Of all the things, I got a tip at the shoe shop. Two bucks. I guess I just never thought that would happen. Does this mean I am the only one we know who has ever gotten a tip at the shoemakers? So I’ll go on about the shop for a little while. First, it was a good move seeking out and taking that position. It is brutal out on the streets. We have people regularly in the door offering to do any work we have available. Today, two guys were in asking for $5 of work because their car had run out of gas on 20th (around the corner). Recent statistics show that there are still close to seven unemployed adults for every job opening in town. At least I am keeping the status quo and the shoe shop has proven far steadier work than the alternatives, or so I keep hearing.
This brings up an interesting statistic of my own. In this life, the total amount I have made as a bass player is $165,635.05. (Not a revealing figure, as I play many instruments besides the bass.) All of it was not profit like you get with drywall contractors, but it is still an impressive chunk of cash for somebody who has never wasted a minute in a recording studio. Or had a bass lesson. My original motivation to be a performer was a bow-legged guitarist with the unlikely name of Jesse Demko.
In those days I hung out with Zim (Michael Zimmerman) and Smitty (Graham Smith). They heard Jesse play and thought “neat music”. I heard him play and thought “I can do that.” I believe Zim bought himself a hardware store in the foothills and Smitty went on to manage a furniture chain. They are the only two of my childhood buddies who ever got married. And divorced. (So did many other people I know, but they were not part of my gang. Rusty, who is married, did not arrive on the scene until some ten years later.)
Since I am not able to afford the Arduino chip this week, I began looking at a brief holiday if my finances improve as expected. A nice choice seems to be the “City of New Orleans”, the passenger train that runs up to Chicago out of New Orleans. I’ve talked about it; now I’ll look into some prices and schedules. That would be the longest train ride of my life. All I know is that I’ll be gone 500 miles when the day is done. My intention is to travel first class although that has to be within reason. As with untalented women and toilet paper, above a certain dollar amount, the differences in quality become imperceptible.
I see there is now a regular ferry boat service on the Orinoco. It goes to Puerto Ayacucho and bills itself as a “riverboat”. I cannot find the city, if it even is a city, on maps of my scale. That sounds like a real adventure, I’ve crossed the Orinoco probably forty times, but never sailed it. As usual, I would be traveling alone since I’ve never been able to find anyone to accompany me. It was a little scary at first, but you get used to making do on your own—and paying double occupancy rates. I’ve met people with the time and money, but they snobbishly don’t like to “go bush”. I once walked 850 miles through the jungle just because I felt like it.
[Author’s note: don’t make assumptions. I walked along roadways and paths through the jungle, sometimes catching a lift with a chicken farmer or bus when it rained too hard. I stayed in little hotels or with women I met along the way. I camped out once, and it was in a government park along a river in northeastern Mexico. You cannot travel like this anymore. You will get robbed. The one thing television has taught criminals the world over is that the police are just another gang most of the time.]
