided to wander into the same Starbucks I used for internet (see above), recognized me, and nicely invited us to this happy hour. This I loved as another objective of my visit, significantly more difficult, was to make Brent less lonely. Ultimately I needed to be dragged to the happy hour rather than my usual dragging of him. Suffice to say I drank half a beer and didn't need anything else. The next morning Brent displayed his characteristically frustration refusal to do anything he knew I'd do and made me buy and negotiate his bike for him.

Of course the highlight of this time with Brent centered around the things we love - food, games, and Battlestar Galactica. So I'll conclude this hilariously belated post with a list of the things we (I) made:

    English muffin with over-easy Egg, Bacon, Cheddar Cheese.
    Spaghetti with Spam, Green Onions, Soy Sauce, Egg
    Mushroom Leek Risotto with Corn
    Oven baked Salmon with Capers, Almond/Butter Rice Pilaf, stir-fried Cabbage
    Kielbasa with Kale and Sauerkraut over Egg Noodles
    Linguine Carbonara
    Skirt Steak with Chimichurri marinade/sauce, stir-fried Chayotes, and Brazilian Rice
    Stir fried Chicken with Bok Choy and Rice


Earnings: $20.00
Song of the Days: If We Had Two - Terrence Ho

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Sacramento, Day 1

I never wrote notes for this spontaneous busking day in Sacramento. Oh well. On my way to Chicago courtesy of the reroute I had a five and a half hour layover in Sacramento. With the train station adjacent to Old Sacramento, I decided to wander out for a breakfast and a Subway sandwich (cheaper than train food by far) for that day's lunch and dinner. I'd hoped to find some Banh Mi to stock up on, but no luck. The charming tiny "Chinatown" estate's Vietnamese restaurant wouldn't open until 11am, minutes before my train was to depart. I took my guitar with me and gave my backpack to left luggage.

After a Denny's "slam" breakfast which I amusingly discovered a way to pay rather less for via "create your own slam" and selecting the same items. Flaw! I headed to a pedestrian tunnel passing beneath the freeway and linking Old Sac to Downtown. Unfortunately, this tunnel isn't entirely enclosed, with large gaps between lanes/directions of the freeway and on ramps above funneling the roar of traffic and amplifying it throughout the tunnel just as I hoped to harness the acoustics myself. Add to that the man blowing away leaves at one entrance of the tunnel and a rather large width - maybe thirty feet? and it made for an un-ideal pitch. But I wanted to, morning and all. And there was a nice mural in there.

I'd been practicing a few songs on the train from Seattle. Sheikh's workout was beginning to catch up to me but I could still play, if a bit less deftly. I sang to a steady trickle of pedestrians, most of which gave me confused looks or ignored me. Some smiled, but I think most were to in their own heads to pick out the music from the ambient roar. A latino couple, boy sweeping girl into his arms into a Disney princess carry despite her girth more than equaling his. Three elderly women in business casual chatting with separate suspicious glances cast furtively towards me. A poor latino man with the smell of cigarette smoke and sweat clinging to him staying for two songs enthusiastically, apologizing for no money, kissing my hand, telling me not to cut my hair. A confused family hurrying on at first sight, slowing down, turning around, slowing down, turning again, ambling on. A woman jangling her change specifically as she neared, passing close as if to tantalize. A blind woman turning a few times before I called out "I'm here" and advising me on the specific cross-streets in Old Sac, smiling then turning on. A college student racing head down, ashamed.

The greatest wonder of all, however, remained my sole tip of the day. A middle-aged Chinese gentleman on his morning walk approached during Nowhere Man while the family I mentioned before followed twenty feet behind and watched his behaviour. He strolled, pace neither quickening nor slowing as he dropped me a dollar and turned his head to keep grace me with a faint faint smile. I guess experience and stereotypes don't always hold. There's still room to be surprised.

Earnings: $1.00, 45 minutes
Song of the Day: Nowhere Man - The Beatles

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Buskless in Seattle, Day 2

The title of this post is already wrong, but I wanted to keep it in line with the first one (and the bad pun). It's funny I've put off writing it so long, as I generally like to write happy posts immediately. Chicago's been incredibly busy, however, and as I've needed to wake and sleep at the same time as Brent, I don't have those late night hours I usually do to write posts. Things are cooling down just a touch now, so I can finally write a tad. Oh, before I forget, the day before the day which this day treats, I had a wonderful cafe meeting with my former counselor. My mind's still whirling with happy possibilities for my rather uncertain future.

