Friday, January 28, 2011

Some other days

Before last Tuesday, I played last Friday night and Saturday morning. There was not too much to report, but there's a little.

Friday night I went to the Castro. Once again, "my" spot had been taken by Aborto, the boys I tried playing with on MLK day. They have a "real" guitar, a funny homemade guitar, and a saw played with a violin bar. And they sing. I chose a spot outside a closed store near the movie theater which was good, because there was a long line outside the movie theater. In those cases, I try to play songs that everyone likes ("Fly Me To the Moon" is higher ranked than "Tetris Theme Song for 20 Minutes" in this category.) While I was playing a naked guy wearing red boots walked by. This is the second naked guy I've seen in the Castro. Hm. The highlight of this night was this older gentlemen who heard a song and commented, "That's beautiful! Is it Russian? What's it called?" I smiled and said "Bad Romance." (Lady Gaga, by the way. NOT Russian.)

Tonight I met Joan (like Miró, a boy). I had seen him before wheeling/hauling his music gear by me those nights when victory was mine regarding the corner of 18th street (HA!) but we had never talked (besides blowing raspberries behind his back). He approached me and we talked spots. He was also bummed to have seen Aborto in the good spot. He set up very close to me, which made me nervous cause he had an amp, but actually didn't play until he had assessed my volume. +50 points. After a bit, Aborto walked by me. They said they had packed up. I don't think I have ever moved faster. I kept my accordion strapped on, threw my backpack over one shoulder, and grabbed my box, wheels, and bungees and booked it to the corner. Luckily it was downhill. I got the spot, and continued playing at double speed, because my heat was beating really fast from moving that quickly.

Also this night I met a girl who had just come back from Paris. She certainly looked it with her red lipstick and boots. We talked a little, and I wish I had let all my guard down and said "LET'S BE FRIENDS" because I feel like from what I saw we would be friends, but now I probably won't see her again. Oh well.

After I packed up (hunger and evening chills got the better of me), I walked a bit and talked to Aborto in their new location and Joan. It turns out Aborto is from Michigan and are sort of on tour. They play until they have enough gas money to get to a new location. They were planning to leave the next morning for Los Angeles. I really like their sound, very folky with great harmonies. Dave, the one who's not John, has a really great singing voice. They gave me their demo CD but it's with their whole electric band and it's really weird.

Joan, as it turns out, lives right near me. I've been wanting to check out the bars right near my house, but not alone, so now I have someone to go with. We exchanged numbers but haven't met up yet. Unfortunately Aborto's gone, but if I ever need a full street band for a wedding or something I know have guitar (Joan), sax (Anthony), and myself.

As for Saturday, I don't remember much fun stuff. I planned to play at the Noe Valley Farmer's Market right by home, but there was a legit stage with a band, so I went back to the Ferry Building (fb). However I realized that I could have still just played on the street, cause there was a ton of foot traffic. I'm going to make babysitting mini-flyers and play there tomorrow and pass them out, since local kids go by a lot.
I got a good spot at the ferry building. There was a Raging Granny. And a pro-choice rally. And an orange vendor who like Lady Gaga, but what else is gnu? Although I did learn that taking the J Church to Market then transferring to the F Market is not the way to get there. It takes foreeever. Emma told me to stay on the J until Embarcardero, which is much faster. I did that on Tuesday, and it is! I'm glad I discovered that, since I have much more playing time now and less commuting time.

Off to play in the Castro, or maybe meet up with a new friend for dinner!!!

Signs!

An exciting thing in the career of Sophie's Smokin' Squeezebox is our new signs!

Sketch:

Final sign:

Supplementary sign:

The main sign is the third proudest I've ever been of anything (after learning the accordion and sewing an elf costume), as I never credited myself any visual art ability. I had planned to find a graphic designer to do this for me (perhaps the Colombian male model), but I couldn't wait any longer. I found that a ruler was very helpful in drawing the bellows, and my lovely red accordion was a great model.

Buying a Sharpie paint pen (silver) at the art store was a game changer, as was going back for black, gold, and red. It also helped a lot when I wrote the website really messily on the bottom, and since I didn't wait to white out deemed giving it a black border the only solution to fixing it. It took several days at Tim's interior-design-planning-desk, but now I'm a real gypsy. Let's hope they help.

Tuesday: great day busking

Tuesday was a really good day busking. As in, lots of crazy stuff happened. It was a beautiful day, and I was in the sun the whole time. I could feel new freckles popping up. That reminded me of Ptown. Stories in this entry:

1. Japanese tourists
2. The Hot Dog Guy
3. Anthony and his saxophone

and others.

Twice before I had played at the Ferry Building farmer's market, right among the booths, with no problem. "Today" (as I'll call it), I set up across from an apple stand. The man in charge of passing out apple slices this day (named Jamie, as I learned) LOVED IT. He was dancing around, and clapping and yelling "Bravo!" after every song. It's nice to have an audience. However, I wasn't making much money. This was the debut of my new signs, both the pretty logo one and the clever "Playing back my student loans!" that Tim had suggested. So far they were not making a difference. Right as I launched into "Eleanor Neary's" for the first time that day, a friendly cop came over. He asked if I had a port permit. This was the first I had heard about a port permit. He said it's necessary to play anywhere along the water, and that it includes Fisherman's Wharf. I told him that no one had mentioned it before, and he confessed that he actually likes my music and didn't want to stop me, but a farmer complained :( As I was packing up, Jamie ranted about how some farmers are just so grumpy. The cop did tell me, however, in confidence, that the island between the crosswalks was fair game. At the end of Market St. there is the "mainland," one crosswalk, a large sidewalk/island thing, another crosswalk, then the Ferry Building with the farmer's market. On weekends there is a man with a huge array of drums who sets up in that area, and another busker dare not try to compete. Luckily this was a Tuesday and there was no one else to be found. I set up with my back to the ferry building so everyone crossing over to it had to see and hear me. This was a little scary, (a la Don Quixote faced with windmills) because when the light changed a huge crowd of people would storm towards me. However, the move was great for business. As they waited on the mainland, they noticed me and could probably hear me, so they'd have time to decide to give me money and get their wallets out by the time they reached me. They also had to cross back after their farmer's market experience, so if they hadn't given me money the first time around, they'd have a second chance. As soon as one light finished, the other would change, letting the shoppers come back. I had a constant stream of foot traffic. Awesome. I think the sign did help, as two people talked to me about school.

