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 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 nineteen … 3.19.24

Me o my am me nineteen … 3.19.24

Remembering that in South Florida, Tuesday is the day that most museums are closed, I scheduled a non museum activity for today. I visited the biggest university in the area, the University of Miami. I was feeling kind of lazy so it was a bit of a struggle to get myself going and I didn’t get on the road till after 12. 

The University of Miami is a private research university that has a medical school, a law degree program, marine, atmospheric and earth science programs, one of the top five music programs in the country. It has 148 master’s programs and 67 doctoral programs. They excel in athletics too with 5 ncaa national titles in football since 1983 and making it to the final 4 last year in basketball. Their moniker is “the Hurricanes” or just “Canes” for short. 

The president of the school was Donna Shalala, former Secretary of Health and Human Services under Clinton. She was the chancellor from 2001=2015.  The school is predominantly a residential college. Tuition for a full time residential student is about $80,000 a year. The families that send their children here are primarily affluent (87%). The student body is very diverse with 42% white, 23% Latino and 9 % black, 14% foreign nationals and 5% Asian. The 

The school is 7 miles south of Miami downtown and is serviced by the Metrorial system with free shuttle buses running constantly. I rode the rail down in about 15 minutes and hopped on the bus. It was a beautiful day in the 70’s with a slight breeze. I just walked all around the campus. I stopped in the food courts and had some coffee and just sat there feeling the vibe. In the middle of the campus is a roughly circular lake about 300 yards in diameter. Next to the lake is an olympic size pool equipped with a 10 meter diving platform. The lanes were set up so that people could swim the 25 meter width. The pool was well used with people swimming laps. 

All of the buildings on campus are pure white. There is some interesting architecture on campus, especially the Lakeside village which is a mixed use residential and classroom. It has a very strange support system with huge concrete beams running at about 40 degree angles through the building. The music concert hall has a curved structure that is striking. Other buildings are for the most part rectangular and functional. 

A major donor to the school is the Frost Family. Phillip Frost is a medical inventor and investor. He was born into an observant Jewish family in 1936 and he is still very active. His net worth is 1.8 billion dollars. He is a medical doctor who became famous for inproving the asthma medications and turning companies around with that improvement. He went on to make many other products and improvements. He made the first spray Viagra as well. You can see his name plastered all over Miami. It is not unusual for him to donate 30 million dollars to start a museum or a school of education. He started the medical research program at University of Miami as well as the music school, not to mention the science museum in Miami. It must be nice to create whatever you want in a city. They are very generous with their donations. They live on a 6 acre estate on Star Island in Miami Beach. 

The school has a few artworks sprinkled around the campus but not a lot. The 240 acre campus is more functional though. The main decoration is the hundreds of palm trees and ferns that cover the school. I enjoyed just walking around and seeing all these amazing palm trees of every kind. Some are just straight skinny stalks that rise up like fireworks and then explode into ripples of leaves. The leaves are staggered and layered so they all get as much sun as possible. Some stalks are thick with layered trunks that show the hard growth over the years. Some of the palms are planted in rows that stand like citadels guarding the path. For someone who didn’t grow up with palm trees the trees never fail to amaze and delight me. 

I felt a little strange walking around, snapping pictures. I got a few funny looks but I wasn’t carrying my saxophone so nobody got alarmed. I didn’t really talk to anyone except the people at the coffee shop. I did listen in on some conversations and it was what you would expect of young students, talking about dating, or classes or what they were going to do that night. There were a lot of beautiful young people walking around, wearing skimpy clothes and sometimes stunning light outfits with stunning hairdos but mostly it seemed that the students were here to work hard and learn and get jobs. 

I did not take into account one thing and that was the art museum on campus which was of course closed. I may have to come back for that and for another dose of palm trees. 

I did talk to one student on the shuttle bus back. She was a freshman and I must say, really beautiful and wearing a sexy halter top. I asked her about her major and she said computer science. I asked her about the Greek System on campus and without hesitation she said it was 33% Greek. That’s a computer science person for you. She had all the data at her fingertips. She asked me what I did and I told her I was a travel writer, which is kind of true. I then realized that if you tell people you are a writer that they are often willing to talk to you and this gives a context for you asking them questions. What a great scheme to have conversations!