I woke at four to walk the two and a half miles to the train station in Vancouver to catch my five thirty transit down to Seattle. From there I was to make a connection to a train to Sacramento and then a another connection to Chicago. When I arrived I noted a line forming for travel to Seattle - people with customs cards and all, and with no staff to indicate otherwise I naturally joined that line, with everyone else. It turned out (to my chagrin and to others' minor annoyance) that this was the line for the six forty five train. Who starts queueing for a train an hour and a half early? Apparently I was meant to take the bus which arrived and left without announcing itself. Scheduling fail. I jumped on the train anyways, knowing I could stay with Sheikh in Seattle should I be stuck there. Calls to Kevin and Amtrak yielded no alternates to staying a night in Seattle before picking up my journey as planned a day late.

Now something truly momentous happened as I detrained. The ribbon Kristjiana tied onto my guitar handle nearly two years ago broke. I put it into my jeans pocket. I'm not sure where it is now. I arranged via text to meet Sheikh downtown after work for the busride up to his place in Ballard, which left me with about three hours to kill. I spent them inside one of my favourite buildings in the world - the Seattle Public Library by Rem Koolhaas. The volunteer stopped me when I entered to check with security whether I could bring in my guitar. Apparently I wasn't allowed to and there were no coat check options. Freakin' overachieving volunteer types. Luckily the security guard told me after the volunteer returned to his desk that I could have the guitar with me inside the library so long as I was going to use the music room on the eighth floor upstairs. So I signed up for a four o'clock spot I wasn't planning to make anyways. I did end up using the room when someone didn't show for their two o'clock slot and happily murdered Chopin's C# minor nocturne for an hour.

Sheikh enthusiastically roped me into a crossfit style workout session before dinner. Prior to this I hadn't done any exercise aside from walking for... a year? Pride intervened. I failed spectacularly on pullups and our closing pushups (resorting to knee pushups for the last set...). I did surprise myself with the relative ease of the goblin squat sets. I guess I'm becoming a t-rex. Maybe it runs in the family. Watch out, Brent, you're next.

After dinner I decided I really wanted to go for a busk. I walked with Sheikh near the spot where we'd seen a busker a week before and I spent a few minutes scoping out the various store entrance alcoves for acoustics/visibility/visual pleasantness. I chose the front of a barbecue store. Sheikh started me off with two songs I felt quite rusty on. The precise reason I love having requests - it keeps my songs fresh! He said my Don't Speak started off meh before progressing to a lot more fun. I'd asked him for a couple dollars of seed change (I'd left mine at home), which he frustratingly refused to take back at the end of the night. During the beginning of his second request, Exit Music (For a Film) a group of hipsters slowed and one skinny jean-ed male doubled back for a quiet dollar tip.

Sheikh left to continue his post-dinner walk while I sang the songs newest and oldest to repertoire. So a lot of Beatles. A trio of homeless hippies gathered around me shortly after, smelling strongly of marijuana, cigarettes and alchohol. The tallest of them, wearing a brown carpet as a poncho that matched his druid elder in the forest look, blabbered incessantly about energy and connection and LSD and what being high really was and tree hugging. The other two alternately closed their eyes to listen to me or stared at the tall one to quiet down a bit. Between songs they impelled me to come to "The Gathering." Just as Hobo Joe had in Gainesville six months prior. I politely declined. They stayed for quite a few songs, effectively chasing away any passersby but also jumpstarting my confidence and comfort level. I sang songs "you think I'd like" - Streets of London, Nature Boy, Liberta which left them nodding along, shaking my hand, crying, and yes, tipping. Multiple times.

Right after they courteously left (recognizing that they were limiting my income), I received a smiley tip a renewed set of new/old additions. By the time Sheikh returned with Court I'd amassed a small collection of bills, and felt content. I sang them a couple more requests, for which Court tipped me, and was ready to head off when a couple stopped in to "buy a song". I love how mass psychology works. Since Sheikh/Court already stood before me being couply, this other couple felt subtly safe to do the same. The bright, friendly guy requested There She Goes for his girlfriend who'd leave the next morning. As I sang the incredibly repetitive tune (which I need to re-arrange), both pairs danced in that wonderful sixties style between a jive and a waltz in little circles in front of me. Oh! how beautiful.