Japanese Tourists


A group of young Asian men gathered around me. I made sure they were Japanese before trying to play "Sakura." One of them recognized it, but they were generally could have cared less that I was playing it. (It would have been a better story if they were Korean and I offended them.) Bailing on that means of expressing how familiar I am with Japan, I said "Nippongo wa wakarimasen" (which means either "I am Japanese," "I am not Japanese," "I speak Japanese," or "I do not speak Japansese"). Luckily, it means the last. They DID like that. I asked "Where in Japan are you from?" No answer. I asked "Tokyo?" and a few smiled and raised their hands. I tried "Kanegasaki," and much to my surprise, they reacted and pointed to one guy. (Kanegasaki is Amherst's tiny sister city, where I went on the exchange in 8th grade. I would not be surprised if most Japanese people haven't heard of it, so I was very surprised at this reaction.) I asked, "ARE YOU FROM KANEGASAKI?" No answer. "I WENT TO KANEGASAKI!" Every time I said the name, they got excited and repeated "Kanegasaki!!" It was clear that this was not an English-speaking group. I wished that I knew some Japanese; even the verb "to go" would have helped. I should have just listed all the people I know there. "Haruka Onodera?" (my host sister). "Mayor Takahashi? Hisayoshi Abe? Yoshie Chiba?" and everyone else in my mom's address book.

Before going on their way, they discussed something, and finally reached for the translator. "Pretty girl!" they announced. As they continued on I forgot the word "sayonara," so I said "oyasuminasai!" (Goodnight). They responded "oyasuminasai!" and went on their way. I love tourists.

The Note from the Hot Dog Guy


A woman came over and gave me a piece of paper. She said, "This is from the hot dog guy," and pointed to a vendor a little ways away, who waved. The note said, "ONE FREE HOT DOG for a slamming accordion jam! --The Hot Dog Guy." Awesome. I meant to go talk to him, and see if I could redeem this certificate some other day, since I had packed a lunch (and more importantly to see if he was cute, since this would be a great story to tell at our wedding), but I forgot in the excitement of the saxophone player. Even if I never find him, it'll be a great artifact in the Sophie's Smokin' Squeezebox museum one day.

Mediocre Juggler

A cute, puberty-ridden boy came up to me and said, "I am a middle school student. I am wondering if I could juggle next to you for a minute." I agreed, and his red beanbags took off. I switched to "Beer Barrel Polka" to sound most like a circus that I could. People's eyes lingered for longer than usual, which is further confirmation that my cousin Gideon, an expert juggler, should quit his day job and join me on the streets. It became clear that this kid wasn't a very good juggler; he kept dropping them and he didn't even do any tricks. Come on. His friend filmed it (I haven't found it on youtube yet), and when he took off he refused the couple bucks we had made while he was by my side. I hope that he keeps practicing and I run into him in Dublin or Toronto at Global Buskers Festivals.

Anthony the Saxophone Player


I first talked to Anthony el fin de semana pasada

[damn, I'm copying this from the hand-written version I did the other day, and at this point I decided to start writing in Spanish.]

I first talked to Anthony the previous weekend at the same farmer's market. He had asked me if they were "carding" buskers for permits, and I told them they weren't. That was the extent of our conversation. Anthony pushes around a shopping cart with his blue saxophone, a guitar, some paint buckets, etc. As with many people in San Francisco, due to fashion statements and such, it was hard to tell if he's homeless or not, as I had first suspected. He came by and talked to me a bit, we introduced ourselves and compared spots. I directed him in the direction away from where I had started, away from the anonymous grumpy farmer.

Later, when I was packing up he came by again and proposed that we play a song together. Okay. I have had trouble playing with other people in the past, because
a. the accordion is loud
b. not all instruments are tuned the same
c. weird homemade guitars can't always be tuned
d. who does what??
e. we don't know songs in common

None of these was a problem with Anthony. We were already in tune together, the saxophone is also loud, he clearly does the melody, and we know ALL songs in common. We tried a few songs from both our lists ("For the Longest Time," "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," and "Chim Chim Cheree") but our hit by far was The Turtles' "Happy Together. There was only one key I could do it in, because of the range of chords (Dm), but he was able to play in any key. I played chords on both hands (Dm C Bb A7) and he played the melody, and improvised all over the place. We just kept the chord progression going over and over, (skipping the chorus), and really got in a groove. For the first time, I knew what it felt like to "jam." (My "cool" quotient increased quite a bit.) People liked this collaboration even more than they liked the collaboration with the mediocre juggler, and it was hard to finally call it quits. We made plans to play together again, and discussed songs. He plays lots of motown classics, most of which I knew, that will be great together. This will also be good for my Theory training, since I'll be playing chords/improvising within a key on the keyboard side, which is something I don't usually do. You'll be hearing more about him for sure.

***
This particular sidewalk island is popular among skateboarders and trick bikers. Both parties kept wheeling by me and doing tricks. The smell of marijuana kept wafting by. I am undoubtedly always in interesting company when I play.

A man requested "Fernando's Hideaway." I have to look that one up, does anyone know it?

One last thing, I recently discovered the band "Beirut." I love them, and you should look them up. Their songs are also possible to play, and I have been adding "Nantes" and "Elephant Gun" to my repertoire. I can't wait for someone to recognize them!

