West Federal Street, Youngstown, Ohio 4.13.24

West Federal Street, Youngstown, Ohio 4.13.24

It was a sunny but somewhat windy day. After taking my dad to a concert of the Conkle Brothers at the BIrdfish Breweries in Columbiana and managing to get him home just in time for dinner, I was feeling positive. The brothers introduced my dad to the audience of about 200 and they gave him a rousing ovation. On the way out, in the middle of their set as my dad walked out in front of the band, he got another standing ovation. I had never seen him more thrilled. Imagine getting that kind of ovation from hundreds of strangers. 

As I dropped him off, I noticed that it had gotten much warmer. It was a very nice day now and the wind had died down. I thought, why not? Why not go downtown and play in the Phelps Street promenade. I saw no reason other than laziness not to. It was something I enjoyed. It was one of the few things I enjoyed. Wasn’t that enough of a reason? Ok, so I am not normal. I am quirky. I am not hurting anyone. I dared myself to go and I took the dare. I got down to the area around 5:30 pm. That would give me 2 good hours of playing, because there was something on TV I wanted to watch, Jacob Collier at the Kennedy Center. 

After parking about 2 long blocks away, I found my way to the promenade and was shocked to see that it was like a wind tunnel. The winds in the tunnel were about 40 miles an hour whereas outside of the tunnel it was barely blowing at all. Interesting. There were no buildings blocking the wind here. It came straight from the river all the way down. I was screwed. I looked around and tried to figure it out. Then a solution came. I could play on W. Federal Street. I had never really played on West Federal Street before but in my desperation I saw this as the only solution. I walked along and tried to find a suitable spot. I walked past the Federal. The biggest and most popular bar downtown,  and stood in front of the only convenience store in the downtown area.

It was a favorite spot for people begging. In fact, there was one guy there when I pulled up. I went up to ask him what was going on. “My birthday is 61. I got prostrate cancer. Just trying to get a few extra bucks.” I gave him a buck. I asked him if he was getting treatment for his cancer. He said he was. Do you know about the Our Community Kitchen? He did. (Our Community Kitchen was the free breakfast and lunch facility that was open every day. I used to volunteer there. Skip, the boss, was loved by all because he really cared about people.) Do you have a place to stay? He did. Can you take a shower there? He could. He was ok. He just wanted a little extra cash. There was something about him though. He was holding back. He didn’t feel authentic. Was it all a scam. I asked him if he liked music and he said he did. “Would you mind if I played some jazz?” “That would be great.” and so I started to play. 

Even though he said he liked music I could tell he wasn’t really listening. Then the pitch continued. I just want another 3 dollars so I can get some cigarettes. “If anyone gives me money I will give you some.” He nodded. “Today’s my birthday. I am 61”.  I wasn’t sure if I believed him. He made a nasty face. “These people are something else. They see me here and they won’t give me anything. These rich MFers.” “Maybe it isn’t like that. Maybe they are thinking about something else. They don’t really see you. They just see so many people asking for stuff.” His name was Victor. He wasn’t ready to let go of his anger. 

I didn’t have a place to sit. There were no benches on W. Federal Street. Why not? I just sat on the sidewalk, leaning on a street lamp post. Actually it wasn’t bad. The good thing about playing on West Federal Street is that the sun was to my back. It was warm and the shadows were nice and sharp. I could play here. I started playing. From this vantage point I could see all the people that were going into the main bars in town, plus people going into the convenience store and also people going to other places in the area. It was a pretty good flow of people. 

Another street guy came up to Victor, the guy with a cup out across the sidewalk. Hey Victor, I heard it’s your birthday man. Happy birthday.”  Oh. It really was his birthday.  Amazing. What a way to spend your birthday. Sad. 

I started playing. Almost immediately a woman came over and gave me a $5 and 2 ones. Wow. That was generous. Victor was watching everything like a hawk. “You said….” Yes I did. I gave him the 2 ones. I would have given it all but I really didn’t get good vibes from him. As soon as I gave it to him he said he was going home. He limped off, happily. Well that’s one way to get the place for myself. Just play and chase them away. 

A man came by pushing a baby carriage. As soon as he saw me playing he stopped the carriage and turned it around to give the baby a  good view of me. What a great dad. The baby looked at me with a mixture of fear and fascination. His eyes were riveted on me and he was just stuck in that mode. He didn’t smile; he just looked like he was on the precipice of tears but was also unable to turn away. We stayed like that for a minute. I stood up and got closer and the expression didn’t change. The father was all smiles. There was something strange about him though. He had his behind prominently displayed like a heavy woman who insists that she wants to strut her stuff. He had a very feminine butt. In fact I wondered, is this a man or a woman? Maybe he was mommy not daddy. After a few moments he started singing to his baby. When he started singing, the baby looked at his father with a look of just pure love. It was so different than the look I got. I wondered what it would be like to have my baby look at me with that flood of love. Altogether we hung out about 10 minutes and then he just walked away without saying a word.   

Another guy walked up. He started talking to me when he was about 50 yards away. This guy was a real jive talker. “You…man…You the man. Many you got something going on” He was a street guy but maybe not homeless. He seemed to know the other street people that were walking around, the entire time keeping up his rap with me. As he got closer he just kept it going. “Man. You have talent. You should be an MC or a performer or something.” he just laughed and kept it up. “You the man. You can really blow that thing”. “Man you are so good at talking. You should be or stage…….or in a cage.” It had been a risky statement but he loved that it. “On stage or in a cage. That’s good man. Really good. You really something.” 

I was somehow in the middle ground. The more affluent people who were going to fancy restaurants or the bars seemed to like my music and the street people liked it too. I was a bridge of sorts. Some people came up and gave me money. Sometimes I was telling them it was just for fun. “Are you sure?”  “Yes. I play for smiles”. Sometimes I just let them give me the money.

3 homeless folks walked by and one of them put his hand in his pocket but then thought better of it and took it out. He went into the store. When he came out he was more prepared. He walked towards me with a dollar bill. “Nah man…I’m good.” “Wow. You really something man.”  

A woman in a wheelchair rolled by. She was clearly high on something but she was managing. She was going to the convenience store. As she passed she yelled out to me, “Where’s your hat man. You needs a hat.” Her speech was so garbled it was hard to understand her. She was in the store a long time. I thought maybe she got lost in there. 

Now I started seeing a lot of people walking around. A lot of the women had fancy cowboy boots on. I wondered what was going on. Was there a convention? I tried to ask a few of them but seeing as I was sitting on the sidewalk with my legs splayed out in front of me, they blocked me out of their minds. 

Another woman came walking up and as she heard me she started dancing and singing. She was older, perhaps 60 but she was so positive and calm that I knew I liked her right away. I wasn’t sure if she was high or just a very happy person. She stayed and listened for about 5 minutes and then walked into the convenience store, still swaying to the music. 

About that time, the wheelchair lady came out. She was holding a large cup filled with the fried chicken they sold in the convenience store. Again she came up close and started yelling that I needed a money hat. Finally just to get her to shut up I threw my hat. Then I realized why she was saying that, she took out a dollar from somewhere and threw it at the hat. She could barely move her arm but she almost made it. “Good Aim!” 

Right after she gave me the money, she asked me if I could give her 4 dollars for cigarettes. “I can’t give you $4 for cigarettes but here’s a dollar.” I gave her her dollar back. She didn’t seem to get that it was the same dollar she had just given me. . She was so close to me and talking in a kind of mumble jumble slurred speech. As she talked she was spitting out little pieces of chicken. I had to duck and back up to avoid them. Gross. She kept asking if I wanted some of her chicken. I politely declined. 

How to get her away? I had an idea. Lemonade. “I will play your chewing” and she was ok with that. I tried to play notes when she chewed but she was always chewing with no break. It didn’t work. “I know. I will play your swaying.” She seemed to be having a great time and was now kicking her legs up to the music. Finally the tug of the nicotine was too strong and she wheeled down the street, hitting up the “rich” people along the way for an extra cigarette.  

The nice woman came out. We started talking. Her name was Vanessa and she lived downtown, just one street down. In fact she pointed to her apartment. She was so serene. “Yeah, I got enough of everything I need. I can even help other people out from time to time.(as if that were her great pleasure).  I wondered if she knew my mom but she didn’t. Really she was a breath of fresh air. I hope I run into her again someday. We need more Vanessas.

It was 7:30 and my friend had told me that Jacob Collier was going to be on PBSTV. I packed up and walked down the Phelps Street promenade to my car. It was still blowing like crazy. Along the way I passed some more cowboy boots. What’s going on tonight? Something special?”  “Yes Justin Lynch is playing at the Covelli Center.” I had never heard of him. As I walked I found him on Youtube. Hey! That’s not bad. I listened to “Small Town Boy” and I liked the music and sharp clever lyrics. Maybe I should go, but I wanted to see Jacob. 

On the drive home I tuned into WYSU’s jazz show and heard an amazing singer that I had never come across, Nancy King, singing with the Ray Brown Trio. Wow! What a singer! What a scatter. I was always on the lookout to send songs to my aunt. This would be perfect. 

When I got home, I couldn’t find Jacob. It wasnt on my cable. What was on PBS was a Kennedy Center event honoring Elton John. It was good too because there were many new singers singing his songs. Apparently Elton was famous for promoting young artists. Some of them were Charlie Puth, Maren Moris, and Jacob Lusk. I didn’t get any work done but it was ok. There was still some time. 

Total Eclipse of the Son

Total Eclipse of the Son

This year they made a really big deal over the eclipse. It was all they were talking about on the news. The library was giving away free eclipse glasses. People were buying glasses online, 12 in a pack and then giving the extras away. There were  constant reports of which places in the country were in the totality. There were reports of thousands of people who weren’t blessed flocking to sites that were in totality. I was lucky enough to be, if not in totality, at least close to totality.  I was in Youngstown (which had its economy eclipsed some 46 years ago). It was 99.9 % in totality, but that extra .1% makes all the difference. My friend Gary, however, lived in Warren, just 20 miles away and Warren was in the totality zone. He invited me over and so at about 1 pm my father and I and eyes set out for Warren. 

There was suspense though. Would the skies clear? All morning it had been cloudy. Around 1 pm I saw some blue in the sky. There was hope. 

Getting on highway 11 north, my normal route was shocking. It was completely backed up. We should have left earlier, or gone another way. I made a quick decision; take the 80 E exit, then go north on Belmont Ave. and catch 82 from that direction. However, I soon found out that the Belmont Ave. exit was not accessible from the 80 E exit that I took. Damn. I had to drive 4 angry miles the wrong way to a Hubbard exit and turn around. Precious minutes wasted. Would I get stuck again in heavy traffic? Would I see any eclipse? 

Luckily I seemed to go around the traffic and arrived at the site about about 2 pm, just in time. I set my dad upl and gave him his eclipse glasses. While we waited for the eclipse to start I talked to Gary about the eclipse. Gary was a smart guy, an engineer. I had studied and forgot physics and astronomy. We speculated about which side of the sun would be affected. All I knew was that when the full moon rose (always about the same as the sun set…you can figure out why if you think about it) that the next night the moon would rise about 40 minutes later and so on. I reasoned then that the moon must be rotating counterclockwise. Then it followed that the moon would start gobbling the sun from the right side to the left side. We would soon find out. 

We had already discussed the fact that the moon almost exactly covered the sun. Gary thought that this was a universal law having to do with orbit speed and mass etc. I just repeated what my college physics teacher had told us,”It’s a happy coincidence.” I spent the time to look it up and found numerous sources that backed up my teacher’s assertion. What are the odds?    

Some more people showed up; Gary’s wife, his brother and his work mate and his girlfriend; altogether 7. The sky was getting clearer and the small amount of clouds that played tag with the sun were wispy ones. Around 2:15 we saw the first sign of the moon. It was eating the lower right side (about 4 pm if it were a clock). We had reasoned well. Now was the time we needed our glasses. It was a strange site but not thrilling really. The sun took on various shapes. Now it looks like tulip; now an iridescent crescent moon, now a fingernail clipping. It was getting closer. 