The man tipped me a ten and requested an apparently appropriate Norwegian Wood for leaving music. Sheikh and Court went to finish their walk and would fetch me on their return. But I didn't leave then. You see, that's precisely when the pitch picked up. Between songs a young man with a soft, kind manner very thoughtfully requested Leaving on a Jet Plane for his own departure. I suppose everyone was set to quit Seattle that coming day. As I sang it directly to him, voice warmed up and allergy less, an audience gathered. By the time I finished there were eight people watching. A young couple with a pretty girl tipping just before I concluded. A cute hippie girl who dashed in to leave me a bunch of wildflowers and a feather. An older couple. An old man. A former busker. I sold the first young man my CD on his inquiry on which tracks were on it. Happily his request starts the record off :).

The older couple already tipped me but I asked them to make a request anyhow. They danced a little to The Boxer before leaving. The old man, Jud, and former busker watched throughout, the latter closing his eyes, bowing his head and turning up his palms in a gesture of receiving God - I took as the absolute best compliment. Both averred that I'd blow every other busker in Seattle out of the water were I to play during the Saturday Market. Jud cried a few times, especially when I sang Operator - as he said he'd known Jim Croce. The busker apologized many times for having nothing, but his constant "God Bless You"s and inoffensive supportive manner were enough for me.

Best of all they liked my originals best. Both stood in stunned weeping silence after I sang an impassioned Stamsund. I knew it went well with my confidence and comfort very very high. I sang a few more before Jud tipped me a twenty bill for my fifteen singles in change. This left me with two twenties, some silver coins, a bunch of wildflowers and a feather in my case. I think this strange ensemble deterred the subsequent would be tippers. I only received one more, from a guy promised to return after hearing my From Dawn to Busk. I'm glad he returned when he did, delayed as it was. I had to stick out out several songs during which I really really really needed to relieve myself. An occupational hazard of a busker with a lima-bean sized bladder and a voice that needs rather a lot of lubrication.

Earnings: $43.43, 2 hours
Song of the Day: There She Goes - The Las

Friday, July 1, 2011

Vancouver Renewal, Day 3

I think the recurring theme throughout busking Vancouver is my obstinate enthusiasm to busk despite non-ideal factors. My busking time is limited by a desire to spend time with Claudia and making sure my schedule fits around Sylvia's - so on Saturday I didn't head out to busk until six in the evening. I'd needed to wait at Sylvia's place until she returned, and then coordination confusion with Claudia and/or Sylvia for dinner ensued. Sylvia went out shortly after me to watch/listen to me busk. She investigated the acoustics - best at the ends of the bridge (I stood in the middle), and had a good share of comments on how I might busk better. Which I found a bit condescending as I have been doing it for fourteen months and I do know pretty well how to choose songs or spots. I'm privileged enough not to need to do it for money, really, so I do have the choice to uphold my artistic integrity. And that is oh so important to me. I avow, often, never to gimmick myself or sing any song I don't enjoy simply because it's lucrative (Don't Stop Believing, Godfather's Theme, Stairway to Heaven, etc.), nor ever to play a song I do like that is lucrative more than once in a set unless requested to. I have my rules.

I noticed that the rare pedestrian passersby on this cloudy, windy day seemed less willing to pass in front of me than the previous times. On seeing or hearing me they'd choose to walk across the bike lane and walk under the bridge in the roller bladers' lane. They'd still smile - even the old Asian ladies would smile after a blank confused look, no looks of disgust - but happily had the convenient excuse of distance to not tip. With a clientele similar to the morning pitch, people exercising aerobically in various speedy ways, especially on wheels (and a strange profusion of bicycles with tiny wheels and a lofted frame in a standard firetruck red or spoiled lime green as if rented from the same company), I naturally garnered little in the way of monetary attention. My first tip came from a smiling man before I'd even begun - a loonie. My only other tip came near the end one other tip from a couple with a just-teen daughter. Funny how the tips bracketed the time again. This trio had passed some ten minutes prior, and tipped on their return journey in a very kind and thoughtful way. Where the daughter took time to select coins from the proffered coin purse of the father, both parents smiling down at her while she considered each disc seriously.