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Happy Martin Luther King, Jr. Day!

Stevie Wonder was very important in the campaign to make Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. His song "Happy Birthday" on the 1980 album "Hotter than July" is about how MLK day should be a holiday. It is a gorgeous, fast-paced, emotional song, and it is a tradition in my family, on Martin Luther King day, to listen to it, and sing along. For some reason it occurred to me quite late to play this song on my accordion on the holiday. I was planning on getting an early start on Sunday to play at another Farmer's Market, but opted instead to learn the song. It sounds really empty with no percussion, so I was wracking my brain for where I had seen percussionists in the city. I unfolded a fantasy of getting a ton of street performer's together to play this song, with passersby singing along, but alas I had little time to assemble performers.

I decided to scoop people up as I went along on Sunday, and made lyric and chord sheets, in addition to a big sign encouraging people to stop and sing. Because of this, I didn't leave the house until about 3:30 pm. It was too late for the Farmer's Market, but I decided to go back to the Ferry building and set up near the vendors again, thinking tourists and kids would be out since it's a long weekend. People, however, were scarce, as were vendors. I decided to go to the Castro, my "usual" spot, since I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. Rather than just getting back on the bus, I started hoofing it, ipod playing. The time difference is really annoying. I like to call people while I'm walking, but the times I'm walking usually make it dinner time or past bedtime in the East. I walked by California St. where you get on *the* cable car, so there is always a line of tourists waiting (perfect for buskers). The area was already pretty monopolized by some teenagers breakdancing and a homeless man yelling.

It seems that I wandered into the "Tenderloin," the got-so-good area of the city. One guidebook said that it has that name because there is so much crime that the police get paid more, so they eat tenderloins. I decided to hop on a bus rather than wander deeper into it. Sure enough, I heard a commotion and saw some people wrestling around in the middle of Market St. I assumed it was a fist fight, but then someone on the phone next to me said "Whoa some black teenagers just robbed a Philippino woman!" Guess that's what happened. I talked to a bunch of people on the bus, beginning with a man who was shivering, in stark contrast to the basking I was doing in the warmth that is 50 degrees. I was not surprised to learn that this man is from Ethiopia. His eyes widened when I told him it was zero degrees where I come from. He kept talking to me, which I was okay with, but this other guy kept heckling him, both teasingly suggesting this man's affection for me, and suggesting that he leave me alone. My main concern with talking to him was just that I couldn't face forward when doing so, and I am known to get carsick.

Quick tangent about motion sickness: mine has come back in full force! When I was a kid I would get wicked carsick. It then abated in my teen years, and I could even read in the car. However, it has been affecting me a lot recently. San Francisco is not a city for the weak of stomach, since every means of transportation besides walking is equivocal to being on a roller coaster. Last weekend Tim took me on a driving tour which left me clutching my stomach and counting in Japanese, hoping to get home soon. I had to laugh aloud when we turned onto a street and Tim said "Do you know what this is? It is the windiest street in the world!" Fun as a tourist, not so fun when you're about to hurl anyway. Last night I was coming home on the Muni feeling a little nauseous (I think raw fish and antibiotics don't combine well) and I was trying to develop new strategies for distracting myself from carsickness while in motion. My mind first went to sun-warmed cats. I took a mental tour of my house where there were sleeping cats draped over each other on every windowsill (long haired cats, because they hold more heat). I picked some up and rubbed my face on their warm bellies. This seemed to help, and I officially recommend it as a nausea-lessening technique. Just don't think of the cats' tuna breath. This turned into pretending that I was not on the San Francisco Muni, but rather on the Cat Bus from "My Neighbor Totoro."

Anyway, I made it to the Castro and got my spot. It was late at this point, around 6:00. I set up my sign and got my lyric sheets ready, hoping to do some collaborating. This ended up being a really great night of work. A lot of people were out, since many people had work off on Monday, and the Castro is good for restaurants and bars. I played "Happy Birthday" quite a lot, and no one seemed to recognize it. People did, however, read the sign, and some asked me about it. Over the course of the night I got three parties to sing: first a young member of the San Francisco Gay Men's Choir (which the woman who I took to be his mother proudly told me--he just got in!) and the mother sang along. It wasn't a good model for inviting people to sing, I would have done better with a guitar so I could sing and be heard and they could join. The accordion is simply too loud for me to sing over, so it kind of flopped all three times. I decided to bring Tim and Andrea's guitar in addition when I did this on Monday. The second singers were two young women my age who were fun to talk to, but we had the same troubles. Thirdly, members of a local band came over. They were the best yet at following along. We joked (seriously talked about?) my joining their band for a couple numbers. Hm.

At one point a couple came over and one man was interested in the accordion itself. He decided to teach me some chords, assuming for some reason that I didn't know them. He placed my fingers on the keyboard and said "That's C minor augmented!" Yep, it was. He wanted to try the accordion. He made some pretty nice sounds, but was appalled when his partner gave me $10. "You took up a lot of her time" he explained. Good man.

At another point, a man walking with a woman stopped, looked right at me with a surprised expression, and said "...and we saw each other, just like this" [paused for dramatic effect, as did I] "...then we walked away." His friend said to me "thanks for modeling!" I was a prop in the story he was telling his friend about his awkward encounter (with his ex? boss in drag? long lost twin?)." This had certainly not happened before.

Another notable person in Sunday's story was the crazy man. I first spotted him in the middle of the road across the street in some sort of Tai Chi position. I'm glad he didn't get hit by a car. Next I saw he was to my left by the bus stop, his eyes closed, in a similar, strange position involving his arms. I hoped that he was being transported by my music. When I looked over again, he had removed his red sweatshirt and tied in around his head, babushka style. I imagine I'll see him again.