Then suddenly, like shifting into high gear it was upon us, totality. It was like a giant black hole had dowsed the sun by swallowing it. It was awesome in the true sense of the word. Awe….Unthinkable. Unimaginable. We were peaking behind the curtain of the great OZ. We were poking into the gears of the universe. A mighty diamond studded tiara sparkling in the sky. For those 3 minutes, we didn’t need our glasses. We all stared in wonder. We really were beings on a planet moving around a star. No one would have been surprised had the moon/sun started speaking to us. “My children…..sorry I’ve been silent for so long. I’m just not good about answering my messages. Here is what you need to know now…” The power and majesty of those moments were searing, not my eyes, but my soul. The reality of the moment was palpable. We are beings, alive, living on a rocky planet, circling a sun. We don’t know why, how, who, where, when…but we do know what; We are beings, alive, living on a rocky planet, circling a sun. We were humbled in those moments of significance. 

And then it was over. We could watch the moon sneak up the top left side of the sun but it was anti-climatic. We discussed what we had seen. There had been a bright red light at the bottom  left (7 pm) of the moon/sun. What was that? I had brought a collander, hoping to see crescent shapes. That didn’t work for some reason. The more we talked, the more I realized how little we knew. All these things were studied and documented by scientists.  The red dots were called Bailey’s Beads. There was another effect called shadow bands that scientists don’t really understand. The moon seemed to take a northward turn near the end of the event. What was that about? The more you thought about it, the more you realized how much you didn’t know. We were children. 

Everybody left shortly after the event. Even Gary went inside. I waited and watched the entire event, until there was no sign of the moon at all. It went invisible again. It had been there all along. I realized that the only time you might see a total eclipse is when you have a new moon. If you think about it you can see why. Peek a moon. 

While we were waiting for the moon to exit stage left, the nurse called. She said that the fact that my dad’s  left leg was swollen and very tender could be a telltale sign of DVT (deep vein thrombosis or in English, a blood clot). It could be dangerous. “You need to take him to get an ultrasound and the only place to do that would be at the Emergency Room at St. E’s hospital” It was like a prison sentence. We all knew that going to the emergency was always going to be an extended event; 4-10 hours. I had already been with my dad for 4 hours. I was already fed up with him, but there was no choice; a clot could be fatal. 

He would miss dinner. I had to get him something. He didn’t want to eat anything. It became a power struggle in his mind. I bought him a smoothie from McDonalds. He wouldn’t touch it. “I don’t want to eat anything.”  He was being overbearing. He was being like a little Lord Fauntleroy, expecting everyone to wait on him. I stopped home to drop things off. “I have to pee. Can I pee in your car?” “No. You can’t pee in the car. Get up and pee in the plastic cup on the other side of the car door. Nobody cares.” He tried but in reality he  peed ON my car. Great. Better on the outside than the inside. There were a million questions he asked a million times. “Where are we going?” “To the emergency room.” Where are we going?” “to the emergency room”. “Where are we going?” “to hell in a handbasket”. 

I got him into the emergency room. We did intake. The intake people were charmed by my dad. Everyone looked over. “He’s so cute.” echoed around. The intake women fell in love with him. 

We went back to the waiting room. . The room was filled with people. More questions. People were listening to us. “He’s 101.” I apologized. Everyone was laughing. Everytime he opened his mouth people laughed. Even though people were sick and waiting for hours, they seemed surprisingly nice. There was an older couple (50’s) from Puerto Rico. She was also having leg problems and possible clots. She had been completely disabled for 12 years. “My husband works and takes care of me and cooks for me.” He smiled. He seemed to be crazy about his wife. There was a 40ish guy who looked like he had been run over by a tractor. He was wearing a full Cleveland Indians (guardians) uniform in honor of opening day in Cleveland. He seemed at the lower end of the developmentally disabled spectrum (what we used to call retarded until we realized that that was hurtful). The TV was tuned to the Cowboy Movie station (I had no idea!). Indianguy kept craning his neck around to see it. A middle aged black woman who seemed to be suffering through her malady and completely oblivious to the world spoke up. “Sir. Why don’t you move your chair over here where you can see better?” At first he was reluctant, then he thought it over and the woman and I encouraged him and I wheeled him over. Amongst all her suffering she was still seeing more than any of us and doing something about it. Another obese black woman who was hooked up to an infusion bag was enjoying the Irv show. Everyone seemed in a good mood except one very obese man in a wheel chair who was radiating hatred and evil from a stone cold glare. 

Finally they called us in. It was a busy night and they were short staffed. They put us in a big room with a bunch of other people. The nurse  took vitals and information. She thought Irv was the cutest thing she had ever seen. With this audience of about 10 people, suddenly it became the Irv Comedy Show. Everything he said was met with peals of laughter. The Puerto Rican couple joined us. The Infused woman joined us. Suddenly it was more like a party than an emergency room. “Your father is so cute,” the nurse said. “Would you like to take him for a few days?” “Yes I would.” “How about a week?” It was my standard joke. “Sure,” she smiled.   Finally it was time to get back to work. “The doctor will see you soon.”   

The doctor came in. He joined the show. He was also flabbergasted. “101! Amazing.” I liked the doctors and staff here. Super focused. Super intense. To my surprise he said, “The wound looks great.” I thought it looked like a vomited Briar Hill Pizza. “No. really. It’s great” He gave us the marching orders; “Hang a bag, ultrasound and then x-ray then we will see then. 

We waited another 30 minutes. More questions. “Where are we? What are we doing here? Let’s get out of here. They aren’t doing a damn thing.” He was in a nasty mood. We waited another 30 minutes. Finally a transport person came up to take us to the ultrasound department. A strong 30’s woman took him into the room. “You can stay and watch if you want. Mr. Lev you need to pull your pants down”. He did. The room was filled with poopy smells. It was sickening. The ultrasound woman didn’t bat an eye. Amazing. I watched her look inside his vessels. Also amazing. She was done in 10 minutes .

I will take you over to x-ray. It will save you time.” How nice.  They were looking for bone infection. The people at x-ray remembered him from February. “We love your dad.” Again, every comment produced gales of laughter. Word spread like wildfire. “He’s 101. He’s 101? He doesn’t look a day older than 88.” “he was in D-day” I volunteered. Most of the young ones didn’t know what that meant. 

We made it back to the waiting room about 8:30. “Let’s go home. Let’s get the hell out a here.” “ Dad. We need to wait for the report.” “Let’s get outta here” There was a new lady sitting next to us. She was about 35 and looked like she had had a hard life but she was friendly. She had a tattoo of a grinch on her wrist. She had leotards on with pictures of planets and stars and skeletons. It was quirky. I complimented her grinch and leotards. She appreciated the attention. She was an Irv fan already. On a hunch I asked her, “Where do you live?” “ I live downtown”. Another hunch, “Do you live in the International Towers?” “Yes I do.” I told her about how my mom’s company had managed it. She was very nice, trying to talk to my dad; to cheer him up.  

The other people came out and joined us. “Let’s get outa here.” my dad said scores of times. I had to fend him off. We played dominos. I found the basketball game on my phone. “Let’s get outa here.” An aide with an unusual persona that reminded me of Jerry Lewis kept popping in and out. “I think I have to take my dad home. He is exhausted.” He dissuaded me. “We are almost done. He was juggling 10 balls but had time for us. He was so good at his job. Everybody wanted out. 

The doctor came out and told us everything was negative. No infection in the bone; no clot. The nurse would take out the needles from his arm. 

I looked around at all the people in the waiting room; all the personalities. Then an odd thought catapulted through my brain. We were all like moons, planets, asteroids, stars. orbiting around, eclipsing each other, somehow usually not running into one another, partial eclipsing, total eclipsing, all in our orbits, all planets, moons and stars in our own little orbits, taking up our space. It was mind boggling. But where was the sun? We can’t see it. The sun was constantly being eclipsed. We can’t see it in totality and still it was amazing. 

Me o my am me 32… 4.1.24 You can’t not go home again. Post-script.

Me o my am me 32… 4.1.24 You can’t not go home again. Post-script. 

I woke up early as usual. Today was a little different of course. My last day. Also I had no food left except my gruel. I also wouldn’t be able to carry it around iced, as they wouldn’t let me bring in ice through the gates I guessed. I got right to packing and eating some oatmeal made with water with a brown banana mixed in. Survival food. 

I contemplated taking the LYFT to Government Center and then taking the metro to the airport, but checking the price it was less than the $50 I had paid coming in and also the Metro looked confusing. Packing took longer than I thought. I hate packing. Always stressful and sometimes sad. This time a little sad. No more street music and adventures everyday. 

After checking and rechecking the apartment I was ready to go. I LYFTed it. The driver came after a 15 minutes. I tried to talk to him but nothing. Then I said something in Spanish and that was it. He talked non-stop in Spanish and with an accent I didn’t understand. So many people didn’t speak English here. It was more of a Spanish city than an English City. A real mix here; Cubans, Haitians, South Amercians, blacks, and oh yes white Americans. Gumbo. 

I got to the airport and looked into an earlier flights. It seemed impossible. Ok. I had 10 hours to kill. I wasn’t ready to go inside yet. I wanted to finish my water and eat a meal. I sat in a little section across from the ticketing lines. There were a lot of people waiting there. I started talking to a young woman who was also waiting. There were other people jockeying for seats. Finally she said, why don’t you sit next to me. It was simpler. We were both in the same situation and with a lot of time to kill. It was like the situation in a bar where you feel free to talk to some stranger and tell them things you wouldn’t even tell your close friends. She was from Singapore and came to the USA for a visit. First she went to Houston and had a one night stand from someone she met in a Salsa Club and now she was pining over him. She wasn’t beautiful but nice looking, a talented graphic artist living in Australia. I knew something was up when after talking to her for 10 minutes she asked, “Are you married?” “No. Do you want to marry me?”  She had to wait for her flight for 4 hours so we hung out until then. It helped me pass the time and it was fun flirting with her. We got along fine until we started talking politics. Oh no! Another person who drank the Koolaide. By the end I was holding her hand which is about as far as I had gotten with any woman in more than a year. I saw her off and I still had 6 hours to go. 

I found a food court that had a counter that faced outward and I could watch all the people walking by. I felt like a fish looking out a fishbowl. There sure were a lot of interesting people around. Maybe I will be a fish in my next life. I worked on catching up on my stories. By that time it was almost 7 pm and I thought I might be able to see some of the Women’s NCAA game with Iowa. Yes I also bgot caught up in the Caitlan CLark Saga. I walked around and found a place that had a tv, bought a diet coke for $5 and watched about 10 minutes until half-time. I went back to my gate and was surprised to see that the gate wasn’t my gate anymore. What the….? I panicked. Then I went to the big board and saw that the gate had been changed and also that the flight was delayed. 

I waited a while and then went back to the bar but just watched from the outside. I wasn’t going to go back and pay another $5. I watched another 10 minutes and then went back to the gate. It wasn’t there again. They had changed the gate again, each time going further and further out; now gate 42. As luck would have it, there was a bar with a tv right there. I waited and watched as long as I could. People were starting to get on the plane now. There were 5 minutes left.  I couldn’t watch the end of the game but I followed it on my phone. 

As always there was tension getting on the plane and whether I would be able to store my stuff, my overstuffed backpack and my sax. I got on early for group 7 (the cheap losers) and was able to get situated if I put my feet in a certain way. I was flying a 737 Max; not a wonderful feeling. I guess American Airlines was using them a lot. Hopefully, the pilot was trained on them. The new Max’s didn’t have little screens at every seat, instead they wanted you to use your phone to use their in house wifi, which of course only worked half the time. I got a good view of Miami at night as we swung north. Oh there is the Opera House. Oh there is the stadium. Goodbye Miami. Goodbye. I had been looking forward to watching a movie on the 2 ½ hour flight but it didn’t matter as I fell asleep after the first movie died. It was a very bumpy flight. The pilot said it couldn’t be avoid it and basically told us to tough it out. 