I asked her if she was a nerd and she laughed. She considered it a badge of honor. She mentioned Pi Day which was a few weeks ago. I asked her about pi and then I found out how smart she really was. She knew PI to 500 places. I know Pi to 10 places. I asked her how she did it and she said she grouped them into groups of 10 which she thought of as phone numbers. 10 rows with 5 phone numbers in each row. Then I asked if she knew the movie “Pi” which is different than the movie “Life of Pi”. I told her about it. It was a movie about a Hassidic New York mathematician who found that the name of God was a number. “You know, religious Jews aren’t supposed to say the name of God.” “Oh. You mean Yahyeh?” Boy was she smart. It was amazing to me to meet such a smart beautiful young student. I think our future is in good hands with talent like hers.

I had decided that I really wanted some of the juice drink that Keyla had given me the night before. She had told me it was on sale at Publix, 2 for $2.60. I got off at Brickell, one stop short of Government center where I knew there was a Publix. I found the product and sure enough they were on sale. I bought 8 of them. If I rationed them, they would last for the rest of my trip. I also bought a huge avocado, some asparagus on sale and some eggs. I stuffed it all into my backpack, except the eggs and walked home. It was a bit of a trek, 1 ½ miles but it was the only way I knew to get home other than Uber. 

I got home around 5:15 and had to make a decision. Would I go to play music or would I wait and go to the jam session at Neme. I had tried to get into the jam session the week before but they wouldn’t let me in because I had a backpack. Keyla had mentioned that she might want to go and sing a song at the jam session. I didn’t know how I could both play downtown and go to the Neme because I needed my gear to go downtown but they wouldn’t let me in Neme if I had a backpack. Instead during that time I just stayed home and relaxed, cleaned my room (you never know, maybe I could convince Keyla to come over) and ate. I headed out around 8:40 and arrived at Neme at about 9:30. 

This time they were much nicer. I had dressed up and put on my good pants with a nice clean t-shirt and a matching jacket. I didn’t see anyone inside really. “Oh the jam session usually gets started at 10:30 pm.” What? 10:30? That would mean maybe I would get to play one song at 11:30 and how would I get home? The trains stopped at 12. I called Keyla. She said she wasn’t coming either, she had a lot of work to do. 

Ok. This night was a disaster but it was ok. I just took the train back. It was a beautiful night. I could have tried to go to Lagpinae but I decided to go home and catch up on my sleep. On the way home 2 French women were just arriving for their vacation and they asked me to point them in the right direction for their Airbnb. No problem. I KNOW Miami now. Later as I walked home I saw there was a skateboard park right near the Flagler Bridge. There were about 35 young people having a blast and it was about 10 PM. What a great thing a skateboard park is. I wonder if that old parking lot across from North Side Hospital could be made into a skateboard park. The Alice Lev memorial Skateboard park. It’s a nice dream .

I met another tourist couple walking across the bridge. This place is lousy with tourists. Oh, yeah. I am a tourist too. No…..I am a travel writer.  I was already formulating a plan for tomorrow. I would get an early start and be well rested. 

January 10th, 2024 New Orleans day 25

January 10th, 2024 New Orleans day 25

It was a slow day again. I had to make some phone calls and reservations and I got some phone calls that slowed me down. I initially had ambitious plans to visit 2 museums but I decided in the end to just do one and save the other one for another day. By the time I got out the door it was 1 pm. My only plan after that was to go to the jazz museum which was run by the State of Louisiana and was the last of the 5 museum tickets to the state museums that I had bought about a week ago.

I waited for the streetcar and there were a few other tourists there who seemed confused. Lately I had been pretending that I lived in New Orleans. I would imply that to tourists and to locals I would say I just moved her or I was feeling it out. It was a harmless deception and really I just wanted to give some advice to the poor tourists who were completely lost as I had been a few weeks before.  

I made fairy good connection on the 12 and the 49 which let me off just blocks from the museum. As soon as I got in there at about 2 pm I heard some live music going on upstairs. I hadn’t realized that there would be a live concert at the museum from 2-3 pm. It was a local jazz singer and some of her family. Her name was Naydja Cojoe and she was a good jazz singer and also an entertainer. She knew how to work the audience, creating competitions between the men and the women, exhorting them to sing and clap and generally join in her continually teasing and laughing about relationships and everything else. It was a good show and the supporting musicians were great, especially her uncle who was the bass player and her brother who was a very good trumpeter. 

It was a nice surprise to see a free jazz concert but then on the other hand, it left me only an hour to see the museum, which wasn’t much. The museum was kind of minimal in what it offered though. Pictures of early New Orleans players, especially King Oliver, Louie Armstrong,  Dave Bartholomew, and Fats Domino. These were the early and influential players who influenced all the clothes. There was a line of succession. King Oliver influenced and mentored Louie Armstrong, who influenced all the others. Fats Domino had strings of hits with his style that incorporated various other features from different cultures to create a new sound. This new sound influenced rock and roll and some would say that this was the beginnings of rock and roll and many successful musicians like Elvis, Little Richard, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones all were influenced by this music.

