Market
I have still been unable to blog from my phone... I'm going to contact Sprint's customer disservice department later today, I think, and attempt complaining again.
Currently, it's a little after noon, and I have only just woken up a little bit ago. I had some wicked strange dreams (I was a prosecutor on a cruise ship that sails black seas under blacker skies? I helped two girls that I liked back in middle school get out of some kind of trouble...).
I am incredibly tired... my body is telling me that I worked too hard yesterday, playing at the Farmer's Market in Gloversville. I played for three hours straight! No breaks. There was a steady flow of people, so I didn't want to stop and miss my chance to sell a CD or pick up a tip.
I had a great time playing and I did pick up quite a bit in tips. I also came home with a loaf of bread (which is delicious, by the way), that was given to me as a tip from the guy who makes his own bread.
I had a couple of weird experiences at the Farmer's Market this time around. I must warn you in advance that I'm going to tell it like it happened, which means reader's discretion is advised.
I was playing along about an hour into the gig when this hippie-ish looking cowboy appears at the muffin table next to were I was playing. He was loud and obnoxious, which complimented the shirt he was wearing. It read: I have the DICK, so I'm in CHARGE. He was wearing dark sunglasses, had a bushy goatee, and wore a cowboy hat. He was most definitely drunk.
Dick-man -- as I will now call him -- walk in front of where I was playing. He started calling out songs he wanted me to cover. (I thought to myself, If he says Freebird, I'm going to hit him over the head with my guitar case.) He suddenly got on this Michael Jackson kick. "Play, um, um... that one song by Michael Jackson... what was it called... c'mon man, um, um, Thriller! Play Thriller." I finished my song and explained that, No, I don't know any Michael Jackson, even Thriller, Billie Jean, and, yes, I can moonwalk, but, no, I'm not going to do it. He then switched to country. "Can you play country? You better play some country." I told him that I could play, Folsom Prison. He said, "Play Boy Named Sue." I told him that I don't know Boy Named Sue and that I would play Folsom Prison. He said, okay, and proceeded to walk behind my PA system and attempt to push me away from the microphone. I stopped playing the intro and said: "No. I'll sing into the mic. You sing loud." Then, I pointed to where I wanted him to stand. I played the song and Dick-man sang the last word in each line about two seconds after I sang it. I wish I had a picture of me playing with an oh-my-god-get-this-guy-away-from-me look on my face, while Dick-man posed and sang in his ridiculously inappropriate T-shirt. The song finished and he told me to play something else. I played Like a Rolling Stone by Bob Dylan, but explained that this was going to be "our last one together." Dick-man knew about a 10th of the words and sang them after I sang them. Part way through the song, he left my side and danced in front of where I was playing. He began yelling to me to turn it up and play louder. At the end of the song, I told him I wasn't going to turn it up and play louder because I was asked to play at this level. He then walked over next to me again and said in an angry, aggressive voice, "I'm going to take your guitar out of your hands and kick your fucking ass." I stared back at him. He said, "You don't think I can do it?" I said, "I do think you can do it" in a calm voice, "but, I don't think you will do it." Dick-man softened back up and said, "No. I won't do it." Then, he walked off to "yell at the judge" (the city judge takes part in a lot of community building activities and often comes to the Farmer's Market). Dick-man did yell at the judge and then returned to me to tell me what he had done. I was in the middle of a song and ignored him. Then, he patted me on the back like we were buddies and left.
After the gig, I was packing up and the Farmer's were packing up, when I tattooed guy walked into the pavilion. He began asking one older farmer-lady what I was doing and if I sounded good. He mumbled a lot and made odd gestures with his hands. He was clearly high on something. The farmer-lady made a comment that she was waiting for her husband to pick her up. The high-guy said, "Why are you always talking about your husband? Is he going to drive here in his truck? And then are you going to do him?"
I looked at the high-guy and said, "That was incredibly inappropriate." He went on to say that people fight in Gloversville and that it happens at night, but not during the day. He told us as a warning that we should watch out. I thanked him for the advice and he walked away mumbling and making hand gestures.
Other than Dick-man and High-guy, I had a great time playing. I had some young "fans" watching me play for multiple songs while their parents kept saying that they had to go. The kids kept saying, "No. We are having fun. We want to stay."
Victoria Bouffard -- fellow singer/songwriter -- stopped by for a while toward the end of my set. She took some pictures, which I downloaded from facebook and posted here:
Tips and bread:
The fans:
------
At open mic this past Thursday, the caffe was crowded!! It was a one song night and I decided to play You Don't Know How it Feels by Tom Petty. I invited Dave Scheffel to play Harmonica and Rik Kent to play Djimbe. It came out pretty good, I think. I got people to sing along, so that was cool.