In addition to these people, there were an above average number of folks just making small talk, clapping, dancing, missing their pedestrian lights to keep listening, etc. It's these small things that make me deem a night successful or not, and nights full of these interactions make me truly love my "job." I really think the evening is the time to play, since people are more relaxed, going out to eat, going for an after-dinner stroll. I also prefer playing in the dark, it seems more mysterious or something.

The thing that made me sad, however, was how nobody knew the Stevie song. A. It's an important political song, and B. It's freakin Stevie Wonder! Even if it wasn't a political song everyone should know it. What made me even sadder is that as the lack of recognition of Stevie continued, the excitement at my Lady Gaga songs kept going strong. Lady Gaga is popular among the gay scene, I've noticed, and I was playing in the Castro, but it seemed like a shame to be getting better responses to it than to Stevie. Part of being a successful busker is catering to your passerby: playing "Lady of Spain" for old folks, "The Wheels on the Bus" for the very young folks, and Lady Gaga for the throngs of gay men, determined in Provincetown. Thus when I saw some older Black gentlemen walking by, I stereotyped and got my hopes up that they would be the ones to recognize the Stevie song, but alas they showed no sign. I was playing Gaga when they walked by again, and they did the typical routine of recognizing it, smiling, mouthing "lady gaga" to each other and doing the Bad Romance claws. Love it, usually. Not sure if I should resent Lady Gaga for that or just laugh in spite of myself for my stereotyping having gone wrong.

The last person in Sunday's tale is Ritchie, the young man who I noticed near the end of my set was sitting near me, crying. As I packed up I asked him what was wrong, if he wanted to talk about it, etc. He didn't respond. I packed up and started walking, and saw the neon for Hot Cookie. Hot Cookie is a tiny little store that sells cookies of the warm variety. I don't doubt that it's the front for a brothel or something, but the cookies looked damn good, so I bought one for Ritchie (although I didn't know his name yet). I hoped he'd still be there when I went back, because cookies cheer people up, but part of me hoped he wouldn't so then I could eat the cookie myself. He was indeed there, and asked me to sit with him. (Luckily he did share the cookie.) He said he didn't really want to talk about it, but then spilled a bit. He was having some friend problems and was feeling lonely. He asked if I ever feel lonely, and I told him about how lonely the solo busker's life is, realizing it more than ever as I said it aloud. He asked me to help him find his car. He parked, started drinking, and had forgotten where the car was. We wandered around many side streets looking for it, continuing our talk. He said he had gotten him palm read and the person said that he's an old soul trapped in a young body. Guess that's why he was having a senior moment regarding his car, eh? I got that warm feeling you get when you do a good deed, and explained the "pay it forward" tradition to him before we parted ways. I wonder if we'll ever meet again.

I didn't play much on Monday. For the first time, someone beat me to "my" spot. They were two young free spirits called "The Amazing Aborto Brothers." They were actually very good, with two guitars (one homemade) and vocal harmonies. For some numbers one of them played a saw with a violin bow. When I saw them in my spot I asked them if they wanted to collaborate on the song. They were into it, and we actually sounded okay. I set up a couple blocks up the hill in front of the Castro BART station, but didn't do very well. My wrists really really hurt. I've been playing every day, even if it's just practicing, in addition to pulling my accordion up big hills, and I'm getting sore from it. I really need to make stretching part of my routine. I folded after a very short time, but not before I talked to my first "regular." In Ptown I loved seeing the same people over and over, even if I didn't talk to them much. A guy approached me and gave an interesting suggestion, having seen me every time I've played in the Castro. He thought that the "freaks and circus" look doesn't work in the Castro. He's lived there for five years, and he has observed that the musicians that do the best there play it straight, simply giving their music. He thought I should wear all black next time and see how I did. It's interesting, I always thought that the crazier I dressed the better I'd do. I've been meaning to make piano tights and get red sparkly shoes, but I might put this plan on hold until further research is done.

The end, thanks for reading!

I <3 California

Soo I am starting to get in a busking routine. The weekend provided some excitement because there are Farmers' Markets. On Saturday there is a big one outside the Ferry Building that I planned to play at. Unfortunately, I slept very late that day and missed most of it. It takes a very long time to get over there, because the streetcar makes a lot of stops and is generally slow. I made it there around 1:30; the market ends at 2:00. I found a nice spot across from the dried fruit and nuts stand and did my business. It was a really gorgeous day, warm and sunny, and a lot of folks were outside, and in short sleeves.

At one point I looked into my box and saw three buds of loose marijuana sitting gracefully atop a dollar bill. I normally witness everything that people put in, but this one had gotten by me. I found it quite amusing (I was really in California now!) and also generous, as the monetary equivalent, had it been donated instead, would be enough to pack up for the day immediately.

Of course, on the bus ride home later I was worried that my backpack reeked of weed, but luckily I had a banana in my lunch which seemed to provide a stronger smell.

A lot of people were responding to my sign this day, reciting "Sophie's Smokin' Squeezebox" and smiling, pointing it out to their shopping companions. I think some people donate just for my name. Eventually the vendors packed up (although they stayed later than scheduled) and one farmer gave me two clementines. Mmm!

I moved to a spot on Market Street right near the Ferry Building where other vendors selling jewelry, scarves, and caricatures were set up. This was definitely a different part of town than the Castro, with more tourists and children. One pre-teen boy gave me money on his own, without his parents even noticing. That always warms my heart the most, and gives me hope for these particular kids' impending adolescences.

One older gentlemen came up after I played a "non-accordion" song; I believe it was "More Than a Woman." "Play a real song!" he suggested. When this happens I usually play the Milladoiro song "Vals de Libunca" (Mom--that means you can click the link to hear the song! Although it's an embarrassingly slow recording) unless the patron in question requests Lady of Spain or Beer Barrel Polka.