There was also a section about drumming and how the drum set evolved from the brass marching bands. There were many military groups in New Orleans over the years and this music along with European music, African music, and Caribbean music all became assimilated to produce new sounds. At Congo Square in New Orleans, slaves were allowed to gather and play their music on Sundays. On other days however, they were prohibited from playing their drums. These Congo Square gatherings were a chance for slaves from different regions of Africa to play and hear new influences from around Africa and the world. There were a few good exhibits that tried to show how the African rhythms worked their way into the music. I barely had enough time to go through all the different exhibits. In the end I was just taking pictures of things that I wouldn’t have time to read later. I was still in the last exhibit room when the guy came to close things up. There was a whole part of the museum which dealt with the mint building that I didn’t have a chance to see. The jazz museum was housed in the former building one of three mint buildings in early US history. I talked to the ticket taker and she said if she was there the next day she would be willing to let me in to see the material another day. 

It was about 4:15.  I walked over to the river and was very happy to see that the OLD People were not monopolizing the best river spot. I couldn’t believe my good luck. I grabbed it and got ready to play. The only problem was that there was a woman selling something right there but on the other side of the walkway. I asked her if she minded if I played and she griped that anything would be better than the old couple playing the same songs all day. I tried to joke around with her but she was not really into that. She was probably just a sour pus. 

I asked her what she was selling and she was selling these little watermelon pins.  I was aware that the watermelon had become a symbol for those who support the Palestinains because it contains the colors of the Palestinian flag. She was probably feeling me out to see how I stood on the matter. I decided not to tip my hand at all to her. I didn’t want to get into a political discussion with her. I was there to enjoy playing music and to play music for others to enjoy, hopefully. 

I started playing and although no one really paid any attention to me, I was excited to be there because the sky was just incredibly beautiful. It looked like it was full of lambs wool, little dips and waves that covered 3/4ths of the sky. When it lit up it was going to be beautiful. I got excited and started making my own videos to remember. Something wonderful about a ship slowly making its way down the Mississippi with all its reflection creating pools of light that shimmer and dance magically before my eyes. 

The sunset somehow was disappointing. It was a dud in the eastern sky. I was accepting the fact that nothing would happen when suddenly the western sky lit up and came to life. It was amazing. There are some things though that you can’t photograph unless you are a skilled photographer with special equipment. I just tried to enjoy the moment. 

I played for the minimum 2 hours and was getting cold. I could hear Christopher playing below. I went down and said hello. I really didn’t want to deal with him. He seemed either too friendly or not friendly at all. It was his spot, afterall, he worked there, but he wasn’t very nice in the way he would cut people off, play over them, and of course his playing was way out of tune. Kirk had similar playing problems but he was always considerate when it came to allowing other people to play, no head games. I told Christopher that I would see him around. He didn’t know where Kirk was. 

I had forgotten to get a few things at the store the other day, so I decided to walk the 4 blocks to Rouses on Royal Street. When I got there I was surprised to see an attractive black woman singing there. I asked her and she seemed to be open to it. She was pretty good but she seemed really high on something. She seemed to be under the delusion that she was a big star. She was taking on all the mannerisms of someone speaking to a large audience. However, there was no one there. She had this funny way of suddenly opening her eyes completely open and looking surprised as if I had said something shocking but I didn’t. She was pretty good though and obviously had performed before. She also was good about letting me play my little solos. She liked my playing. I kind of played into her fantasies and let her be the big star. 

By now there was a bit of a crowd around her but they were not fans so much as her other rag tag friends, burn-outs and goons. There was one guy who seemed normal and nice to talk to. It turned out that he was her husband. He seemed very intelligent and well spoken, like an intellectual. I asked him if he was his wife’s manager. “Oh no. We keep our artistic endeavors separate. I am an author.” He said he had just finished writing a book. I asked him what it was about, but he insisted that he couldn’t tell me, I would have to buy it. “Why should I buy it if I don’t even know what it is about?” He was adamant. I had to reassess my opinion of him. Ok. Another delusional person. They were the delusional couple. 