We landed at about 1 am and it was 1:30 by the time I got my bag. It was still pouring. I looked at Lyft and the price was very high; $170. Too much. Also I didn’t want to drive with an unknown driver in the middle of the night. I decided just to sleep in the airport until 5 or 5:30 am. I spread out my trusty hoodie and was able to sleep a bit. At 5:30 I woke up for the umpteeth time. The price was down to $88. I made a reservation, went to the bathroom and then got a coffee. I guess I hurried a bit because later when I got home my hoodie was gone. I had carried it around all day and lost it at the end. Damn. I hate to lose stuff. 

The LYFT driver arrived; an older black man. On the way home I talked to my sister for about 20 minutes and then started talking to the driver. The more he talked the more interested I got. He was born in Liberia; the African country that ex-slaves started moving in the 1800’s. I knew nothing about Liberia. He started telling me all about it; the great wealth gaps; the tension between the returning ex-slaves and the locals who they called “country People”. This guy had been an electronics teacher in a university in the US and Liberia. It was an amazing story. His name was Lionel Gibson and I wish we could be friends. The trip flew by and soon I was back home, at least for now. Ping pong; yo-yo. That is my life for now. The trip was finally over.  

Me o my am me thirtyone… 3.31.24

Me o my am me thirtyone… 3.31.24

I got up earlier than usual. I checked the website for Setai Hotel and sure enough it said there was a special event; an Easter Brunch. Reservations required. Also I saw that there was another concert by a supposedly famous sax player; also from 11-4 pm. Wow. This was working out like clockwork. I could go to Jean’s, concert at 20th and then walk down to the other place at 14th and then go to sit on the beach. 

 I  prepared my meals and my breakfast in record time. I was running out of food. All I had left were some frozen veggies, half a cauliflower, unlimited quinoa and unlimited beans. I was even running out of pepper from the pepper shaker (and that never happens) and soy sauce. No eggs for breakfast. I could have rushed to the Publix store but that would take a good hour. I just made oatmeal with water and ½ of a browning banana. 

My goal was to hit the bus stop at 10 am and I did a good job of getting there by 10:15. Just as I came up I saw a 100 bus leaving. Damn. Then miraculously as it pulled out, there was another 100 bus! Before I could get there, it too pulled out! Damn. Deja vu. Miraculously though, another 100 bus rounded the corner and pulled up to me just as I got to the bus stop. It must be the deployment of the 100 buses I surmised. 

I got on the bus and amazingly I was the only person on the bus, all the way to Miami Beach. I felt like a real VIP.  I rode bus past my normal South Pointe Beach Spot. 

I found the hotel with no problem. It was huge. Walking inside I saw that this was a very elegant place. Think Hilton; Think Hyatt. The lobby was decorated with ancient Asian statues and beautiful paintings. There were pools and fountains. There was a hum from all the waiters and waitresses buzzing around. I felt out of my element with my raggedy sax case, my bulging backpack, and my insulated food box. 

I walked to the entrance to the elaborate banquet where the event was being held. There were 2 people. The one who seemed to be in charge looked me up and down. She nodded to the man at her side. For some reason he didn’t do anything and I just walked in like I was supposed to be there. Once in I quickly scanned the place and noticed a bar back behind the bar. I sat in the corner. No one was looking at or coming after me. 

The band had already started. It was already 11:30. The band was just starting their second set. I walked up on the bandstand. “Jean”. He turned around to see me and he seemed pleased that I had come. How many people do what they say they going to do these days. 

Right away I could see that this guy WAS great. He was playing a flugelhorn, which is like a trumpet but with a more mellow tone. Even though it was “old music” every note played was great. His sound was almost palpable. It brought forth images in my mind of golden shapes and birds. I knew most of the songs but not all. There was a singer also. She sounded a lot like Billy Holiday. Jagged notes falling out of the sky and melting wet on my face. In fact, the other players were great too. Great guitar, great drummer. These were among the best players in South Florida. 

Even though I was behind the band, it still sounded great. A few times I walked around to the front of the band to hear the difference. Not much. Coming back, I looked into the buffet room. Oh my. It was full on. There were containers of lobster, shrimp, crabs, oysters, prime cut meats, blueberries, yogurts, deserts. 

I went back to my seat. I had to make a big decision. I was already in the event. Perhaps I could also go to the buffet. Who would know? I debated back and forth as beautiful diners all dressed up in colorful easter dresses and bonnets glided by with dishes full of salmon and deserts. Hey. Not fair. How can I make a good decision when you are tempting me so?

The sounds interrupted my musings. Wasn’t this enough. Maybe a younger Frank would have pushed it, but I was listening to great music and no one was bothering me. I had my gruel anyway. 

At about 12:30, I reluctantly pulled myself away. I guess they weren’t going to take a break. For the kind of money they were pulling, maybe they shouldn’t take a break. I said goodbye to Jean with sign language and a big thumbs up. 

I walked down to the next place on my list, Bugsy’s. I walked in. This was a far cry from the Setai. Still it was nice. There was a woman giving complimentary small wine glasses. I took it and asked about the sax player. “There is no sax player today sir; only a pianist. I showed her the listing. She shrugged. 

I thought, hmmm… my adventure is like that old joke about the guy who is flying and there is engine failure. It’s one very bad thing followed by one good thing. He is falling in his plane, the engine dies. Luckily he had a parachute. That’s good. Unfortunately the parachute doesn’t open, that’s bad. Fortunately there is a haystack beneath him. That’s good. Unfortunately there is a pitchfork in the haystack. That’s bad. Luckily he misses the pitchfork. That’s good. Unluckily he missed the pitchfork. That’s good. Unluckily, he missed the haystack…xxxxxxx. 

The Setai was good. The Bugsy was bad. My next stop in the plan was the beach. I could have walked the 14 blocks but with all my stuff I decided to wimp out and wait for the trolley. A couple from Africa or Haiti was also on the trolley. They asked me for help. “Where’s the beach?” I told them I was going to the beach. “You can follow me.” I gave them my Miami Beach South spiel as if I were a tour guide. “You have to go to Lincoln Blvd. You have to go to the Bass Museum.” They nodded. They seemed so out of it. I led them to the South Pointe Promenade where I would play later. “We will come see you. “ they were so appreciative. Apparently they couldn’t check into their hotels till later. 

For my part, I was thrilled to be at the beach by 1:30. That left me a lot of beach time. I looked out at the beach expectantly and for the first time since venturing this far south, there were no waves at all. What happened? That’s a bad thing. 

I resigned myself to not body surfing on this day. Nap. That’s what I need. I wanted to take a long nap in the beautiful weather. The beach was especially crowded today, Easter Sunday. There were a lot of family groups who came well prepared, large canopies, mountains of food and of course their own music. I found what I thought would be a good spot in a high muffin density area. I laid all my stuff out, being careful to protect my sax. Just as I got comfortable and ready to dive into unconsciousness a new neighbor arrived with a poom poom poom. Ahhhh reggaeton. Damn reggaeton. 

I had to move. It was driving me crazy. Even with my ear canceling headphones. I had to move to a less dense area. The closer I was to the water the better I could just hear water waves and less poom poom. I was able to take my nap. After about 20 minutes I woke up. 

I decided I would go in the water even though there were no waves. It was quite refreshing. I stayed in the water about 30 minutes and then went out for another nap. Oh….this is the life. Then there was an unexpected guest. A group of people were following a person dressed in a plastic shark costume. It was baby shark, da da da da da dum baby shark da da da da da dum.It caused a minor sensation on the beach. Baby was passing out small easter eggs with little prizes inside of them. Mine was a tiny motor car. Ok. I DID get one. We are all kids at heart and I wanted my free prize. Then it was nap time again. 

I slept longer than I had intended. It was already 4:30 when I woke up and since the water was still flat, I decided that would have to be it for my beach time. I headed over to the promenade for the last time with mixed feelings.

I went over to get ready and debated getting a coffee. There was too long a line. I would get it later maybe. I found a good spot. The only problem with this place was that you had to constantly move around to get out of the direct sunlight. I hid behind some palms for a while until the sun played tag with them and drove me out. Then I found another palm shaded place. Sometimes I just sat on the ground under a palm tree for a while. I guess I was quite the photo opp. Lot’s of people wanted to take my picture and I didn’t mind at all. The Haitian couple walked back from the beach. I guess it was time for them to check in. They didn’t even slow down their walk to listen for a moment but that was ok. 

The cruise ships rolled out. This Sunday crowd was especially spirited. They waved and cheered and went wild when the departing passengers seemed to wave back. I was still in awe of the size and breadth of these behemoths. What were the odds of them seeing me? What were the odds that they could hear me? 

Then another surprise; the goofy Swiss guy from the boat tour showed up. He seemed completely blown away that he was seeing me again. He just couldn’t get over it. In his mind we were long lost brothers. He wanted to talk over old times. I just wanted to play. I had to involve him. As I played I could see he had a bit of dance in him. I encouraged him to let it out.  

He was going all out. He didn’t mind looking stupid to celebrate his good fortune. I knew this would make a great story once he got home. He started dancing and really he was the dumbest dancer ever. I kept telling him he looked like he was shadow boxing but this guy grinned at everything I said. His wife was laughing like crazy and the daughter looked mortified. The wife was pretty funny, still the best documentarian, she was laying out her angles and shots with flair. I felt sorry for the daughter and tried to include her. Her dewey eyes shone with admiration for me. Wow. A real musician. So young and innocent. She was doing well putting up with her parents on vacation. I know that can feel restrictive. They didn’t want to leave and that was ok as long as I could play. After about 20 minutes of hanging out, he handed me a $20 bill. I refused it, but he insisted and so did his wife. His wife later sent me the video. It is pretty surreal. 

The time flew by in my little dream world. I watched the sun set behind the skyline of Miami. Now I didn’t worry about the sun anymore. Soon it was 8 pm. I had been playing more than 3 hours and my edge was gone. The coffee shop was still open and I was grateful for that. The big question was how to get back. 14 or 100? I opted for the 14 today and after a relatively short wait of 15 minutes I got on this bus for the first time. 

Again I was acting as a tour guide for lost tourists; guiding to their hotel from the Omni Center to Metromover; I had little doubt I would go to Lagniaape for the last time. It was a guy named Tom McCormick. From the description on the webpage, this guy was amazing, but actually all the announcements on the Lagnaippe website sounded amazing. I wonder if the artists wrote them themselves with a little coaching (make yourself sound amazing). 

I got to the club without too many problems. I was surprised that the place was only half full. I got a first row seat with no problems. Tom McCormick was an older guy, about 60ish and was an old times standard player. It was nothing flashy, nothing I hadn’t heard before but really nothing to get too excited about. Technically, he was fine and had all the tools, it just was that I had heard it all before. 

As usual, the band took a break just after I arrived. The guy sitting next to me was sending off cold vibes powerfully. There was no one else to talk to. Everyone seemed distant. I went to talk to the band but they were also rather cool. Ok. I would stay for one set and that would be it. 

The band came back for another set and I enjoyed it. Most of the songs I knew but there were some new ones. I had read, he also composed. Around 11:30 I noticed I started spacing out. It was time to go. I went to wait for the 9 bus. I waited and waited and waited but no dice. I considered the LYFT, but I really didn’t like the drivers around here at night. There was another option; I went back to the 3rd street. It was busier and maybe the 3 bus came more frequently. 

Luckily my gamble paid off. The 3 came rumbling along after about 15 minutes. It took me to Government Center. It was my last time walking home over the Miami River Flagler Street drawbridge. The air was balmy and cool at the same time. The river laid out like a lover waiting for me to come to her in a cool bed, lights rippling towards me invitingly. 

A boat with late night partiers was passing under the bridge. I looked down on them with smiles. I still had a long walk ahead carrying all my stuff. This was the way to leave a city after a month of exploring, with regret; with tears. The river held my tears. I would miss you Miami. I knew the city a little. I didn’t know the people much at all. I could love you Miami. I will  always love you Miami. 

Me o my am me thirtyone… 3.31.24

Me o my am me thirtyone… 3.31.24

I got u earlier than usual. I checked the Setai Hotel and sure enough it said there was a special event; an Easter Brunch. Reservations required. Also I saw that there was another concert by a supposedly famous sax player; also from 11-4 pm. Wow. This was working out like clockwork. I could go to Jeans, concert at 20th and then walk down to the other place at 14th and then go to sit on the beach. 