Currently, it's a little after noon, and I have only just woken up a little bit ago. I had some wicked strange dreams (I was a prosecutor on a cruise ship that sails black seas under blacker skies? I helped two girls that I liked back in middle school get out of some kind of trouble...).
I am incredibly tired... my body is telling me that I worked too hard yesterday, playing at the Farmer's Market in Gloversville. I played for three hours straight! No breaks. There was a steady flow of people, so I didn't want to stop and miss my chance to sell a CD or pick up a tip.
I had a great time playing and I did pick up quite a bit in tips. I also came home with a loaf of bread (which is delicious, by the way), that was given to me as a tip from the guy who makes his own bread.
I had a couple of weird experiences at the Farmer's Market this time around. I must warn you in advance that I'm going to tell it like it happened, which means reader's discretion is advised.
I was playing along about an hour into the gig when this hippie-ish looking cowboy appears at the muffin table next to were I was playing. He was loud and obnoxious, which complimented the shirt he was wearing. It read: I have the DICK, so I'm in CHARGE. He was wearing dark sunglasses, had a bushy goatee, and wore a cowboy hat. He was most definitely drunk.
Dick-man -- as I will now call him -- walk in front of where I was playing. He started calling out songs he wanted me to cover. (I thought to myself, If he says Freebird, I'm going to hit him over the head with my guitar case.) He suddenly got on this Michael Jackson kick. "Play, um, um... that one song by Michael Jackson... what was it called... c'mon man, um, um, Thriller! Play Thriller." I finished my song and explained that, No, I don't know any Michael Jackson, even Thriller, Billie Jean, and, yes, I can moonwalk, but, no, I'm not going to do it. He then switched to country. "Can you play country? You better play some country." I told him that I could play, Folsom Prison. He said, "Play Boy Named Sue." I told him that I don't know Boy Named Sue and that I would play Folsom Prison. He said, okay, and proceeded to walk behind my PA system and attempt to push me away from the microphone. I stopped playing the intro and said: "No. I'll sing into the mic. You sing loud." Then, I pointed to where I wanted him to stand. I played the song and Dick-man sang the last word in each line about two seconds after I sang it. I wish I had a picture of me playing with an oh-my-god-get-this-guy-away-from-me look on my face, while Dick-man posed and sang in his ridiculously inappropriate T-shirt. The song finished and he told me to play something else. I played Like a Rolling Stone by Bob Dylan, but explained that this was going to be "our last one together." Dick-man knew about a 10th of the words and sang them after I sang them. Part way through the song, he left my side and danced in front of where I was playing. He began yelling to me to turn it up and play louder. At the end of the song, I told him I wasn't going to turn it up and play louder because I was asked to play at this level. He then walked over next to me again and said in an angry, aggressive voice, "I'm going to take your guitar out of your hands and kick your fucking ass." I stared back at him. He said, "You don't think I can do it?" I said, "I do think you can do it" in a calm voice, "but, I don't think you will do it." Dick-man softened back up and said, "No. I won't do it." Then, he walked off to "yell at the judge" (the city judge takes part in a lot of community building activities and often comes to the Farmer's Market). Dick-man did yell at the judge and then returned to me to tell me what he had done. I was in the middle of a song and ignored him. Then, he patted me on the back like we were buddies and left.
After the gig, I was packing up and the Farmer's were packing up, when I tattooed guy walked into the pavilion. He began asking one older farmer-lady what I was doing and if I sounded good. He mumbled a lot and made odd gestures with his hands. He was clearly high on something. The farmer-lady made a comment that she was waiting for her husband to pick her up. The high-guy said, "Why are you always talking about your husband? Is he going to drive here in his truck? And then are you going to do him?"
I looked at the high-guy and said, "That was incredibly inappropriate." He went on to say that people fight in Gloversville and that it happens at night, but not during the day. He told us as a warning that we should watch out. I thanked him for the advice and he walked away mumbling and making hand gestures.
Other than Dick-man and High-guy, I had a great time playing. I had some young "fans" watching me play for multiple songs while their parents kept saying that they had to go. The kids kept saying, "No. We are having fun. We want to stay."
Victoria Bouffard -- fellow singer/songwriter -- stopped by for a while toward the end of my set. She took some pictures, which I downloaded from facebook and posted here:
Tips and bread:
The fans:
------
At open mic this past Thursday, the caffe was crowded!! It was a one song night and I decided to play You Don't Know How it Feels by Tom Petty. I invited Dave Scheffel to play Harmonica and Rik Kent to play Djimbe. It came out pretty good, I think. I got people to sing along, so that was cool.