I'd played Heart of Gold for Sylvia as I know it's one of her favourite songs when she arrived. She also rather enjoyed Nowhere Man (for which I received that second tip). She spent most of the time sitting at the end of the bridge out of sight, noting the expressions and dispositions of the passersby as they exited the shadow of the arch. The report: eight of every ten emerged with what looked to be fresh smiles upon their faces. If in groups, she would hear them discussing my performance amongst themselves. Apparently the most common comment was:

"Well, I think he sounds so good because of the acoustics."

So I guess they didn't tip me because they'd rather tip the stones of the bridge. Well, at least they thought I sounded good.

Earnings: 3.55 CAD, 1 hour
Song of the Day: Collide - Howie Day

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Vancouver Renewal, Day 2

My host Sylvia needed to leave the house at eight in the morning, so I followed her out so she might lock up. With two hours to kill before Claudia would come and pick me up, I decided to try that rare morning busk - mostly to practice the new covers I'd learnt. Mornings are a nice time to busk but generally so laughably unlucrative that the only reason to go out for them would be for practice or exposure. I'm having fun again busking so I didn't particularly care - besides I figured I might do alright playing the evening at a barbecue Claudia would bring me to.

Just like the previous day, one of my first passersby made the entire pitch worth it. He stopped after passing me at the end of the bridge, watching with his cute doggie, smiling kindly and openly. I asked if he'd like to make a request - he apologized for having no money on him (people walking dogs or running or biking gnerally don't, so whatever), and then was further shocked by the professionalism and breadth of my repertoire list. We struck up a nice longish conversation, clicking right away. I couldn't quite place his accent. He demurred from making a request, saying that I was doing just perfect without it, so I continued to play Collide as he headed off.

Shortly thereafter I received a smiling "acknowledge that I'm tipping you" kind of tip from a man with a toonie. That's the kind where he slows as he approaches, reaches into his pocket, deliberately selects a toonie, holds it between us at eye level, looks at the coin, then meets my eyes, smiles, and then flicks or drops it in with a slight nod. Aside from that I went tipless except for an instance almost at the end of my pitch. In between verses of Scarborough Fair, a woman and her teenage girl stopped and turned around to tip me, ever so shy and silent with a few silver coins. Simultaneously a hippie or homeless woman (isn't it so funny how hard it is to tell which?) flicked me a single dime with - this will sound impossible - a passionless sneer. It's more like the normal expression on her face was a sneer for so many years that it's fixed that way.

Joggers all thumbs upped or smiled or shouted out encouraging remarks as they passed. Bikers looked very bemused. When I packed up for the walk back I passed a man who called out if I wanted a quick guitar lesson. Sure, why not? I thought. The man seemed surprised I knew non standard chords (I just played the opening chords for my Forever and a Day) but continued in a slightly belittling "lesson" where he showed me three new chords - two movable - which it seemed came from a song he knew or wrote. The threatening rain clouds finally decided to let loose at that point so I quickly retrieved my guitar and packed up - but he pestered me with a conflicting story. First he asked for four dollars for a bus ticket - when a bus ticket costs 2.50 - and when I explained I'd earned a total of two dollars ish from my busking down the path, he protested and tried to proffer me a bus pass he said was worth nine dollars and didn't need anymore, in exchange for two dollars. Sad for that nice random interaction to morph from a kind exchange of knowledge to an attempt to guilt me out of money.

Claudia took me to her audition for a role for a woman ten years older - she looked far too young, but I had a great laugh with her throughout. We popped into an oh-so-Vancouver Cafe - green floral graphic design, name of "Organic Lives", six dollar microscopic slices of brownie, etc. - to see if they might need live music, but alas, they did not.

After some lazing about we headed to her friend Ellen's barbecue - an event I'd helped purchase the food for what with their complete and adorable helplessness in grocery stores. That trip was highlighted by Ellen's question of how to pick meat, and a giggle filled search for hamburger buns. I helped cook/grill/light the barbecue as the only male at the barbecue for four hours (though I certainly didn't have the shortest hair). Oh and everyone was Asian. With that latter information I knew going into it I likely wouldn't sell a single CD, but I figured I might at least feel appreciated.