 I  prepared my meals and my breakfast in record time. I was running out of food. All I had left were some frozen veggies, half a cauliflower, unlimited quinoa and unlimited beans. I was even running out of pepper from the pepper shaker (and that never happens) and soy sauce. No eggs for breakfast. I could have rushed to the Publix store but that would take a good hour. I just made oatmeal with water and ½ of a browning banana. 

My goal was to hit the bus stop at 10 am and I did a good job of getting there by 10:15. Just as I came up I saw a 100 bus leaving. Damn. Then miraculously as it pulled out, there was another 100 bus. Before I could get there, it too pulled out. Damn. Deja veu. Miraculously though, another 100 bus rounded the corner and pulled up to me just as I got to the bus stop. It must be the deployment of the 100 buses I surmised. 

I got on the bus and amazingly I was the only person on the bus, all the way to Miami Beach. I felt like a real VIP.  I rode bus past my normal South Pointe Beach Spot. 

I found the hotel with no problem. It was huge. Walking inside I saw that this was a very elegant place. Think Hilton; Think Hyatt. The lobby was decorated with ancient Asian statues and beautiful paintings. There were pools and fountains. There was a hum from all the waiters and waitresses buzzing around. I felt out of my element with my raggedy saxcase, my bulging backpack, and my insulated food box. 

I walked to the entrance to the elaborate banquet where the event was being held. There were 2 people. The one who seemed to be in charge looked me up and down. She nodded to the man at her side. For some reason he didn’t do anything and I just walked in like I was suppossed to be there. Once in I quickly scanned the place and noticed a bar back behind the bar. I sat in the corner. No one was looking at or coming after me. 

The band had already started. It was already 11:30. The band was just starting their second set. I walked up on the bandstand. “Jean”. He turned around to see me and he seemed pleased that I had come. How many people do what they say they going to do these days. 

Right away I could see that this guy WAS great. He was playing a flugelhorn, which is like a trumpet but with a more mellow tone. Even though it was “old music” every note played was great. His sound was almost palpable. It brought forth images in my mind of golden shapes and birds. I knew most of the songs but not all. There was a singer also. She sounded a lot like Billy Holiday. Jagged notes falling out of the sky and melting wet on my face. In fact, the other players were great too. Great guitar, great drummer. These were among the best players in South Florida. 

Even though I was behind the band, it still sounded great. A few times I walked around to the front of the band to hear the difference. Not much. Coming back, I looked into the buffet room. Oh my. It was full on. There were containers of lobster, shrimp, crabs, oysters, prime cut meats, blueberries, yogurts, deserts. 

I went back to me seat. I had to make a big decision. I was already in the event. Perhaps I could also go to the buffet. Who would know? I debated back and forth as beautiful diners all dressed up in colorful easter dresses and bonnets glided by with dishes full of salmon and deserts. Hey. Not fair. How can I make a good decision when you are tempting me so. 

The sounds interrupted my musings. Wasn’t this enough. Maybe a younger Frank would have pushed it, but I was listening to great music and no one was bothering me. I had my gruel anyway. 

At about 12:30, I reluctanly pulled myself away. I guess they weren’t going to take a break. For the kind of money they were pulling, maybe they shouldn’t take a break. I said goodbye to Jean with sign language and a big thumbs up. 

I walked down to the next place on my list, Bugsy’s. I walked in. this was a far cry from the Setai. Still it was nice. There was a woman giving complentary small wine glasses. I took it and asked about the sax player. “There is no sax player today sir; only a pianist. I showed her the listing. She shrugged. 

I thought, hmmm… my adventure is like that old joke about the guy who is flying and there is engine failure. It’s one very bad thing followed by one good thing. He is falling in his plane, the engine dies. Luckily he had a parachute. That’s good. Unfortunately the parachute doesn’t open, thats bad. Fortunately there is a haystack beneath him. Thats good. Unfortunatley there is a pitchfork in the haystack. Thats bad. Luckily he misses the pitchfork. Thats good. Unluckily he missed the pitchfork. That;s good. Unluckily, he missed the haystack…xxxxxxx. 

The Setai was good. The Bugsy was bad. My next stop in the plan was the beach. I could have walked the 14 blocks but with all my stuff I decided to wimp out and wait for the trolley. A couple from Africa or Haiti was also on the trolley. They asked me for help. “Where’s the beach?” I told them I was going to the beach. “You can follow me.” I gave them my Miami Beach South spiel as if I were a tour guide. “You have to go to Lincoln Blvd. You have to go to the Bass Museum.” They nodded. They seemed so out of it. I led them to the South Pointe Promenade where I would play later. “We will come see you. “ they were so appreciative. Appaarently they couldn’t check into their hotels till later. 

For my part, I was thrilled to be at the beach by 1:30. That left me a lot of beach time. I looked out at the beach expectantly and for the first time since venturing this far south, there were no waves at all. What happened? 

I resigned myself to not body surfing on this day. Nap. That’s what I need. I wanted to take a long nap in the beautiful weather. I found what I thought would be a good spot in a high muffin density area. I laid all my stuff out, being careful to protect my sax. Just as I got comfortable and ready to dive into unconsciousness a new neighbor arrived with a poom poom poon. Ahhhh reggaeton. 

I had to move. It was driving me crazy. Even with my ear canceling headphones. I had to move to a less dense area. The closer I was to the water the better I could just hear water waves and less Pum pumpum. I was able to take my nap. After about 20 minutes I woke up. 

I decided I would go in the water even though there were no waves.   

Me o my am me thirty… 3.30.24

Me o my am me thirty… 3.30.24

My days were dwindling down, like the sands of an hourglass. I had to play carefully and define my priorities. I was pretty much done wiith being the tourist because I had run out of places to go. I had been a diligent tourist, now with these final days, I would just do what I wanted. I was on vacation from my vacation. 

When I had signed up for the Everglades tour (to see how the other 95% of tourists lived), I had also signed up for a boat tour around the islands in Key Biscayne Bay.  The first boat was at 11 and I rushed down there, walking to the Government Center and then getting on the Metromover to College/Bayside and walking the 2 blocks over to Bayside Market. I was early. I found my company eventually and stood in line with the other tourists. Again there was the mandatory photo taking. This one was different from the other one though. They were going for the big kill I was later to find out. 

We stood patiently in line for all the procedures. Then there was the mad rush to get a good seat; preferably by a window. I ran all the way up front where there was a seat by the window though part of the window was covered in clear plastic it was still good. 

Traveling among tourists it gets easy to categorize them with a glance. Romantic couple, big family trip, family with small children, family with young adult chidren, loser loner (that’s me), Mysterious guy (also me), single woman (danger! danger!). My seat mates were obviously couple with young adult child. The family was Swiss and the guy was so eager to talk to me. He was in securities (makes sense for the Swiss) and he was pretty content just to talk to me. His wife was a whirlwind of taking pictures. The poor daughter looked so withdrawn, trapped with her parents. 

The boat held about 130 people, I know that because the guide, a fast talking, joke kraken Latino was very knowledgeable about the subject of the boatride which was basically, let’s go look at the houses of the rich and famous. However there was other information about Miami. Miami is the cruise ship capital of the world. Last year 6 million people took cruises out of the city. Since I was right up front it was easy for me to hear him and also to ask him questions when he wasn’t talking. Of course, celebrities are fun to think and talk about so I didn’t mind. As we were pulling out, “do you see that big strange looking building that looks like there are fish gills up and down”. Those are condos going for 1.5 million each, except the entire top floor which is owned by David Beckam.” ooooooh. 

We sailed by all the other islands as well. We say Jackie Chan’s house, Shaq’s old house, Jlo and Ben Afflecks house, F

After talking to the man I felt sorry for the young girl maybe 15. I talked to her. It took her a minute to activate the english part of her brain. She had just finished 9th grade. In Switaerland you had a choice at that stage in your life to either continue on the academic course or to go to vocational school. I was surprised to hear that this young woman was going to do her apprenticeship in an office to be a secretary. There seemed to be no stigma to this and the father seemed proud of his daughter. I asked the girl what was her passion. “Makeup” she replied. I asked her about Korean makeup and she agreed it was the best. I asked her what she was going to do with she was going to do with all her money. “Shopping”. 

We got back around 1:30, a little later than I expected. As we got off the boat we were presented with the option of buying photos. It was very clever. They juxtaposed the picture they had taken with all the famous sites in Miami, the ferris wheel, the art museum, the basketball stadium. In the packet there were about 20 pictures and a magnetic frame. All yours for just $35 dollars. What a tempting deal….for most tourists but not for me. I wonder what percentage of those pictures they sell. Otherwise just throw away. 

The next step in my intricate plan was to board the double decker bus for another tirp to Miami Beach. It was my second time and I decided just to stay below and eat my late lunch. I was the only one there and in no time I was at the beach. It was about 2:15 when I got there. Today I would not go to the beach and swim at all. My schedule revolved around going to ILaria’s party at 6. Since playing at this most magical place was the highest priority, I would forgo the beach today. 

I got ready and was playing by 2:30. As usual nobody seemed to notice me or complain about me. I was again dodging the sun, hiding behind palm trees, vacillating between feeling ignored and awed by the shere beauty of the place, the palms, the beautiful weather, the shuffling breeze, the beautiful people, the families, the muffins. I didn’t need anyone to be happy here…..but….

Then  2 young women walked up. They were both gorgeous and probably about 20 years old. They came up and immediately gave me so much attention and focus. One was white and one was cocoa colored black woman. Both were showing a lot of skin, with tops that looked like band aids, not even trying to cover their breasts. Only the nipple wasn’t showing. 

“I just want to thank you for playing. It is so wonderful and thank you for spending all that time to learn to play that instrument is a noble act. I admire you for doing that. “ The white girl seemed more hidden in her world, slightly removed from reality. The black girl was more down to earth and more accessible. “Wait a minute. Are you guys high?” It was my experience that only musicians or people who were high could appreciate my music. The girls looked at one another and then the black one broke and smiled. “Well a little”. I knew it. Don’t worry. That is cool.” The black girl with the golden strip of cloth that barely covered her nipples rolled her eyes. “But we don’t usually get high. It’s our day off.” “Oh…what do you do?” We don’t do anything. We just live. We live ….in Miami Beach.” They smiled as if they had just said something profound. “Are you musical?” “Well we were both in choir but we don’t really sing anymore” they said with a giggle. 

Now it was my time to be dramatic. “Do you know what I want?” and I let the question hang in the air. The enigmatic white girl looked at me coquettishly. Her eyes lit up. She unconsciously wet her upper lip. “No. what do you want Frank?”  Her lips moved seductively. She batted eyes. She grinned at me. Wow. What was this? Was she teasing me or was she serious. However my mind was not processing the here and now. I was thinking about what I was going to say. I wasn’t in the here and now.  “I want ……..to sing”. Her expression wilted.  It was like some air had been deflated from a tire. . 

However, they were both nodding and smiling. They were into it. At least the black one was. She was really gorgeous and more open than the other one who was just a big mystery to me.  I got her singing and it went really well. In no time we were laughing and playing with words and song. She could sense the freedom that she had. The young women then launched again into excessive praise. “Frank. You are a very special person. You can be a star if you want. Everyone should appreciate you.” I interrupted then to point out that actually no one appreciated my music, but that was ok with me.  They looked at one another. There was no denying my point. “That’s because they are all ignorant. They only like Regga-tone. They are stupid. 

While I did appreciate their full throated support, I was sure it was drug induced. Still I couldn’t help from dwelling on my missed oppotrunity. What if I had given a different answer to the question, “What do you want?” I could have said, “Your lips”, “a kiss” , to be in a big bed with both of you?” and what if they had said, “OK”. Dummy. Dummy. Dummy. 

At least I had met them. I asked if we could stay in touch and both young women said, “We don’t have our phones with us.” I asked what their instagram addressed were and they both answered, “We don’t know our instagrams by heart. We need our phones to see.” Ri…..ght……! I told them my youtube channel name. “Frank (like Frank Sinatra….do young people even know him?) and Lev…(“Oh like Levi withouth the “i”) . Right. I knew I would probably never see them again. Ahhh…to be their good friend. 