One vendor who was stationed further down the street came over and said, "You don't see us, but we're listening! Keep it up!" I should probably figure out how far my sound travels. I always think about my audience of passerby, the snippets they hear, what's going to draw them in, but I rarely think about the folks that hear all of every song I play. I sometimes use lulls in foot traffic to try to figure out new songs, but this reminded me that there is no time when no one is listening, in this line of work. This comment reminded me to really focus on my songs, because often I space out when my hands go on auto-pilot with the songs I know extremely well (and it's easy to space out after eating a PB&J that ended up sharing it's Ziploc with some weed due to the lack of another container). While I was playing here I also got a brochure in my box informing me that judgment day is May 21st, 2011. Uhoh!

My new favorite song to play is Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire." I first started playing around with it as an Elf when I grew sick of "The First Noel," and now it's in the starting rotation. It translates well to accordion because it can easily be broken up into three parts: chords, vocals, and brass. It is a right hand heavy song, since I do both vocals and brass on the keyboard side. This allows for the left hand to take it easy, just doing the chords in the right rhythm. Often when the right hand doesn't have much to do (say, just a melody) I try to mix things up in the left hand to keep it interesting, using such techniques as varying rhythms, alternate bass notes, actual melodic lines in the left hand, etc. However, coming up with and memorizing these variations is not my strong suit. I have played the accordion for 18 months. I have played piano for 17 years. I have formal training with the latter. Thus, I feel much more confident getting creative, complicated, and crazy with my right hand, on the keyboard side. If you listen to "Ring of Fire," you hear the brass start (ba, ba-ba ba-ba BA ba baaaaaa, ba ba-ba ba-ba BA ba baaaa), then it stops when Cash starts singing. Then it comes back in the pauses in the melody: "Love is a burning thing, [ba ba ba ba ba ba ba] and it makes a fiery ring [ba ba ba ba ba ba ba]." I do the brass in the higher octave, then jump down to the lower octave for the lyrics, to mimic Cash's deep voice, then jump back up when the brass comes in. It sounds cool, I enjoy playing it, and people recognize it. The perfect accordion busking song. I'll record it as soon as I wash my hair.

I always love observing other street performers, and seeing what people do. In Berekely I saw a ukelele player accompanied by a juggler, and it reminded me of the first time street performance ever popped in my head. When I started playing accordion I joked about taking it to the street with my cousin Gideon, who is an expert juggler, choreographing matching numbers under the name "Thea's Fault" (a family inside joke but also a good name for a band, right?) In another section of the Farmer's Market there was a young man with a typewriter advertising that he'll write quick poems on any topic you choose for a donation. He was getting business for sure. Why didn't I talk to him?

One last thing in this post: I was on the Muni home and I glanced up and saw Ruby dancing. It turns out I was in the perfect spot in the streetcar that my accordion box was reflected in the driver's mirror. This made me very happy. Here's a cell phone picture taken on the moving bus:

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Quick Relevant Post

Back from busking, day two! It would be so easy to go to bed, but I am going to be strong and jot down some stuff about San Francisco busking.

Busked on 18th and Castro twice. Both times the spot was open, and within a few minutes of starting another busker showed up, hoping to score that spot. Denieeeeddd. It's a very good spot outside Bank of America, because it has an area where the sidewalk widens where you can set up without impeding foot traffic. Also, it's at a stoplight so people have to stop and listen, whether they like it or not, or they get run over. It's also near two bus stops, so people getting off the bus suffer the same fate.

I went for a new look today, rather than doing my usual red polka dots. I reeeeally want piano tights, but they don't seem to exist. I bought black and white striped tights, which were the closest I could get, and wore them. I pretty much wore all black otherwise, so it was the mime-iest outfit yet. I did get compliments on the tights, but what I want to do is get a pair of solid white tights and sew the left leg to the right striped one. I will then put stickers on the white leg to look like the buttons, so my tights will match my accordion! Voilá!

Right when I set up, a man with an inflatable couch set up right next to me. He said he was just going to pass out cookies, and wouldn't be there more than an hour. He literally had a tray of delicious looking homemade cookies, and he passed them out. I was a bit nervous, especially because his first clients were children, but they didn't immediately fall over upon biting into them, so they couldn't have been THAT poisonous. He travels around just passing out cookies and meeting people, I guess. He was talkative and definitely in my space, so I can't say I was too sad when the police came over and asked him to move, since his couch was taking up a lot of the sidewalk. He grumbled to me saying it was the third time that day that happened.

The good news is that if I was going to get busted for playing without a permit, it would have been then. Cops doing their job came over, and didn't say a word to me (I think they even loitered to listen). I don't know the permit laws for the rest of the city, so I was going to risk it and claim that the information was impossible to find online (fact) if I was reprimanded.

A man told me he had a "Lady of Spain" story. This is actually the second time that I've heard that, but I can't remember the first Lady of Spain story. This one involved Bob and Terry, a latino couple. They were supposed to go to their high school prom together, but Bob stood Terry up. Ten years later he heard "Lady of Spain" on the radio, and it reminded him of Terry. He looked her up, she forgave him, and they got married. They were married for 52 years, until Bob died. I truly love when people share these stories with me, and this is why I need to keep the blog, so I remembered them.

A little boy walked by and, for the first time ever in San Fran, his caregiver allowed him to stop and listen. I asked his favorite song, expecting the usual catalog of "The Wheels on the Bus," "Old MacDonald," "Twinkle Twinkle," etc. Instead he asked me to play "God Bless America." Uhh, how does that one go? I limped through it, and he seemed satisfied. Sure you don't want "El Himno de Andalucia?" Soon after a man walked by and asked if I take requests. I granted his proposal, and he asked for "You Can't Always Get What You Want." He was a great coach, allowing me to play back each phrase he sang before continuing. Not a bad addition to my repertoire.