I helped out staying near the grill and hardly sat down for most of the night, but by the time we moved indoors (and were joined by another male! and a white girl!) I inexplicably had an itch to perform. Probably the unsatisfied busking urge for the day, as Claudia and I'd stayed indoors and I'd not had a chance for an afternoon busk. So I played a few songs for her in the living room while Ellen, enthusiastic and kind, brought the others in to listen and chat. Mostly they just chatted. I've hardly ever felt more inconsequential. I didn't realize before how much I like being in the spotlight. I revel in that. I need to feel special, I guess, to be noticed and appreciated and validated by clapping and smiles and "You're so good!"s. A few requests were made, but with no enthusiasm and everyone talking blithely over me I stopped after just a few songs. Sort of lay on the carpet and felt stupid at myself for being so needy. On the busride back I felt rather insignificant, dismissed, depressed. And annoyed that I felt that way.

Earnings: 2.95 CAD, 1 hour
Song of the Day: Scarborough Fair - Simon & Garfunkel

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Vancouver Renewal, Day 1

I emerged from my no busking malaise with a sunny arrival in Vancouver. Right as I alighted from the bus from Seattle, I saw a busker in the middle of a random farmer's market in the park outside the station. He finished his pitch soon thereafter and I asked him about busking the city - getting more difficult every day, he said, with the economy driving more people to play the streets and less money around to be given them, but always enough "after a full day for at least a hostel and a couple slices of pizza." Hm, it really must have been the sun that enthused to busk so much.

So I headed for a go very near where I'm staying in Vancouver, beneath Highway 99 as it goes through Stanley Park on the way to the Lions Gate Bridge - as far as I know it's the only remotely pedestrian tunnel-like place in the city. I started off with an original. I think I'm once again enthusiastic to busk as a form of practice - which really isn't how one should approach it, but oh well! Right as I finished that first song, two Polish women strolled by with two adorable little girls. One called out, "But no one's going to stop here!" (The tunnel's mostly frequented by runners, bikers and roller bladers.) She stopped to request "Oh my God you know Falling Slowly" and watched rapt with her friend while I sang and the girls drew with green crayon on the sidewalk around me. Eva, my fan of sorts, took the chalk from the child at one point to draw a big heart. They tipped me with a "Oh I wish I had more!" asking me how long I would stay and sad it would be so short. I thanked her profusely - more for her attitude than the money - with a Dienkuje. She asked me my second language and responded with a 多謝. What a great start to busking Vancouver!

I continued to play for a full hour that Thursday evening, with lots of smiles and thumbs up from every passersby. I happened to have a great desire to practice Run and chose a fortuitous time to play it - a small group of youngsters passed and each one tipped! I find I enjoy myself the best in places with good acoustics - I like to hear the sound of my own voice not merely for reasons of arrogance but also to improve upon my singing. Add onto that the fact the songs which meet the best reception in such locations are the ones I like the best - the sadder, slower fare as opposed to I'm Yours or Somewhere Over the Rainbow. I love tunnels, and nice foreign people :).

Earnings: 15.85 CAD, 1 hour
Song of the Day: Falling Slowly - Once

Monday, June 27, 2011

Buskless in Seattle, Day 1

I decided to get to Chicago by way of Seattle (and later Vancouver) so that I might take the Empire Builder - one of two long Amtrak routes I've yet to take (the other being The City of New Orleans). Nick can attest to how rail adverts affect me. Amtrak likes to feature gorgeous photographs of the Empire Builder passing through Glacier National Park. I've never even been to Montana and the train would bring me to three previously unvisited States. Flooding in Montana effectively put a damper on this plan. So I ended up in Seattle anyways, with the sole objective now of seeing my friends Sheikh and Lin.