I had fun playing the people; rocky, pink panther, police sirens when people were going to fast. I could hear a lot of people discussing me and looking at me but the main rule was in effect, don’t look at people unless they stop with the exception of kids, dogs and attractive women walking alone. One couple was walking up speaking loudly. “Trust me. That is a clarinet.” How can I trust anything you say these days?” Oh oh.   Trouble in paradise. Maybe I was lucky to be alone. As they walked by me, still looking, I looked up and sang loudly. ,”It’s a saxophone.” they both laughed like crazy. Maybe they didn’t realized that others could hear them talking to one another. The man protested and made a curvy motion with his hands. I sang out again in perfect harmony to the song I was singing, “A straight soprano saxophone.” They kept walking but were laughing almost uncontrollably. Another family came up.  They were having the same discussion. They were insisting that it was a clarinet. The funny thing was that they were all from Belgium. In case you (probably) don’t know; the saxophone was created in Belgium by Adolph Sax. I scolded them. YOU should know better. When you go home, go to the saxophone museum there. That is your homework. They promissed they would.

It was getting close leaving time if I was going to make that party. I didn’t want to go. It was soooo beautiful; the warm weather, the cool breeze, the happy people walking by, the sparkling waters, the mammoth ships cruising by. At 4:45 I left. I should be able to get there in an hour and 15 minutes. 

I walked past the fancy waterfront restaurant and came to the 3 diamond shaped fountains. It was about 7 blocks on 5th street. I got there ok and waited and waited. After about 20 minutes a bus came. It looked crowded. I squeezed onto the bus. It was full to the brim. I thought I could squeeze in. There were 3 of in front of the front door. Then I heard. “We can’t move if there are people blocking the door.” He said it mechanically and rather rudely. What did it mean, “Blocking the door?” Does it mean a physical blocking? The door could close. I was out of the way. Or did he mean, a visual blocking? For sure I was blocking his view to the mirror on the side of the bus on the right side. I wasn’t sure which one he meant but under the circumstances, I felt I oculdn’t ask. He yelled it out again, “We can’t move if there are people blocking the door.”  I guess it meant me. “There is another 100 bus right behind us. 

I got off the bus. Sure enough, there was another bus coming. However, the bus just kept going. It didn’t stop at all. The driver waved to us to say that the bus was full. However, it didn’t look full. I could have gotten on. Now I was really screwed. 2 100 buses had come. What was the chance of another bus coming anytime soon. I had planned so hard to get my playing in AND getting back in time for the party. 

At the party I might meet realy Miami people or other people that lived there like the artists and free thinkers. I was a part of my Miami education. I had to decide what to do. Ok I will wait 10 minutes and then go down to second street where there was a 14 bus pick up point. I started my timer on my watch.  After 2 hours, the 10 minutes was up. I was moving. 

I waited about 15 minutes and thankfully the bus came. We went over the bridge and they left me off at the Omni Center, where many of the buses came in.  From there I got on Metromover and then got off like I always did to play at Walgreens. It was only 6:30. It had taken almost 2 hours to get there. 

The party was to celebrate or commemorate the closing of the gallery. The landlord wanted to attract a restaurant. All part of the gentrification process. In 5 years, I am sure that this area would be jumping. 

The party was just starting. Alfondo, who claimed to be a chef was laying out the 3 kinds of olives, bread, cheese and some pastrami and salami. I was still keyed up from playing and went off on the olives. Ummm. I must have eaten 30 of them and lots of crackers and cheese. More cheese. More olives. I was pigging out. OMG. 

ILaria was singing up a storm with her husband, the pilot, and another guy who was playing guitar along with ILaria. I met her husband who was a commerical pilot, flying the dangerous B 737 Max. He had a lot to say about it. He seemed like a real nice guy. Good looking, sharp, a nice face, like someone you are sure you have seen in a movie somewhere. ILaria was a madwomen when singing or playing music. She didn’t care how she looked, she just cared about the music. For that reason she looked like she was having a mental breakdown. I liked it. The other 2 players weren’t that good. It helped when I started playing; I could play notes that suggested the key and where we were going.  We played for a while. It was a free for all. It was probably theraputic for ILaria and me too. I made frequent raids to the snack table. More olives. More chese. 

Around 6:30 pm I got a call. It was from the trumpet player, Jean. For some reason he couldn’t hear me so we started texting. He thanked me profusely for finding his headphones. He said it was very expensive. I told him I had planned to go to Lagniappe again that night and perhaps we could meet there. He said he had a gig in Fort Lauderdale that ended at 11:15 and after that he could come down around midnight. It was a little late for me. It was hard to get a bus at that time of night. Some of them shifted to once an hour. I texted. “Ok I can meet you if you can give me a ride home.” “It’s a deal.”  He was agreeable.

The doors to the street were open. Strangers were walking in and discovering ILaria’s art and the snack table. It was fun. It was almost like playing street music. Some of the friends of ILaria who were all imbeded with the myth that Frank was a genius musician kept bugging me; Telling me I had to do this or that.  You need to go on tour with a big band! You need to play this music. I felt like an insect that had been pinned to a big board in a museum. I couldn’t move. Finally I got away by saying I needed to eat something. 

I went outside. It was beautiful as it normally had been during my entire trip. Since the street was closed to cars, it was wide open. I felt like dancing up and down the street. New people were coming in all the time now. It was good adverstising for the gallery.  2 guys who claimed they worked for Sony and were doing music videos around the world, walked in.  No one knew if they were telling the truth until they started playing. They were good. For the next 15 minutes, we had a good jam going. 

By now the party was a good mix of friends and strangers and street people. Fun. No one was mistreating the sculptures so it was fine. I told ILaria that I would go soon. “Do you want to go with me to Lagniaeppe?” ILaria wasn’t sure. Oh well. Life goes on. We realised that we would perhaps never meet again. I got a warm goodbye hug from her. What a wonderful creative person she was. She gave me a little children’s book that she had made and illustrated. It was based on one of the dog sculptures she had decoraged next to the Perez Museum.

I walked down towards Biscayne Blvd, only 2 stops away. I was lucky and the bus came within 20 minutes.  I got to the club by 10 pm. This was a different kind of group. It certainly wasn’t Jazz. It was more like blues with a heavy harmonica presence. It was actually great. Not my favorite kind of music for long periods of time but I started getting into it.  I started getting tired around 11:30. Half an hour to go. Hard to imagine nodding off when this was going on. I hung on though and around 11:55 pm I went outside. 

I recognized his white car from the other night. He was sending me a message, “Are you ready?” when I went up to him and introduced myself. He was a nice looking young black man, very properly dressed and a bit formal in his speaking. I handed him the headphones and he opened the trunk for my stuff. It was a lexus. Nice car. Very comfortable. 

He was thankful and very friendly. I asked him about himself and he was ok with talking about his music. He was innovating a fusion between Haitian music and jazz. He started talking about Haitian music and very soon it was over my head. “Here. I’ll play you some from my latest album.” With a minimum of fuss and quite safely he put on a track. What I heard was unlike anything I had every heard before. It was like from another universe yet it was very appealing. He explained how it derived from the Haitian bass lines which were often played on just long pipes (because that is all they have) which will be played by 3-5 people. They weren’t even tuned so what you got was this atonal cacophous sound. The horn lines are all done by me in the studio and I doubled all the parts (I was barely hanging on)”. Yet the music didn’t lie. How lucky I was to meet this guy. 

I asked him if he knew Cisco Dimas who I had seen at Civic Center days before. “Oh yeah. CIsco is a good friend. He is a very fine player.” These guys all knew each other. 

I told him about myself. “I am not a high level player. More medium level but I love to play street music and get myself in the right frame of mind before. Yeah I like that too but when I playing with a serious band I have to be more focused. I was in awe of this guy anbd I liked this guy. 

The trip home was longer than I expected. A good 12 minutes. Too far to walk for sure. “I’m just sorry I didn’t wait around to listen to you play. If I had known who you were I would have. Do you have any gigs tomorrow?” 

“As a matter of fact I do. Tomorrow I am playing for an Easter Brunch in Miami Beach at the Setai Hotel. Very posh affair. Maybe you can see me there. But we won’t be playing my Haitian music, just old songs from the 20’s-50’s.” That was the kind of music I played. Actually I thought that that might work out ok. I was planning on going to Miami Beach tomorrow anyway. I could just go earlier. I told him. He pulled right up to my Airbnb and thanked me again. What a day!

Me o my am me twentynine… 3.29.24

Me o my am me twentynine… 3.29.24

With all options for museums and interesting things to do here in Miami, I was left with picking up the crumbs and doing the most touristy things possible. I was going on an Everglades tour and then the next day a boat ride around the Biscayne Bay area and the islands in Miami. 

The Everglades tour left at 9 so I had to be there early. I arrived around 8:30 am just to be sure. I was shepherded around and told to wait here and there, given my yellow wristband, which would be my new identity for the morning and afternoon. It was through the Bigbus tour company, whose bread and butter was the kind of open air double decker buses that you see trolling all major cities. I always enjoyed making fun of those tourists who were so out of it, they needed someone to escort them around the city. I was prone to waving at them like the morons that they were. Today I would join their ranks. Karma. 

We rode a full sized bus out to the Everglades site. The bus was almost full so there were about 50 of us. I hadn’t realized how close the Everglades was to Miami. It was just outside of town, about 20 miles due west. I was in a rather sullen mood. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. These were the dumb tourists I tried to avoid. There were 2 young women who were somewhat attractive and looked fun but I didn’t even want to talk to them either. 

We arrived at the site, a big complex with hundreds of people. There was a loudspeaker and within about 5 minutes we heard, “Yellow Wristband people go to the docks. You will go first. There was a mandatory photo session. I knew this racket; later they would offer to sell to you for $10-20. There was a man at the boat who asked me where I was from and how many people were in my party then told me where to sit. He put me next to the 2 women. 

It turned out they were 2 sisters from Germany. One was living in San Antonio studying for her MBA and the other more attractive one was visiting her in Texas. They had flown to Ft. Lauderdale and rented a car. They were very friendly and quite silly. They really got along great, hanging all over each other, giggling. They were nice though and they seemed very interested in me and wanted to know all about me. It started to thaw my dismal mood. 

Our boat was powered by 2 giant fans on the back of the boat. They made a huge roar and I was glad I had my noise canceling headphones. Our “captain” was a large goofy looking guy. He seemed very awkward and took on the persona of a wild and crazy guy for his boat captaining job. It was pretty sad because his jokes were aimed at the 9 year old mind. He did however, give us the mandatory information about the birds, wildlife, plants etc. 

The early settlers thought of the Everglades as a huge swamp. They wanted to drain it. For years the Army Corp of engineers dredged canals to drain the Everglades. What they didn’t realize was that the Everglades was not a swamp, it was a slow moving river and by trying to “drain” it they were destroying it. 50% of it was drained and lost and 90% of the wildlife died off. Environmentalist Marjory Stoneman Douglas was a crusader for the area and wrote the definitive book about the Everglades called. “The Everglades, River of Grass”. Today there are efforts to try to bring it back. 

Getting on the airboats I was struck by the purity of the water. It looked crystal clear. Most of the water was covered in lilies which I knew can purify water. In fact the east coast of Florida gets its drinking water from the Everglades.  The water and the lilies were so beautiful. We rode in the airboat which allowed us to skim over the plants without hurting them. We saw many birds including a giant Blue Heron, cumerands (which I had seen Japanese fisherman use to catch fish) and different kinds of hawks and vultures. Of course the big thing is will we see an alligator. We did. It was partially submerged when we saw it. As we trolled closer it submerged and we lost it. 

The boat ride lasted about an hour and we went up and down the wide canals. It was strange that they had done that to the sanctuary. The canals were wide and deep and served no purpose now other than to cut a swath through the area. Dumb. 