"Fly Me To the Moon" has been popular here. It never got much of a response in Ptown, but in SF it has made several couples dance at the street corner. One man even stated "That's my song!" I hope this trend continues, because it's a song I really like to play. As usual, Lady Gaga is good for business; I love the moment when people recognize the opening as Bad Romance and sing along, not infrequently clawing along as well. The problem with setting up at a streetlight is that people tend to cross when the light changes whether they're done listening to me or not. Therefore, some people recognize the song in the middle of the crosswalk and look back and grin, but that doesn't make me any money (fine, grinning is nice too, but I have expensive taste in shoes).

Sunday, when I played before, a couple started dancing, but the song wasn't conducive. I switched to a waltz and they ripped up the sidewalk around me. It was awesome. I met a Swiss man who was sure I was European. I really don't know any Swiss songs.

I was given a dude's number today! He wrote me a note on an uncharacteristic piece of butterfly-and-flower stationary. He's a piano player and composer, and teacher piano. I actually would like to pick up some tips on teaching instruments. The jury is still out on whether or not this man is actually Paul Giamatti, or just a look-alike.

Oh, a man finally recognized "Losing My Religion," and spoke up. I think it's one of my stronger songs, and I'm always disappointed that people don't react to it, or don't show it if they do.

It really is striking, as a busker, how few kids there are in this city. I forget the statistic, but San Francisco has the least kids per capita of any city, ever, or something. They say there are more dogs than kids, which doesn't surprise me. Kids are a busker's dream come true, because they're curious and fascinated and will ask for songs, and they all want to put money in the box so the parents dish it out (but more importantly, I feel happy showing kids an instrument, and hopefully inspiring them to play music). That really hasn't happened here. I played some requests (Twinkle Twinkle and Jingle Bells) for a girl eating cookies when Sofa Man was still there, but she and God Bless America boy have been the only ones so far. Although the kids might not hang out in the Castro, come to think of it.

Tomorrow, I'm going to try a new spot, where there are more tourists. Hopefully around the California St. cable car, or by the Ferry Building at Union Square. I'm getting pumped for the weekend and Farmer's Markets!

Oh, today I went to Berkeley and looked around a couple used bookstores. I scored some new sheet music, which I'm excited to study.

Till next time, Sophie's Smokin' Squeezebox.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Keeping Up

I'll keep these posts short, since this isn't a travel blog, but rather a busking blog. I do want to mention what I've been up to mainly for my own memories.

On Thursday, Riley and I packed a picnic (bread, cheese, hummus, oranges, yogurts) and headed to Golden Gate Park. We parked and walked around, it seems like a fantastic place to go every day if you live here, to ride bikes. However, it was freeeezing out. We power walked through the botanical garden, leaping between patches of sun. Saw some little baby redwoods.

Afterwards we walked down Haight, paying respects to the famous Haight Ashbury corner. We poked around through Amoeba Music, a massive record store to which I definitely plan to return. We went into amazing vintage clothing stores, this is a seriously cool area. We also ran into a Leveretteer, Zach Kaufman, with whom I attended elementary and high school. I didn't recognize him in time to stop and talk, but it was still cool to not be the only person from a town of 1,800 on the same block of a city 3,000 miles away.

We headed home after, because...I had a coffee date with Daniel the sushi chef! We spoke mostly Spanish, which was super great. I didn't understand him very well, but it was great to practice. I learned that he's part Czech, Italian, Basque, and Colombian, and he grew up in Colombia. We talked about work, and it turns out that one of his past jobs in Colombia was as a model. As you can imagine, he's super super hot. Apparently he's stopped all the time here and offered jobs modeling, but he doesn't want to go down that path. He's in art school now, and dreams of opening a restaurant, so he works as the head chef at Tamasei Sushi on 24th street. We had talked about accordion lessons in the restaurant, and he confessed this night that he wanted to learn to play just to play one song. He played me the song and asked if it would be possible. It's beautiful, and will be a good addition to my repertoire as we learn it together. Anyway, at this point my friend list in San Francisco was Gay Leprechaun, and, now, Colombian Male Model. Not bad.

On Friday we had a lazy morning. Tim and Andrea were scheduled to come back Saturday morning, so Riley and I spent some time tidying up, and unpacking. I wanted to see North Beach, another spot recommended to play in, so we decided to consolidate it with a trip through Chinatown. My legs were incredibly sore at this point. I've been pretty dormant since I left the Cape and stopped biking, so going full swing into walking several miles a day with ample hills has been rough. I wasn't as enthusiastic about traipsing all over the city on foot on Friday because of this. We saw Chinatown, and arrived in North Beach (Little Italy) in time for a snack, but didn't really seek out pitches.

I had another social night planned with Chris, a Stanford medical student from MA who I had met in Wellfleet last summer. He had told me that if I was ever in SF I should look him up, so I did. He lives in the Mission District, about a mile away. His roommates and some of their friends were having a little dinner get-together, which I attended. This was a really nice time. There were about ten cool, twenty-somethings, good food, and fun. It is exactly the kind of young lifestyle I yearn for and haven't established due to my roving gypsy nomad ways. The four roommates were really a household, cooking dinner together, with their stockings hung next to the Christmas tree. I engaged in conversations about such things as pi and 30 Rock. It reminded me of my brother's building family in LA, and the time he spent with his awesome downstairs neighbors. I felt the same warm welcome and immediate enjoyment with these folks as I did with Tito's folks when I visited last year.

We played the game "Celebrity," which is an elaborate charades type game, and I ended up on Team Suck, the title given to us by Team Awesome who decided on a name first. There was quite a bit of laughter because Team Suck actually did suck, leaving us quite a few points behind the awesomely-performing Team Awesome. I really hope that these people become characters in the San Francisco chapter of my tale, as I can envision many more fun times with them.