Seattle strictly enforces its busking license system, and I still wasn't quite in the mood to do any. Allergies/possible ear infection unchecked and general laziness lead to my not busking in the charming Ballard district near Sheikh's place. Ballard has that very Northwest feel of stubbly men and slightly portly women in ugly sweaters and other knits, sandals or moccasins, ear plugs and hemp handbags or bracelets, immaculate teeth and nails, BMWs, aggressive veganism and an omnipresent smell of weed. Naturally the music of choice isn't quite in alignment with mine - Passion Pit and MGMT and this sort of music. I wandered about the first day through indie bookstores which didn't stock the pulp I wanted to read and the library which did. Sheikh cooked up a beautiful beef heart, beetroot dish with a sesame vinaigrette salad and rice. The last in honor of my presence.

Sheikh and his girlfriend rise very early for work (before six), so they chose not to accompany me to an open mic about a mile's walk away at Molly Maguire's. Internet listings and calling indicated it would begin at 8.30, and to show up at 8.00 to get on the list. On arriving the bartender informed us the host generally didn't show until 9.30 but we could start a list if we wanted to. (Two other acts arrived around when I did). I adopted a table of three starting to play gin - a card game very much like Mahjong. A charming married couple obviously very much in love and their guest Brett, a very pretty musician from Hawai'i. Oh that Hawai'ian accent!

An instrumental act opened just after 10.00 after the host Mingus tested out the system, followed by Brett and then me. Brett sang some feel good surfy originals, with a catchy Celebrate Yourself to open. A great stage presence unrewarded by a largely disinterested crowd. Hipsters tend to be that way. This didn't bode well for my set, as I'd decided to debut two of my originals this night, both slower, more pensive songs that require a friendly audience. Or at least one that wants you to succeed. Most audiences run that way, but the combination of hipsters, old folks, and an Irish Pub atmosphere tends the other way. I sang my songs, with Kids thrown in the middle for a predictably warmer reception, pushed my CD and took a seat, hardly feeling as if I'd performed at all. Mingus very kindly re-pushed my CD for me, understanding the importance of selling them, but all to no avail as not even Brett and his friends took the faintest interest before ducking out.

After a old cover band and an regurgitatingly hipster girl duo/trio Minor Dissonance with a great sound - violin, guitar, beatboxer, smooth vocals - who took the stage for two songs too many, I walked the mile back to Sheikh's place - uphill, in the cold, disappointed, alone.

Earnings: $0.00, 15 minutes
Song of the Day: Kids - MGMT

Friday, June 24, 2011

San Francisco Busking Area, Day 3

Allergies going absolutely bonkers by my last day in Palo Alto, I met up with my family friends Tai Wa and Rebbeca Wah for a family barbecue of sorts in their daughter's backyard. I hadn't seen Lin Yi in twenty years and naturally neither could recognize the other. She happily told me to ignore my brother's conviction that I'll end up in law school, as it's not a place for creative sorts like me. She said I'd feel stifled. My breathing certainly did throughout the dinner, as well as my normal outgoing ways. Somehow I revert into shy cute Terrence when not feeling too well - it took an hour before I started joining in conversations in Spanish (Lin Yi's husband Gustavo and his large family hail from Mexico). In fact I only really got the courage to chime in because I realized Mariela, Gustavo's daughter of around my age, wasn't terrible proficient at Spanish either, but wanted to practice to improve it. I felt like we were sort of allies throughout the evening - the indie not quite at home types in that awkward between youth and adulthood stage feeling a bit lost and overwhelmed in everyone else's comfort. Mariela's also very pretty, and said "You like Iron & Wine, you must be awesome." But I remained super shy. Silly sinus allergies.

My favourite part of the evening occurred shortly after I finally joined in the conversation at my chosen table (all Gustavo's family). I'd chosen the table by unconsciously following Mariela. Across from me sat two first years of highschool girls who chatted from El Paso flitting effortlessly between Spanish and English. When our conversation died for a second, they asked me, "What grade are you in?" Look at the wording of that. What grade are you in. Ha! I'm six years beyond being in any "grade"! I had a good laugh with that. Apart from that I found it quite difficult to initially speak Spanish. Switching between muliple foreign languages makes my brain hurt. Well my head at least. I'd been insistent on using Cantonese to speak with my uncles and aunts and Tai Wah and Rebecca to keep it up. So at the barbecue I danced between these two foreign languages and once, even, Mariela and I exchanged a few words of Russian.