I was having fun with the 2 sisters. They wanted me to tell them what they should do in their 2 days here. I told them to go to the Perez and also they could meet me in Miami Beach. They didn’t do anything that I told them, however and I didn’t see them at the beach either. Oh well it was just a pretend thing. 

After the boat ride we all got into a small outdoor theater for the alligator show. I thought this would be the absolute depths of crass tourism but actually it was quite good. The guy’s name was Paul Bedard and he was not some hack, he was a lifelong dedicated alligator rescuer and advocate for saving alligators. He told us that most problem alligators, those that go into people’s lawns who eat pets, are trapped and killed and used for meat or leather. He on the other hand tracks them and sends them to sanctuaries or uses them in his shows. We sat in front of a sand and water area about 30 by 20 yards. There were about 10 alligators. He knew the alligators so well, what they would do and would not do. He just stood right next to them and nudged them and had no fear of them. He said the gators knew he wouldn’t harm them so there was no need for them to move. He fed them raw meat . The real highlight of the show though was when he showed us how the Seminole Indians used to catch them. To do that they would grab them under the chin so they couldn’t open their mouths. Apparently the closing shut muscles were very well developed while the opening muscles were much weaker. He bent the head back, wedged the bottom of his snout under his chin, and then he was in a position to tie the mouth shut with his two hands. He had to keep alert though as it might slip out and then the gator could snap it shut. 

Aside from all the information that he had after working with gators for decades, Paul was very funny. It was not a canned show but he was just a sharp cool guy and his running monologue was very clever and funny. 

After that there was an opportunity to hold a baby alligator, which had his mouth taped shut. They would then sell you the picture for 10 dollars. The German girls wanted to do it. I snapped their picture too. Rather than buy it I just sent it to them, beating the scam. 

Even though I rather hate these kinds of very touristy affairs, I admire the organization and planning that goes into creating this business model. It was expensive, $55 but everyone was happy. In addition I would ride the open air bus for 2 days. 

We got back at 1:30 and I headed home to get my instrument. I had decided not to take all that on the boat with me and it was a good decision because the boat had water on the bottom. I got back around 2:30 and got on the Big Open aired bus for Miami beach. It was probably faster and more comfortable than the bus. And now I was one of the gooney people riding on a big bus. Wave! Wave! 

I got to the beach around 4, which left me some time to go to the beach, but not much time. I was a lot less brave about just sitting down with someone and talking to them. I had had some early success but after that, not much. I just sat by myself and took a nap and then bundled up my stuff and covered it with my red blanket so I could see it off shore. The waves were still breaking somewhat and I was thrilled to get some rides. I had time to do a long session of about 30 minutes and then dry off and go directly over to the boardwalk. 

It was already 5:30 by the time I got going. It was nice, they had a concession stand right there when they were selling coffee at a reasonable price of $2.73. I went behind the building to get prepared for playing. Unfortunately, I forgot my coffee back there but I knew it would probably still be there later and it was. 

The only challenge about playing on the promenade was dodging the sun. The only shade was the palm trees and after a few minutes it would shift and I would be in the sun again. Of course I could always face the other way, away from the city, but that wasn’t as spectacular as playing to the city of Miami. 

Two young women came up and seemed to be really taken with the music. The one looked so young and fresh. Her face was like Ron Howard as a young Opey. Her glasses were somehow balanced on her ears and then under her chin. She seemed completely mesmerized by the music. She started singing too and it was amazing how well she could do it. Soon we were singing and laughing and being so spontaneous that I thought we might just float way into Never Never Land. Her friend was either very fat or pregnant and soon she revealed that she was indeed pregnant. “I am full term. The baby could come out at any time.” I had an idea and I brought it up. “I will play the saxophone and you hold onto the bell of my sax with your hand and those vibrations along with the sound vibrations will reach your baby.” She was up for it. I played my favorite slow song, “I remember Clifford” pointing the bell at the new baby with her holding on. I could imagine that baby hearing the sounds and feeling wonder and excitement for this new world that he (it was a he) was about to enter. It felt like a blessed moment. 

Then a funny thing happened. It all went away. I’m not sure if I did something but suddenly it was like we were strangers again, slingshotted from intimacy to separateness. “Let’s stay in touch. We can play music again. I’ll be here tomorrow.” “I won’t be here then.” “Sunday too I will be here.” “Maybe”. “Well can I have your number or contact information?” “My phone is dead and I don’t know what it is.”  Strange. I have seen this before. People pull back after a breakthrough. They even deny that something amazing happened, as if it were just a fluke. All I could get was a selfie and that would have to do. 

My playing on the promenade went back and forth. Sometimes I felt invisible because people rarely  stopped to listen. Then other times I just looked at the beautiful palm trees and the city of Miami shimmering in the distance, to the giant monolithic cruise ships messing with all my perspectives as the glided by, making me feel so tiny. It was a wonderful place to be playing. It was like a switch in my brain, feeling inside myself or feeling outside myself, wanting versus just being. 

I played on until about 8:30 when all the people were gone. It was a long hike of about 20 minutes through the park, to the beautiful waterfall fountains, lighted simply but beautifully and then past the Jewish Museum to the 100 bus stand. I got to the other side without too much trouble and after some internal debate about whether I was too tired or not, got on the bus for the Lagniappe Jazz Club. 

When I got there though I was surprised to see that the place was packed. There wasn’t even a place to stand in the back and no seats. I stood on the side with all my stuff and then a very aggressive guy came up to me and the 2 or 3 other people standing in the aisle and demanded that we move because he couldn’t see. “There is no place to go man. It’s very crowded in here.” The angry man could see my point but the other guy standing next to me started arguing. This was a freewheeling kind of place. I thought there might be a fight so I took action myself which was to just sit down. Yes I was willing to sit on the floor. I looked back and the guy nodded to me. He didn’t care as long as he got his way. My other standing compadre left. I scrunched up next to a seated woman and apologized and she was ok. I listened to the entire set there, sitting on the floor trying not to get stepped on. This place was amazing. In the back patio there were probably 3-400 people happily drinking wine and eating cheese plates. What kept them all coming here? It wasn’t the music because those people couldn’t hear the music. 

The band was called the Madd Jazz Band. The reason for the name was that the core of the band was made up of 3 siblings, Emily, Chase, and Kevin Maddox and hence the name “Madd”, from the first 4 letters of their last name. They played a kind of jazzy RnB and they were really quite extraordinary. The intensity and originality of their playing was electrifying. Emily played the drums and sang. Kevin played a searing guitar and Chase played a raucous keyboard. He was particularly fun to watch as all his emotion was in his face when he was soloing he gave a wicked glare at the other band members. The band also included a non-sibling bass player and a very large black man on lead vocals. He was great too, with an almost operatic voice that sang out the lyrics as clear as a bell. 

It was getting close to 11:30. The band would play on until 12 but I had learned that it was better to catch the bus before then as there was a bus scheduled at 11:40 and after that things became uncertain. I picked all my stuff up and struggled to get out of the awkward position was in, sitting on my heels for so long.  Just as I was coming out a trumpet player was walking in. He was obviously a friend of the band and he was going to sit in. He kept looking out at his car. He was double parked in front of the club. Too bad I wouldn’t be able to hear him play. Who knows if he could even play. 

As I went out I looked down the street and sure enough there was the 9a a bus coming down the street about 1 block and ½ down the way. There on the ground about 5 feet behind the car was a metal cylinder. It was made from finely made metal and had a screw on top. I couldn’t imagine what it was, maybe marijuana or a bracelet. I didn’t have time. I ran for the bus. I wasn’t going to make it the block to the bus stop in time. I waved my hand and the bus driver was nice enough to stop. I had made it. 

It took me to Government Center and the magic walk home. I paused over the Miami River Bridge. The rippled waters reflecting the colored lights of the city were like a balm to my temples. Just another 15 minutes to home. 

When I got home I remembered the box. It said instrumental headphones on the box and some other things. It was a very expensive ear insert that had a long chord to it. It was used by very high end musicians to get the best sound while playing in a large group. They got the sound that was piped through the general mix. It kept all other sound out. When I looked at the container more closely it said on it. “Made especially for Jean Caze”. I wondered if…..? I looked up the name “john Caze” on google and got this “A prodigious talent, he has emerged as one of today’s most exciting new voices in jazz, touring with Michael Bublé and having performed with the likes of Herbie Hancock, Najee, Arturo Sandoval, John Fadis, Randy Brecker, and Bob Mintzer, to name a few.” It was as I had suspected. That little metal box belonged to the guy who had come in to sit in at the end. I knew that headphones must be expensive, maybe 500-1000 dollars. By looking at some of the social media I found an email for him and sent him a message. Maybe he was a person who checked his email. If he sent me a message then I could get it back to him. 

Me o my am me twentyeight… 3.28.24

Me o my am me twentyeight… 3.28.24

After spending more than 4 weeks in Miami, trying to see and do everything, I finally ran out of things to do. I had gone to all the relevant museums that I could. I skipped a few of the more obviously touristy and rip off museums like the Children’s Museum which cost $35 dollars and the Paradox Museum as well as the Wynwood Walls museum which was just a graffiti and mural museum. 

Everyday starts out with the problem, hmmmm what am I going to do today. Looking at the Miamionthecheap website I noticed that there was a free concert at Civic Center at 12 noon. I happened to notice this around 11 am so I jumped into action. I thought I could make it if I hurried. I grabbed my lunch and water and stuffed it all into my backpack and walked the 20 minutes to Government Center and then rode 4 stops and got there at 11:50. I had never been to Civic Center which I supposed was where city hall and other important city functions were. 

I saw the stage and it was just a few hundred yards from the station. I got there right on time. There were about 10 tables set up and a bunch of umbrellas. There were only a few people there. It turned out that this stage was set up in the middle of the Jackson Hospital Complex. Its complicated but the Jackson hospital was somewho acquired by the University of Miami which is funded by medical innovator Phillip Frost. It still has the name of the Jackson Complex but now it is affiliated with the University of Miami.

The band was run by (Fran)Cisco Dimas who is a very accomplished trumpeter. His music was great. Everything about his playing was great; his tone, his melodic playing, his phrasing. The rest of the band was good too. They did a mix of old numbers and some newer ones that I knew. There first song was a version of the old corney song “Tea for Two” and somehow they made it cool again. 

The concert was punctuated with occasional giant umbrellas tumbling over. The concert was put on by a local jazz group JazzMiami which administered the concerts, setting them up and doing sound etc. Afterwards I talked to CIsco. He was a very nice guy; a professor of music at Florida International University. Not the main music program, which is University of Miami but still a good gig. 

After the concert, I roamed around. There was a farmers market where they were selling all kinds of ethnic foods; Indian, Nicaraguan, juices etc. I thought about getting some but I had already eaten my lunch. I walked around hoping to find some government buildings, but as far as I could see it was hospital complex buildings. I walked in a few and didn’t see much to look at. I went back home and rested. My energy was low. 

There was yet another free event going on and this one was at the Perez Museum. It was my favorite museum that I had found in Miami. This was a patio event with a duo singing songs that were vaguely familiar. It was a guitarist/ vocalist playing with a violinist. The guitarist was good and he never made mistakes. I watched him closely. I wanted to be able to do that someday. It sounded good and he was only using chords too. The violinist was a good example of someone playing nice fill-ins though it was a little hard to hear his solos. There was no soundman and I guess that made all the difference.  

Even though the music wasn’t that interesting to me, still it was great to be there. Sitting on the porch on the Bay in the guts of the city. Every 5 minutes a jet roared by just behind the tall skyscrapers just to the north. It always looked like they were going to collide. To the east was the Bay, sinking into twilight, the monstrous cruise ships in the distance and the port. It felt so expansive just to be there. I talked to a few people. One young woman I somehow struck up a conversation with. We were flirting. She was a CNA and preparing to be a nurse. It was her last semester. Her dream was to travel. I told her about my travel life and she seemed intrigued. “Why not travel with me next time.” It seemed like she was really interested. “You can play street music with me tonight it you want.” Again she seemed interested. “After I go to the museum we can meet up.” We made all the arrangements. Of course, she didn’t show up or even message me. Hate being ghosted. 