It's Saturday morning and Tim and Andrea are back from their ski trip! I believe Tim is taking me on Tim's Famous Drive-Around Tour of San Francisco, and then I am going to be brave and go to work for the first time here. It's a beautiful Saturday, and today's the day to make my move. Tonight will be my third planned social evening in a row, as I have been invited to the birthday party of Katina Papson, former art teacher at my high school and family friend. The attendees will be a bit older, and if they're anything like Katina, they'll be artsy and wonderful. Looking forward to networking further.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Wednesday

Happy Friday! I am writing from the windowseat overlooking my street. It's another beautiful day, albeit chilly! Riley is asleep on the couch in front of "House." Poor guy works nights, 11:00pm-7:00am.

Let's see, we left off on Wednesday morning. Riley and I hopped on the Muni, my first time on SF public transportation, to head into town. He had some errands to do, so I accompanied him. We walked all around, up Market street to the Ferry Building. We saw some pretty cool streetcars; I guess a lot of them come from other cities. We saw ones from LA, Cincinnati, and Milan. My main focus of this walk was to look for pitches (the word buskers use for the places they play). Over the course of the day we saw a tap dancer, a harmonica player, a guitarist, a man playing that Asian stringed thing (embarrassing, as a busker, to not know the name), a trumpeter, and...wait for it...a bagpiper!! Very cool. I kept meaning to approach them and talk, so ask about pitches and permits and stuff, but I still felt like a tourist rather than I busker so I didn't. I did, however, like some of the spots, and will try them out. The ferry building was cool, with lots of shops, and it's right on the bay. It was really nice to see water. Riley pointed out all sorts of stores, restaurants, bars, etc. that he likes, and I got to see his cute little apartment.

I had Wednesday afternoon to myself, since Riley worked at 3:00 that day. George, the old cleaning man, suggested playing at the corner of 18th and Castro, which was only about a mile away, so I decided to wander around my neighborhood, making that my destination. There's an certain excitement of going out alone for the first time in a new city. My experience most comparable to my move here is Sevilla, since both moves will last four months, and they're both cities that were completely new to me. The difference, of course, is that I fit in here; I can pass as a local a lot more easily (until I open my mouth and say "wicked"). I chose to leave the camera and guidebook at home, as walked as if I knew where I was going in my new boots (boots also make everything more fun).

One hindrance to wandering a foreign city on my own is that I have a pretty much negative sense of direction. I was under the impression that my road ran North-South, and that it was perpendicular to the road we had had Sushi on, my other point of reference. It turns out that neither of these is true, so it took a few laps around my block to start to alter my mental map. Luckily, in my area, the roads are numbered, with non-numbered roads alternating, so my destination was not hard to find. It was, however, hard to access because it is up, and then down, a very large hill. All of the local image I had gained by wearing cool boots and donning a cool leather purse and walking with confidence disappeared when I chugged up that hill, panting, clutching my side, and stripping off all my sweaters. Real locals jogged past me as I wondered to myself why I hadn't brought my water bottle. My knees made all sorts of crazy sounds. Imagine what it'll be like when I do this walk with an accordion!! Finally on the downhill the Castro neighborhood appeared before me (maybe it's not THE Castro neighborhood, but it's on Castro street). It immediately seemed like a good place to play, with ample foot traffic.

I was stopped by a young woman working for Greenpeace, and struck up conversation with her, as I wanted to do with as many people as I could this night. She was super nice, and a great saleswoman, and right when I was about to suggest she get whale earrings, I saw them dangling from her second holes. I should have signed up in exchange for sleepovers and pedicures. Alexis--if you're reading this, be my friend??

I saw a guitar player tuning in an alley, and once again chickened out of talking to him. Finally 18th street was upon me, and it in fact looked like a great place. I will definitely be going back there. A thing about the streets: in addition to the street signs, the names are engraved into the sidewalk at intersections. Riley explained that this is for the event of an earthquake, since the signs would all be down. They also enable newcomers such as myself to keep oriented without having to look around and find the right angle to locate the street signs. I decided to turn around at that point, rather than get lost on the other side of Market Street. I was feeling a little lonely, and wanted to talk to people, but didn't really know how. I hoped that my confident boot-walking would convince another newcomer to town that I was worthy of asking directions, then the two of us would explore the city together. No such luck. I headed back up the hill, which actually gave a beautiful view of the city at twilight.

I kept walking along 24th street, near mine, where the Sushi place is, and who should I bump into but Daniel the sushi chef from the night before! It was amazing to have this completely chance encounter with the one person I had met in this city so far (well not really chance, since he was on his way to work and I was walking by his place of employment). He was speaking Spanish on the phone, so once he hung up we began conversation in Spanish. In addition to seeking an accordion student and someone to design my logo (for both Daniel had potential), I wanted to find someone to speak Spanish with. I had given him my card the previous night, and he accidentally sent it out with the restaurant laundry. He said he was just going to hope he ran into me. This was a good omen for making friends here. We agreed to meet up on Sunday, and I kept wandering.

I saw a ton of strollers, and really wanted to chat up those pushing them. I didn't, but starting planning what I'll say on my babysitting flier I plan to make soon. I thought of Sasha as I walked down Valencia street. My legs ached at this point, and I was happy to get back home and collapse on the couch with the ancient boxer, Arrow. I found an episode of How I Met Your Mother on TV, and it happened to be the one where Lily moves to San Francisco. Perfect! Still on East Coast time, I went to bed super early, resting up for more adventures the next day.

Before I forget

There was one very exciting event that occurred during my journey that I forgot to include in my last post! I have a very small collection of Incomplete Human Figurines Found in Bodies of Water. Specifically, this collection had two items: the leg I found in the DAR lake in Goshen, MA, and a headless baby I found in the Wellfleet Bay. This was hardly a collection at two, so I am happy to announce that it is now a collection of three!! On my way up the airplane caterpillar thing at SFO, something caught my eye. In a smooth move I picked it up and kept walking. It was a headless Indiana Jones lego. Score. It just means that I have to add an asterisk to the collection title to include airplane caterpillars, but this collection is ever growing.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

To San Francisco!

