minstrlmummr: (Tuba Rocker)
Just sorting through some loosely-connected thoughts.



Which is all my long-winded way of saying I never had another nurse want my nursing job so much that s/he intentionally made it impossible for EITHER of us to work, just to force me to go away.



(Suggestions of other places where singers in search of audiences ought to go are welcome.       The open mikes I've visited have shown uneven promise...and purchase requirements.     I have been paid for my act by one of the toughest audiences in the country and now feel a curious reluctance to pay for the "privilege" of singing at venues...)
minstrlmummr: (southparkme)
"My" subway platform was, on my arrival, occupied by a highly resonant  Kenny  G  wannabe  with  a soprano sax and a cranked boom box.    He played some of the most aggressive "smooth jazz" I've heard in a long time   =80

I murmured a quick prayer for the passengers' ears and moved on.     One side effect of using a car is that my Metrocard is now a pay-by-trip rather than unlimited, so I sometimes zigzag downtown and uptown to change trains on the same fare (the other fare cash is turned into gasoline).     By a circuitous route, I found myself on the unoccupied  "A" train platform at Penn Station.      The busier stations are not my favorite during the week  because of the number of trains.     There's a bit of a formula to platform selection involving the  tunnel acoustics, the highest volume your act generates, and how many trains come through, how often (indicates the size of your audience but also how much of their attention you'll be able to command).       Frankly,  Soprano-Sax Boy would have had no problem playing right through the four trains which were sometimes in the station.   

However.

Soprano-Sax Boy was nowhere to be found when a young lady approached me and identified herself as an intern for a local daily free paper.       They were doing a piece on subway buskers and would I mind being interviewed / recorded?      (So there, Soprano-Sax Boy!)   I gave her my card in case I actually make the cut this time  (If she finds a B-boy dance group or something like that, I am of course out of luck, but...).     I worked hard for a little over an hour, then...my body urgently commanded my attention.   This doesn't happen to me very often, but this time I had to close down my show and  hie me unto the facilities.    (I knocked over someone's suitcase in my tearing haste.   sigh).     While  I was there, I  slowly became aware that there was some sort of altercation going on  somewhere in the vast  porcelain labyrinth between me and the door.    An altercation involving angry shouting (demands of "I  WANT MY  M$#!*&^$ING MONEY!!!!!") and the announcement "There's a police officer coming in!!"     I deemed it prudent to remain right where the hell I was until it became niiiiiiiice and quiet again out there.       

So here's my question:    If my being nudged out of my profitable platform (where the passengers know me and like me) into a place where there was an intern with a notepad  was Divine Providence,    what the  f%$#  was that other $#!t ? 

If I ever hear from the intern, I'll keep y'all posted...

BTW, apologies to [personal profile] woodwindy  --  my clothes for Investiture won't be new like I once planned.     I will, however, be wearing clothes    8)     8)

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minstrlmummr: Line from Wonder Woman movie:  "What I do is not up to you." (Default)
minstrlmummr

April 2014

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