It was already 8:30 by the time the concert let out. I was tempted to take the bus over to Miami Beach and play there but it would be too late and it gets windy there at night.

I decided just to go over to Flagler Street, where Walgreens was. I could always walk home from there. I could also walk there in just 20 minutes. I walked down Biscayne Blvd. I walked past the Keseya Center. Just as I passed it I saw an older black man sitting in a wheel chair. It looked like he was selling books. I walked past him and then turned around and went back to talk to him. He said he was selling his book. It was his dream, during his retirement we just wanted to travel around the world and sell his book, “Memoirs of a Taxi Driver”. I can sell you an autographed copy. 

I picked up the book and it looked professionally printed in hard cover. I asked him how many copies he had. “!,000”. He seemed like a very intense and intelligent man. He asked me about myself and when I told him I was from Youngstown, he cocked his head. Didn’t you have a crazy congressman. “Yes. Jim Traficant.” Somehow, he knew all about Traficant. “Didn’t he spend time in jail? Didn’t he die in a tractor accident?” It was amazing all that he knew. It was fun talking to him. He was an original thinker to be sure. He reminded me of myself in that he loved playing or selling on the street. 

“Why don’t you read an excerpt from my book. Sure enough there was one on the inside cover. I wasn’t impressed. It was full of grammatical errors and didn’t catch my attention. We talked for a while longer, and it was enjoyable, but when his narrative started leaning towards Trumpism, I knew it was time to go. Later I regretted not talking more to him. Later I looked him up on Amazon and sure enough his book was there, Memoir of a Taxi Driver by C. E. Patterson.

I went over to my spot on Flagerly across from the food court Eatery. It wasn’t Miami Beach by any means but here I felt like I was in the heart of the city. The crazy guy was around. He seemed to be hungry tonight. He was asking people for help. The only problem was that when he opened his mouth to speak, just gibberish came out. He was different than a lot of the street people, who were drug addicts or alcoholics. This guy was certifiably crazy. I wondered what he would do with his money. Could he buy food in a store? Was he capable of that. I doubted that he bought drugs or drinks. He didn’t need that. He was on a perpetual high. In the end I decided to give him $3 which could at least get him something to eat. 

I really wish cities took care of their homeless populations better like they do in Richmond Virginia where they have social workers walking around and just trying to help people in need out; give them a blanket, tell them where to get a free meal, or a shower, get them medication if they need it. The social workers there are trusted by the homeless population. They don’t turn them in, they just help them and if the people want to try to assimilate into normal life, they try to help them. Most cities though, this people are on their own. 

I played for about 3 hours and nothing much happened. Still it was nice to play. Around 11:30 I again decided to take the metromover across town and ended up at Government center before Midnight and at home by 12:30. Tomorrow I had an early day.   

Me o my am me twentyseven… 3.27.24

Me o my am me twentyseven… 3.27.24

After spending about 4 weeks in the Miami area, the unthinkable was happening; I was running out of museums. I saw that there was a museum called the Museum of Contemporary Art that was about an hour north of Miami. It looked interesting from the website. I had it all planned to go there but I thought I should double check. I tried to call them but no one answered. That was when I saw somewhere buried on their website that they were closed because they were transitioning to a new exhibition. Scratch that. 

I looked around more on the computer, searching Museums in Miami and found this one, “The Margulies Collection”. Again, it was quite a ways north. I had to decide whether I would take my stuff with me because I had a gig in the evening at the Howling Wolf Restaurant. I could carry all my stuff and not go home to get it before the gig or I could just leave it at home and then add at least an hour to go get my stuff. I decided to just take the stuff. 

I walked to the Government Center with my sax and amp in my backpack. I didn’t have to bring food because they were going to feed me at the restaurant. I got off at Santa Clara stop and then the walking began. It was a long walk and it was a bit hot. It took about 30 minutes to go up and then over and cross the highway. The Margoilis Collection was tucked away in an industrial area.  Martin Marguiles is a real estate developer from New York who built a lot in the creation of the Miami condos and development of Miami as a modern city. As with a lot of other real estate developers like the Perez family he became fabulously wealthy and then became an art collector. Some estimate his art collection to be worth 800 million dollars. 

Part of his collection is in his home which is on one of the exclusive islands in the area. The rest of it is housed in a huge warehouse 50,000 square feet of exhibition space and other large areas for storage. I walked in with high hopes of seeing some cool stuff but I was sorely disappointed. The art I saw was quite incomprehensible to me. There were some artists’ names I recognized, like Frank Stella and George Segal. George Segal makes large body casts of subjects doing regular things like standing in line. We even have some George Segal work in Youngstown. It’s interesting. At this location they had 3 or 4 of his works. One showed some people cast in all white sitting on a bench. Another showed some people all in frompy gray suits standing in a line. They were meant to show depression workers standing in line for food or maybe work. 

The Stella works were pretty incomprehensible to me; just a bunch of paper and metal stuck up on a wall. It got worse and worse. The artist Anslem Kiefer had the dumbest art I had ever seen. To be sure I am not an art expert and he may have a message that eludes me but some of his work was literally piles of garbage that were stacked up in a room. One was piled construction materials. It looked like the rooms of concrete and mess that I had to clean up when I used to work for my father in the summers. He then put similar works of old stuff and plaster in a frame and called it art. I just don’t get it and there was no explanation about the “meaning”. Is this art? 

In fact, about 90% of the work in the museum was like that, garbage art. Was the message that everything is art? Why have a museum then? Why not walk outside on the road and pick up cans and call them art (oh…I do do that). And why if this guy is so rich why did he charge $10 to see his “art”. 

Fortunately, there were a few artworks that were fun and challenging and which I could see some meaning. One fun one was an elevator door that would periodically open. Inside was a tv monitor that covered the entire size of the full size elevator. Each time it opened, a different group of people would be inside. It was so realistic that you felt like you could walk inside. 

There were some nice metal sculptures.One by Jurgen Drescher showed an alpaca from the bottom of the neck up in full scale. There was an installation in a full sized truck turned on its side. Inside were video screens at the end and on the sides graffiti decorated the inside of the truck. The screens were showing interviews with young kids who did graffiti. There was a full size washer and dryer sitting in the middle of the floor. It looked just like a washer and dryer except it was made from wood and canvas. It was so realistic but really what is the point? Yes a washer and dryer is amazing but why have it in a museum?  There was an entire amusement park that reminded me of Idora Park in Youngstown (RIP). It was made out of all kinds of materials including bone. 

The best exhibition though were full sized realistic sculptures of superheroes like batwoman, stretch man, superman and others as very old people in a nursing home, looking old and tired and worn out. It was so funny. Even superheroes get old I guess and guess what? It’s not easy for them either. Margulies is especially known for his photographic collection. He had on display the early photos of Helen Levitt who was hired by the government to document New York city in 1959. While these pictures were landmark back in that time, before cell phones and the widespread use of photography, today the pictures seem lame by comparison to what we have today. Mostly she photographed the lives of poor immigrants in NYC. 

I left the museum after a long hour and a half. I still had a long way to get back. I decided to loop around and go back down through the Wynwood neighborhood rather than going the way I came. I had been to Wynwood already but this time I entered it from the other side and was surprised to see that I had missed a lot. 

Wynwood is an interesting neighborhood. Originally part of Little Haiti and filled with many large warehouses that house all kinds of things including food, industrial supplies etc, recently wealthy people started snapping these spaces up at bargain prices and either tearing them down and making them into condos or using them to house their art collections with their fantastic fortunes. I guess this gave a purpose to these wealthy people and in a way justified their hobby by opening it to the public. Wynwood also became known as a center for street art. Every year, in November, they have a festival of murals, graffiti and street art. Realtors and owners of buildings invited artists to paint their buildings however they wanted. Now you can hardly find a side of a building that isn’t decorated with the creations of these artists. Even some of the buildings are built to look like cartoons or modern art. Now tourists flock to the area to see all the art work. Fancy coffee shops and ice cream parlors have sprouted up where you can buy an ice cream bar anywhere from $6-10. A business opened up that commissioned artists to paint large canvases inside an enclosure and they charge $10 to go in to see. This is called Wynwood Walls. The day I was there it was swarming with people. Apparently it has become THE place to go on social media. I refused to pay the money because to me it goes against the very essence of mural and street art; it should be free. Still, they are making a thing of it and you have to admire that. 

My gig was at the Howling Wolf restaurant which I had gotten through ILaria and Valentina, a promoter who was working to publicize the restaurant. My gig was supposed to start at 7 but it was only about 5 pm. I had the option of taking a bus down close to the place or just walking, it was only about 20 blocks. I was still trying to find that excellent small restaurant that gave me a great lunch of a huge piece of salmon and also plantain and vegetable. Where was that place? However, I was tired from carrying my stuff around all day. I stopped at a coffee shop and just relaxed there for a while and watched all the people swarming around. Then I started walking. I saw a very old guy, he kind of looked like Popeye. He was so old. He definitely fell into the Geezer category. He was sculpting these masks onto the telephone poles. They were very well done. I started talking to him. He was the nicest guy. He treated me like I was his best friend. Apparently he just started doing this and since this was a crazy art district, no one stopped him. He had an empty gallon milk jug that was cut off at the opening to allow people to put money in it. He had a smattering of coins in there. This guy was pretty much invisible but in my eyes he was a true artist. 

He loved making these masks and he told me just just make them out of paper and soapy water. Yet somehow they lasted and got hard. He knocked on one of them and it seemed solid. “Yeah. Some people hired me to decorate their entire block next month. That should last a while and I will get a pretty sum of money for that. He loved making these masks and he was good at it. A real artist. He seemed like a happy man even though he was pretty much invisible among all these rich students and social climbers. 

I was still debating whether to walk or bus when I ran into a group of 50ish black women who were all wearing the same t-shirts that said “There’s nothing like a Sistah” There were about 12 of them. They were from Chicago and they came down to Miami to have fun together. They were really funny too. “Do you know who that is right there? That is ‘Little Kim”’.  I turned to Little Kim. Are you famous? She started giggling. “No. I am just Kim”. They were all just having a great time kidding around. “Do you want to take us all out to dinner sir. You pay.” I declined. Nice though that they took the time to value their group and their friendships. 

I was still considering what to do when I saw the trolley coming up the street. I liked the trolley. I hailed it and jumped on. As it worked out, the trolley brought me right to the restaurant. However, it was only 5:30 and I wasn’t supposed to play until 7. Still, I was tired of carrying all my stuff around so I went in. Valeria and her friend Manuel and another guy from Iran was there.  Also Christina was there. Somehow I could sense that the nicey nice act from Christina was over. She seemed angry about something. However, she did ask me if I wanted to eat something and I did. I was starving because I hadn’t had my normal snack. I knew that I wanted the salmon. 

I sat to relax in the nice restaurant. They had the tennis tournament on the super large tv. That gave me some continuity. The 2 guys were playing chess. Valeria was super attentive to me. I couldn’t decide if she was just interested in my talent (unlikely) or coming on to me (maybe) or just a strange person (likely) . Still, she really listened to me when I talked and even listened to some on my songs on youtube. 

Christina came up and told me that she didn’t want me to start until 7:30. That gave me even more time to kill. I walked out to prepare myself mentally around 7:15 pm. When I came back she told me she wanted to me to play in the corner where the cash register usually is. There was only 1 couple in the corner when I started at 7:30. I played and Christina turned the rather loud rap style music down but the couple didn’t seem interested in my music at all, they kept talking loudly. After about 15 minutes a family came in. No one was really listening. Valeria and Manuel came over and sometimes we sang rather silly songs. Valeria was able to sing ok and we had some fun but I really couldn’t figure out where she was coming from. 

After an hour, Christina came up and said that she was going to turn the other music on. In other words, I was fired. It was a bit of a shock for me because I was geared up to play for 3 hours. I asked if we could go outside and play and Christina reluctantly agreed, however she refused to turn the music off outside. Valeria and Manuel came outside and we fooled around for a while outside. It was fun. 

After about 20 minutes they said they were going. I decided that I could maneuver going back downtown to the Walgreens area on the Metromover by myself. Valeria kept pressing me to go with her in her car but I declined. I will meet you there. Manuel said he was coming. 