I went in to get my stuff. I bought 18 eggs, some cheese, some frozen veggies etc. Enough to get me through the next few days. It was too much to stuff into my bag. I must have looked strange, carrying my broken backpack, my sax and a plastic bag with groceries. Still, there were far stranger people around and no one seemed to mind or notice. As I was standing there, getting ready to go, there was a group of people that included 2 older people, maybe 80-85 and their children; a family group. They were asking the great author where to go for music. I heard them and interrupted and said I was going to Frenchman Street and they were welcome to come along. I told them it was about a 15 minute walk and they agreed to go. The old woman especially seemed to sluff it off. “That’s nothing for us.” 

So we set off, a group of 6 with me as the leader. The old woman walked with me and seemed intensely interested in me. She wanted to know all about me. In a way it was nice to get the attention but she was giving me too much attention. They were from Melbourne and when I told them that I was contemplating a trip to Melbourne in the future they got all excited, especially her. She insisted that I write down their address and visit them when I got to Melbourne. I said I would. 

I told them that once we got to Frenchman street they could just walk up and down Frenchman Street and window shop and find the music they liked. Still I felt a little responsible for them. By now the woman was grabbing my arm and getting too close. It seemed like she was coming onto me. Her poor husband, who seemed rather out of it, seemed to notice and he seemed confused. About halfway there, the old woman for all her bluster, started limping noticeably. Maybe she was in denial. Some people are in denial about their age, you know. 

I had to be a cheerleader. “Only 3 more blocks folks.” We made it and we went into the Maison. There was a pretty good band there with a good keyboard player. I didn’t sit with them. I had done my job. I don’t like trying to talk in a loud club and having to yell or pass notes. The old woman wanted me to sit with them and kept coming over to me and begging me to sit with her. I couldn’t even hear her so I wrote a note. She kept trying to get me to come outside with her and talk to her in private. She was shameless. I stuck to my guns. They had all gone to a small table and ordered beers. I was at the bar and the bartender was ignoring me. After about 5 minutes I decided I didn’t like this band so much after all. I went to say goodbye to the family. The woman seemed like she was heartbroken and begged me to stay. I told her that maybe I would see them later. It’s been a while since I played the role of heartbreaker. 

I walked up to the next block and heard a good band inside the cafe Negril. There was a heavy black woman dressed up in a loud multi-colored leisure suit. She was really good and knew how to work the crowd. What really impressed me though was the sax player. He was great. When he played, everything came out lovely. It was like he was ripping a piece of cloth as he played. Like he was tearing the very fabric of time and space. It just flowed. I was mesmerized by his playing. 

I was camped out at the bar. The bartenders knew who I was; a deadbeat who was going to buy just a cheap drink and nurse it, and they seemed ok with it. They were used to it. I  tipped them a buck on my $3 diet pepsi and that was it. I stayed out of their way. I was feeling a little guilty about the old people. This band was much better. I went back and forth about it. Finally my conscience got the better of me and I went back to tell them that this place was better. Surprisingly I ran into the old woman. She somehow thought that I had gone somewhere with her son. She was confused. I told her that I hadn’t seen her son. She was freaking out that her son had disappeared. There was another son and I saw him. This one seemed very out of it, like a big child. He had a big box of candy that he was carrying around and wanted very much to give me some candy. I declined and told him that I would be in Negril if they wanted to come there. Finally they did and the old woman again kept coming up to me and tried to get cozy. The old guy had a hard time getting to the bar to pay for drinks and I knew that he would have a hard time operating the pay screen and the tip “suggestions….20 % 25% , 30%. The relentless pursuit of tips. This was an unfortunate aspect of live music in New Orleans.  

The band took a break and I went to talk to the sax player. He was a real nice down to earth guy. Not pretentious at all. We had a good conversation about music and sax. He seemed to actually like me. I could say we hit it off. We had similar ideas and senses of humor.  His name was John and when he asked me if I lived there I continued with my persona that I had just moved there. That seemed to make him more interested in talking with me. When I went to write down his name, I took out my little 6 by 6 notebook that I kept in the right pocket of my black suit jacket, he started laughing. “Wow man, you really are old school.” I love my little notebook but I had to admit, yeah, it was pretty old school.

The old people left. The woman wanted to hug me and I reluctantly agreed, she leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you in Melbourne dear Frank soon.” Right whatever. I was glad to see them leave. What a strange family. 

I hung around, mostly to listen to John. Finally I left around 11. I went down to the streetcar stop and was lucky, there was a car there waiting. I wouldn’t have to walk all the way home. I got off at Canal and there was another car waiting. What luck. I got home around 11:30, not too late. Tomorrow would be an early day.