I am writing from San Francisco! Today was an exhausting and fun-filled day of transportation and orientation. My day began at 6:00 AM in Carlisle, MA, at the home of the aunt/uncle/cousins with whom I stayed when I was Elfing in Boston. Laura drove me in to work (Cambridge) with her, and I took the T to the airport. This was the first time using the beautiful green backpacking backpack given to me for Christmas by my parents, and I felt like a real traveler. It took some time to locate my center of gravity, but that's half the fun. I was a traveler sandwich, wedged between the backpack on my back and my little red backpack on my front. I pulled my accordion on its wheels, as usual. My accordion box is now a beautiful sight. Leverett artist and family friend Lindsay Palermo saw it as a canvas, and now it is a Roving Gypsy Box.



As anticipated, I received many compliments on the box. One little girl announced, "It must be a musical box!" I explained that the cat was Ruby and the dog was Badger, and their significance. She turned to another little girl and said, "It's Wuby and Badgew!" I arrived at the airport with no definite solution to my luggage problem: I wanted to bring my accordion as carry-on but I wanted to keep the wheels with me for transportation purposes, yet this left me with too much stuff on board. People suggested that they would let me bring it, since it was a mobility device. I considered wearing a wrist brace and busting out my broken wrist if need be.

Even so, I sort of hid it while I checked my backpack so they wouldn't see it, then booked it out of the check-in area. The next challenge was security. After emptying my new PINK camelbak ("You chugged that water like it was vodka!") I loaded everything through, and had to take apart the wheels and box due to size, which made me nervous. I used the new full-body scanner! It's kind of exciting, you go in this black box, put one foot in each blue rectangle, and cross your hands above your head. I asked the guy if he could see my metal wrist, and he said he wasn't the person who looked at it. (Nor did he ask if there was a fun story behind my metal wrist, oddly enough.)

A man asked, "Is this your box?" "Yes! And that's my kitty, and that-" "I'm going to need to take a look inside." I was glad that I had decided to pad the accordion with socks rather than with underwear. He closely examined it, ran his drug wand through it, and ran it through the scanner a couple more times. Another TSA guy (the token fun one) did inquire about my box, so I showed him the accordion and told him about Ruby and had a grand old time. I rebungeed, pleased that I had made it through the second of three stages of potential wheel confiscation unscathed. At this point it was time to seek bagels. When I flew out of Logan to go to Spain, there was a Bruegger's at my gate. Thus, I associate Logan with bagels. Unfortunately, terminal B has no bagels to be found. I got a banana and some M&Ms instead to serve as my second breakfast.

Finally it was time to board, and in a third stroke of luck (or leniency) my wheels prevailed. My box fit fine in the overhead rack, but since we were full, the flight attendant suggested I leave my wheels in the back with her. Fine. I took my seat, and was disappointed to realize that I was seated next to Baron and Baroness von Grumpypants. They were NOT interested in smalltalk about the woman's kindle. I had to go the entire flight without talking. That's another thing, kindles. I saw a ton of them. I can definitely see the advantage sizewise while flying, as I was wrestling books in and out of my backpack, but it's so public. Everyone can clearly see what you're reading, especially since you can zoom the text way in. A woman in my row on my second flight was reading Pride and Prejudice and a size of about ten words a page, so everyone in our area could read along (which was actually fun). I saw another kindle bear the text of "Shadow of the Wind," my amazing summer read, and briefly chatted up the man behind it, not giving away the incredible ending, but promising that he would love it.

We arrived in Chicago, where I had an hour layover (ample time to find bagels). However, I was the last person off the plane because I had to wait for my wheels, and thus missed most of my layover. I left the plane with a flight attendant, who complimented and asked about my box. I told her my spiel, the first telling of the journey. I was leaving from the same gate, on the same plane it turned out, and it was pretty much time to board again by the time I got off.

I looked around the crowd at the gate choosing people I hoped would be seated next to me. My first choice was the woman my age with a Berkeley sweatshirt and a guitar (my new BFF in SF?). I ended up with a middle aged woman and who appeared to be her mother. The former was nice, joking when I sat on them to get out, and engaging in slight conversation at times. Finally we landed in San Francisco and I went to meet Riley, my tour guide. I am staying, for starters at least, with my mom's college roommate Andrea and her husband Tim. They have a daughter, Lucy, who is a freshman at Wesleyan. They are skiiing in Aspen for the week, and Riley, an emergency room technician who works with Andrea, is housesitting, and agreed to pick me up and show me around. He is a wonderful, spunky guy, and quickly became my first [sassy gay] friend in San Francisco.

We went home to Noe Valley, excitedly looking out the windows. It's such an amazing sight, with palm trees and cool houses and the legendary hills. After a much-needed shower, Riley and I set off on foot around the neighborhood. The house is right in Noe Valley, and there are a ton of cute shops and restaurants a mere few steps away. We window shopped and decided to stop for sushi.

There is this adorable hole in the wall sushi place right there. We sat at the bar and had a wonderful dinner chatting with the old Japanese woman who was singing along with the Beatles songs playing, and the young man, Daniel, who was preparing our dinner. It was an absolutely delicious dinner, broadening our horizons a bit, and giving Riley and me a chance to bond. My "job" came up, and Daniel inquired about accordion lessons. It turns out he's in art school for advertising, so I mentioned needing a logo. We agreed to barter accordion lessons for a Sophie's Smokin' Squeezebox logo. My social and professional opportunities were already beginning.

We went home, and I fought to stay awake until 9:30 CA time, when I slept and slept.

Now it's a beautiful San Francisco morning! I'm drinking tea and orange juice, and Riley is watching CSI on TV. I'm going to accompany him on some errands that necessitate the Muni (public transportation), and see more of this amazing city.