Tai Wah insisted that I bring my guitar along and kept prodding me to sing something, which naturally had the reverse effect of making me super shy. I wasn't terribly confident in my ability to sing anything with the scratchiness in my throat and constantly stuffed up ears muffling the accuracy of pitch determination. About an hour before I knew I had to leave I finally cracked open my guitar case. You see I knew from experience that as soon as I started singing I'd find it hard to stop - both because I rather enjoy it and because relaxed party crowds always clamor for more (I'm much too pushovery to be able to defend against this).

Lin Yi requested I sing Let it Be for her husband, who'd cooked most of our food. I stood in the grass as a stage and sang it for him/them. Everyone was silent and applauded when I finished. Mariela'd agreed to sing so long as I did, but after I finished she became too shy and agreed only to play while I sang. I luckily knew the first song she wanted to play, Naked As We Came and it was on learning I knew it that she made the above comment. My list got passed around, so I followed up with various requests from everyone around, including an abbreviated I'm Yours (I'm a bit sick of singing it by now). At around eight o'clock Tai Wah indicated we ought to leave, and I finished up with I Will Survive. Word came out from Lin Yi that I had a CD and I brought one over to give to table (I'm a horrid businessman, eh?) with my cards. Gilberto, Gustavo's brother, insisted on paying me $20 for the CD, so I gave him two.

Earnings: $20.00, 1 hour
Song of the Day: Naked As We Came - Iron & Wine

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

San Francisco Busking Area, Day 2 by Taylor LaFlam

Taylor very kindly agreed to write me a guest post for my gig in the Bay Area. I am very impressed with his brevity so I won't ruin it with a long preamble :).

    On Friday evening of June 17, I was glad to be able to meet up with Terrence at Cafe Zoë in Menlo Park. The cafe, a narrow, deep venue with dark wood decor and artwork for sale displayed on the walls, proved to be a good setting for some low-key music at the end of the week. The main act was Sean and Scott, a father and two sons trio that are well known to those at Café Zoë, and the event was also simultaneously a birthday celebration for one of them. The father and one of the sons sang, and it was interesting that even given the significant age gap it could be difficult for me to know which one was singing if I wasn’t looking.

    Both Terrence and I arrived, within a couple minutes of each other, a little after Sean and Scott had begun playing, delayed by greater than expected traffic and the tucked-away location of the café. At about 7:30, Terrence was able to head to the front and begin his set, beginning with “From Dawn to Busk” and then playing a few covers and another original. Having not heard Terrence play or sing since before he began this busking adventure, and having never heard him play in public, I enjoyed discovering his amiable stage presence and liked how he introduced each song with a brief story to help provide some context for its meaning to him. Sean and Scott then took the stage again and Terrence also had a bit more opportunity to play later. Terrence emerged less than thrilled with his performance, citing his allergies, but I thought that even if less than his best it was still well done.

    The manager of Café Zoë was very welcoming, and, in addition to providing us with a couple free sandwiches, bought one of Terrence’s CDs with a nice tip.

    It had been a little bit of a drive down from San Francisco but well worth it. I was really glad to finally hear Terrence perform in person again and to have the chance to catch up a little bit before he headed to his next destination—my native neck of the woods, Seattle.


Earnings: $64.00, 40 minutes
Song of the Day: Collide - Howie Day

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

San Francisco Busking Area, Day 1

Culture shock on arriving in San Francisco. An intense sense of just how uncivilized a place America is - tough talking people, gang types, the threat of violence/crime, an overpriced BART that doesn't run often and carries few passengers in its appalingly disgusting interiors... and then a very nice, also very American "Don't worry about it" from the bus driver who let me on when I had one dollar and not two - not even taking my one. (There's a song about that. Sorta. Just wait!)