I got on the Metro mover and soon I was back at my old spot. I walked that 200 yards down to ILaria’s studio but it was closed. I went back and played. A few people came up but I still had a good time. I checked my phone and just at that moment it died. I had been taking lots of pictures all day and though I had brought my charger, I had forgotten my cord. That sealed my fate for the day. I couldn’t go to the jazz club without my phone. How would I get home in an emergency (no bus coming). 

I knew how to walk back to my room from the Walgreens area. It was about 15 minutes through somewhat shady streets but I had done it before so I felt confident. The other option was to take the Metromover to Government station. It was a toss up. I went for the Metromover. 

I ran up just as a car was about to leave. I wasn’t sure if it was the right one. 50-50 chance. As it turned out, It was going the wrong way. I was going back out to the end of the line but it was ok. I was getting a tour of the city at night. On the train with me was a small family; mother, husband, and daughter. Actually the mother looked so young that she could have been a sister. They were from Costa Rica and really had no idea what to do. They only spoke Spanish. As we all went the wrong way, I told them not to worry because the train would turn around and take them to there destination in Brinkell. On the way I gave them a tour. Here is the Frost Museum for science. I don’t recommend it. Here is the Perez Museum. You have to go there. Next to it are the sculptures of dogs and cats. Here is the Arsht Opera House. Here is the Arsht concert hall. Then we went to the end and turned around. Here is the Arsht again. Here are the museums again. Here is the Kaseya building where they play NBA basketball. It was lovely seeing the city at night. 

I got off and told the family where to go. I hope they made it. I made my final walk home. As I got on the bridge another guy got on my side about 40 yards behind me. I realized I was trapped if he came up from behind me. I kept looking at him but he seemed not to be after me. Still I didn’t linger at the top of the bridge like I usually do. I got home right at 11, safe and sound. Actually this day had been pretty messed up. It was the things in between my failed plans that made it a good day. 

Me o my am me twentysix… 3.24.26

Me o my am me twentysix… 3.24.26

Maybe I am a glutton for punishment, but I decided I wanted to try to see the Miami Open tennis tournament again. I got some tickets that were even cheaper than the original ones that got rained out. I was still fighting Ticketmaster to get a refund on the tickets that were rained out. I reasoned, now that I know the way it should be easier. 

I put my things in a plastic bag because backpacks aren’t allowed. That included my lunch, my kindle, my charger, sunglasses, waterbottle, headphones,glasses in case my contacts failed, umbrella, and raincoat. That’s a lot of stuff and that is just the bare essentials. On the way to the Government center I found a canvas bag on the sidewalk and picked it up. It was relatively clean. It was more secure than just a plastic bag and even though it wasn’t clear, I could always fold it up and stuff it somewhere if they didn’t allow it. My lunch, I could stuff my raincoat, which had big pockets. 

I knew there was a 9:30 am train from Opa Locka so I was aiming for that. Again I got there 30 minutes early (better too early than too late). I got my one stop ticket for 50 cents and walked over to a cafeteria to get some coffee. The woman was quite nasty for some reason. She couldn’t believe that I wanted coffee with no sugar, only mild. I am pretty sure she was Cuban. I got my reasonably priced coffee and sipped it while waiting for the train. I was kind of rationing my food so I could last all day. I would eat my snack as late as possible. 

The train came more or less on time. I walked the 10 blocks to 27th Ave through the quirky Opa Locka with its Moorish architecture. Along the way I found a can of black beans.It wasn’t opened or damaged so I picked it up. A 100 yards down the road there was a food giveaway going in in Opa-Locka with a lot of elderly people lining up for boxes of food. The wait for the bus was about 30 minutes. When it came I looked around and saw some other people who were likely going to the same place. There was a couple from Brazil who knew a lot more about transportation than I did. “We took the 27 bus from Martin Luther King Metrorail Station. That was great. That took one step out of the plan. Instead of having to walk, metrorail, train, walk, bus, I could just Metrorail bus. 

With the help of the bus driver,  we got off at the right place. I tried to fix in my mind where I was so I could get back. It was route 199 that connected with 27th ave. There was a Dunkin donuts on the corner. That would be nice on the way back. I hid the beans behind the bus stop. There was no way I could get a can of beans in the stadium. 

We went in the SE corner of the stadium. I found my seat but it was actually behind the courts. Security was a little tight. Yellow shirted workers were checking everyone’s seat. My guy was glued to his phone. I moved over to the middle of the court. It wasn’t crowded at all.  I was in the third tier and it was sunny and hot out. I was glad that this part of the stadium was in the shade. When I got there there were some doubles partners that were warming up. 

The first match between Russian Medvedev, ranked 4 in the world, and German Koepfer, ranked 50 was running a little late already. I settled down to watch a good match. It was hard fought in the first set, going to a tie breaker, but in the second set, the German fell apart. There was a German family in front of me and they were cheering him on in German. In the second set when he fell behind 3-0, they all got up and left, probably to go watch some other German player. 

It was fun to watch the tennis, see the strategy, watch the power and accuracy of the shots. I loved the donk donk sound of a ball hitting a racquet perfectly. I had experienced that sound a few times in my tennis career. In another way though it was easy to get hypnotized by the back and forth and forget who was winning, who was playing. Still it was great to see such good tennis. 

The second match was a Belarus player, Azurenka,  against a Russian player Putintseva. Azurenka was a former no. 1 player 10 years ago and a 2 time major winner. At 34 she was one of the elders of the tour but she was still going deep in tournaments and making a lot of money, $37,000,000 on the tour. In fact, you don’t have to be a world number one to be rich in tennis. Most of the ranked players are millionaires. It was a good match. You had to give it to the Russian. She never gave up and kept coming back again and again when you thought she was done. There was a Russian contingent in one of the bleachers that kept chants going for both Medvedev and Putintseva. 

I was sitting behind the tv control panel and could watch how they switched cameras around. Also they had one of those cameras that was suspended by cables and somehow could move anywhere it wanted. It was fascinating to me and I wondered how it worked. Between matches and during breaks the camera zoomed in on people and it seemed to be a source of major amusement when you saw your picture on 4 giant electronic signs. At one point they zeroed in on Mike Tyson, former boxer, and he looked embarrassed. When they zoomed in on him a few seconds later he showed off his biceps like Popeye. Then everybody else who got spotlighted on the camera started mimicking Mike. Maybe it was more fun than the tennis. Maybe we should all regularly meet in groups of thousands and project our images on giant electronic signs. Our 3 seconds of fame. 

Between the 2 and 3rd match I decided to go to another venue, the Grandstand to see the end of the Sinner and O’Connell match. However, the grandstand had much less seating so it was hard to get it. Also it was all in the beating sun. I headed back to my shady seat.

The last and most exciting match was the Spanish Alcaraz, world number 2, against Italian Musetti ranked number 24. Alcaraz is a very charismatic player who at age 20 has already won 27 million dollars. He occasionally made brilliant shots; sometimes between his legs, drop shots at impossible angles, and at one point while taking an overhead, he jumped up in the air before hitting it to presumably get more power. His game was more than just hit the ball back over and over and over. He won the match 6-3 , 6-3 but in reality, there wasn’t that much of a difference between the 2 players. Just a little at important moments. Musetti hit the ball incredibly hard and had some great shots too.  Sitting next to me was a nice young couple. He was from Brazil and she was from Argentina. They were living here and she was trying to learn English. They had met on an online dating site. At home, they spoke mostly Portuguese. 

After the Alcarez match was over, at 7:30 pm, the Brazilian said he would wait around and watch the next match even though our tickets only extended to that match. “How will they know?” he reasoned. Soon we found out. They cleared the entire stadium and checked every ticket to make sure that only evening ticket holders got a seat. 

Something weird was going on with my stomach. I was having minor diarrhea. I couldn’t figure out why. I rarely had that problem with my diet. I went to the bathroom and confirmed there was a problem, not of the solid kind but more of the liquid kind. I cleaned up. Hmmm. What was it? It must have been that coffee or that milk she put in it. Weird and uncomfortable. 

I was wondering if I could remember how to get back. I remembered 199 and turned there. I was looking for that Dunkin Donuts. Finally I saw it in the distance. I had done it. As I came up the 27th ave I saw the worst thing. The 27 bus was just leaving. I went to retrieve my can of beans. It was still there. I walked over to Dunkin and it was closed. Damn. I had been looking forward to that all day. 

I met another couple who was heading back. They were also Italian. They had an 8 year old boy who was sharp as a tack, even spoke English. The wife was nice and the father seemed out of it. He just sat by himself. Luckily, the bus came after only 15 minutes. We now had a long long ride to the Metrorail. 

We got there after about an hour and I got on. It was still another 30 minutes ride from there. I had met a woman at the Hamilton Show who had told me that the best jazz club in Miami was the Corner. I checked my body. It was surprising how tired I was. I hadn’t really done anything except sit there all day. Maybe all that concentration wore me out. I checked my map. If I got off one station early I would be only 7 blocks from the Corner. I debated.  Hmmm. I hadn’t had any food since 3 pm (missed dinner) , I had mild diarrhea, What about my sleep pattern? How would I get back? Cue Voice “Hey. You are in Miami”. I decided to go for it. 

I walked. Along the way I found a convenience store run by a family. The prices weren’t too bad. I bought some Chiboni yogurt, a banana and some peanuts. I ate the yogurt and half a banana. I found the club. In fact, though it was 11 pm. There were lots of people on the streets and around the club. Wait a minute. I had been here before. One of the street stage people had told me about this place as a jam session and I came here and they said it was no jam session. Still, I was here so I should go in. 

There was a 30ush young black doorman. He looked at me and said, “What do you want?” “I want to go in.” He kind of shook his head in disbelief. Did I look that bad? “I have to look in the bag”. I showed him all the stuff in there. Ok the plastic container was for my finished lunch. I wouldn’t need it again as I was not going to any more tennis. I threw it out. I drank the rest of my water. He looked at the can of beans and shook his head in disbelief. He patted me down. I had all my other stuff in my pockets. I had to take it all out to show him. “Look man. You have to buy something in there, You just can’t hang out. Man, talk about preconceptions and stereotypes. I tried to explain to him about the tennis tournament then finally just opened up my wallet and showed him the about $80 I had in there. “I have money man.” Reluctantly he let me in. 

Once inside I could see what kind of place this was. It was a hip cool place where young artists and wanna-be’s hung out. There was a small band with a beautiful young woman singing. Her voice was good but it was more her style and song selection that was outstanding. She sang unusual songs that other jazz musicians would never consider. The guitar player who greatly resembled a mole was very good in his squinting way. I stayed for a song and then of course they took a break. The doorman walked by. I showed him my diet coke. 

The bar was crowded and everyone seemed to know each other. I put on my mask. I really felt like I didn’t belong here. I couldn’t connect with anyone. What was wrong with me? Maybe I had become an introvert, someone uncomfortable being around people. 

I walked outside to get some air. I saw the singer walking back after getting a piece of pizza. I complimented her singing. She was so sweet. She wasn’t judging me at all. “Oh. You are a sax player. Great.” She didn’t have to be so nice, but she was. We exchanged insta. I went in to listen to the next set. At least the first 4 songs. 

I went. I was too uncomfortable in there. I considered my options. I looked up metermover. It closed at 12 am. It was now 11:59 pm. Never make it. I could LYFT. I looked at the map. It was just 11 blocks to Government Center.

The almost full moon was shining bright. The reflections were lovely. The building to my left was gleaming with hi-tech but subtle lights. It was like another world and it reflected off the nearby glass building. This was my world. This was where I felt comfortable. I saw an old black man in a wheelchair, who seemed to be struggling. 

“Are you ok sir? Do you need help.”  “I always need help” “are you hungry? I have a banana and some peanuts” “do you have any chocolate?” what am I a 7/11. “No, sorry” and I started to walk away. “What kind of peanuts do you have?” “I don’t know I havent had any yet.” I opened the bag and pulled out a good fistfful. He took them as another one of his friends walked. 

I walked away over the gleaming river to my refuge. I fell asleep by 1 am.