Add some jet lag and lingering health issues - right I didn't write while in Asia... I got swine flu/dysentery/something unhappy in Indonesia - and I did all of nothing for my three nights stay at Elizabeth's. This stay was marked by two things - my desire to keep speaking Cantonese led me to wander down to San Bruno Ave to speak Canto with at the BoA and to get food, as well as conduct my conversations on phone with my uncles/aunt/family friends in Canto. The other was a further culture shock courtesy of Elizabeth's housemates. They are all intense gamers. Now, I think everyone who knows me knows I enjoy playing video games. My mother would say I play them rather too much, but in comparison to these young men my habits are quite moderate. Here's a house where literally every moment of every waking day and night a group of six to seven guys are constantly playing games. League of Legends, Terraria, Minecraft, RPGs, etc. PS3s and Wiis and Xbox 360s everywhere. I hardly ducked out of the house myself, and every time I walked upstairs, whatever time that may be, they were at it. Even being the avid gamer I am I still expressed to Elizabeth how sickened I was by it all. She remarked that her house was very "American." In its own way, yes. Decadence and a particular male culture and junk food.

Ok, moving on. I wasn't doing anything of use during that time, either. Eventually I stayed a night at my friend Michael's in Mountain View, teaching him Wonderwall and singing some covers for his housemates. Then to Palo Alto to stay with my Uncle where my present allergy problems began. I assume as I dropped in with no notice they hadn't time to vacuum or what have you, or perhaps it was just the garden. I don't know. A few days later my cousin returned with two cats and this generally heightened the problem. My sinuses are more clogged up than I can remember, which makes it very very difficult to perform, keeps me exhausted and uncomfortable and generally unhappy. The presence of a computer, however, kept me productive, finally starting on searching for jobs in Turkey, contesting unreasonable charges for healthcare and taxes, searching for open mics, etc.

I found one in Redwood City for that Wednesday night, and Michael very kindly offered me a ride to and from when I asked. He even insisted I get a bite to eat (I ate the cheapest thing off the menu) on his treat. Apparently the Open Mic had begun much earlier than I'd assumed (I thought it was 7.30) since when we arrived shortly before 8.00 most of the acts were through already. The establishment, Angelica's Bistro, radiated class and a sort of southern plantation feel with pinkish walls and country style furniture. Pricey food, and a smallish crowd for the Open Mic while people played also played acoustically outside. The overall quality of performers was mediocre - a good first act of violin/guitar Led Zep covers followed by a droll and uninteresting "comedian" whose entire act hinged on an assumption that he was funny. Yes, that was his joke. And it went on for ages. His daughter and a wisecracking banjo player followed with a mutilation of Landslide and an absolute catastrophe of Hallelujah took over after he finished, and a solo a capella Irish trad singer sang two short tunes with no projective powers afterwards.

Unlike most Open Mics and the standard three songs/fifteen minute sets, this one allowed just two songs. I only really decided which to sing when I got up to the stage. Looking out from it I realized how long it'd been since I'd performed indoors - over a month and six countries ago! I got them with From Dawn to Busk which is a safe song for me and an easy story, and closed with the funny story for Hello. My audience laughed at all the right places for both songs. Michael told me the whole crowd liked me. Well they were positioned such that it was hard to see them and still direct into the microphone, so I hope he was correct.

Benjamin Brown, a blues singer with a good musical sense but a despicable "artiste" personality - with unkempt facial hair, grunts, perma-high, glazed I don't care "cool" - followed me as the "featured artist" of the night. Unfortunately for us the host had absolutely no sense of how to control the soundboard, so Ben blew out the speakers over and over with his belts. Strangely I was the only one who had to cover my ears, others seemed nonplussed or swayed eyes closed to the music. Which brings me to that lovely rule of music - you don't have to be good if you can hold a beat and a stage. Damn, I can't do either. Michael wanted to head out and I naturally acquiesced as he'd so good naturedly taken me out of his way to the spot. I was rather disappointed to leave before Ben finished however, because I'd hoped the lull afterwards might net me a few CD sales. With our rushed exit between songs I didn't have time to talk to the remaining audience and thus sold none. The violinist did ask for my blog, however, and I passed her my card on leaving.

Michael spent the ride back giving me the "get a real job" lecture, which I found very amusing coming from a guy my own age and from the perspective he gave it. He meant it as friend looking out for me, seeing how difficult it is to get up and put myself out there and try to sell CDs for a few dollars when he can have the comfort and security of high salary from a job he admittedly doesn't like. Well, at this point I'm all about what I like over what I earn. I'm privileged enough to be able to make that choice and I'm reveling in that. I'm finally unashamed to be doing what I do and how I do.

Earnings: $0.00, 10 minutes
Song of the Day: Hello - Lionel Richie