Happy Fourth of July.
As in, it was one, which seems to be a rare occurrence for me. Independence Day is great for Americans
who love and support their country (not me) and for people who drink during the
day/generally get wasted (also not me), so my previous experiences with the
holiday as an adult were underwhelming.
Even last year, when I was dutifully planning to celebrate from
Scotland, it rained.
However, this year was great. I can attribute it on my famous theory on busking making
formerly un-fun things fun (see past blog posts about New Year's Eve,
Valentine's Day, St. Patty's Day, Halloween, etc.), but this was my fourth
Fourth (heh) busking and the first fun one. I will elaborate on the sources of mirth throughout this
introduction.
I began the holiday working a strange shift at the Fish in
which the dining room was dead but there was an iced coffee line out the door
that six of us couldn't keep up with.
After the parade we got some business, so my red, white, and blue mardis
gras beads from a couple years ago didn't go unnoticed. I hopped on the 4:00 Flex to Ptown,
which was overrun by obnoxious [drunk?] teenage boys who spent the ride loudly
discussing bongs and “weird-ass shit.”
I was surprised to see the spot outside Cabot's Candy open
when I arrived around 5:00. This
has long been a favorite spot of mine so I jumped at it rather than checking
out the queue for Town Hall.
Marcia Mello was on the corner between me and Town Hall, but it didn't
seem to be a conflict. I stayed
there until 11:00, stopping for a half-hour firework break.
Source of Happy #1: The Cabot's Candy man. A man came out of the shop wearing an
apron and introduced himself, saying that he runs the place. Turns out he's the son of the older guy
I used to see. We discussed my
plans for the night (I was planning to move to Town Hall to give him a break)
but he allowed/encouraged me to stay on.
I told him of the restrictions his father had imposed in past years
(that I only play Italian songs if I'm not going to murder them; that I get
some lessons), and he said, “Well my father's not here.” Excellent. He continued to be super friendly, and asked if I could play
“Paloma Blanca.” He even tried
singing it for me, to no avail.
During the fireworks I took a break, and asked him what it would take to
allow me to use his bathroom. He
said I have to learn the Slim Whitaker version of the aforementioned song. Done. I also asked him if he'd be willing to keep an eye on my
stuff while I was inside, and he proclaimed that he was going to be so bored by
the fireworks anyway that looking at street level wouldn't be an inconvenience,
or something like that. Ha. I feel bad that I didn't go inside at
the end of the night to say goodbye and thank him. I hope this is my regular spot this year.
Town was indeed mobbed, getting more crowded the later it
got. The people-watching was
second to none with rare glimpses of garments in colors other than red, white,
and blue (actually, rare glimpses of garments at all, since it's Provincetown
we're talking about). Some people
had those baseball hats covered in sequins (I've always wanted one) and others
had shirts that broadcasted annoying messages like “Keep Calm and
'Merica.” Come on, you can
celebrate Independence Day without rubbing it in Britain's face. I could have made my point by playing
“God Save the Queen,” but it is, after all, the same tune as “My Country 'Tis
of Thee.”
Everyone was celebrating and it was infectious. The vibe was different after the
fireworks, since folks were trying to beat the crowds to their vehicles, but
there was a higher concentration of people since the traffic directors kept
stopping the flow of foot traffic to allow cars and buses and horseback cops to
pass through. I made some extra money
just from the exit crowds. Another busker setup diagonally from me, though,
outside a store that was closed.
He had amps and mics and was way too loud. It really pissed me off, since he had walked by me earlier
and clearly knew I was there, and must have known how loud he was (and he kept
turning up the volume...) The abundant police officers buzzing around walked by
him, but didn't ask him to turn it down.
I decided to let it go, just this once, because it was quarter to eleven
and the permit ends at eleven. And
I have to remember my goal of being friends with buskers.
Source of Happy #2: Seeing people I know. This post wouldn't be complete without
mentioning my awesome friends/coworkers Molly and Dylan who routinely stopped
by, looking awesome in their patriotic getups. They picked out songs, refilled my water bottle, brought me
ice cream, schemed about rides back to Wellfleet, etc. In addition to them, I saw a lot of
employees of both my restaurants.
I especially liked the presence of Pearl staff, since they don't know me
as a street performer yet. I was
so proud of what I was doing last night, and pleased that some of them now know
what I really do.
At times throughout the night I found myself thinking about
Scotland, since it is where I was a year ago. How time flies.
I tried to think about how Brits feel in the US on this day (surely
there were some in town), and tried to lure them in for a wee chat about it by
playing “Flower of Scotland.” (It
didn't work). Honestly, I bet
they're like, “Thank God. Good
riddance.” I ended the night
playing “Highland Cathedral.”
Source of Happy #3: I was playing really well. It's not often that I feel this is
true, but tonight my wrong notes were few and far between, and I was focusing
on dynamics and phrasing and stuff.
I guess it was all just too fun to space out, so I was really there and
paying attention to my music. I
tried some new “choreography” for Flaca too. I'm trying to improve my bellows work, not changing
direction at bad times (something that formal education would help with), so I
do such things as lean over to stretch my arm further and puff out my chest to
squeeze more air out of the instrument.
I like to think it improves the visual of the act, too. It was just one of those nights where I
loved being a busker, I loved my act, and I loved being back here. I hope I have many more years of doing this.
Without further ado.....
Thursday, July 4, 2013
1. The evening began with a warm welcome from three kids
from Kentucky. They sat, listened,
commented, and helpfully un-stuck Flaca's hand whenever it magneted itself to
the bell's clip (the act's newest annoyance). They gave me some ideas for the act, one of which I actually
really like. After discussing
having a second puppet to be Flaca's dance partner, the littlest girl suggested
that I have an even smaller puppet that Flaca is controlling. Brilliant! I like it, and I already have Flaca's
tiny handpainted wooden tip box...
2. A lady said
“Nice tiara!” in a squeaky voice.
It was funny because of the voice, the pronunciation (ti-AIR-a), and the
fact that my “tiara” is my piano headband. Compliment accepted!
3. I talked to some other buskers that night, including two
young men who had guitars and a cajon as well as a mini Schilling
accordion. Additionally, I met a
old-timey acoustic trio called Locust Honey who are up from Asheville. The three looked the part in floral
dresses and cowgirl boots, and I bet they're great. We negotiated spots and I gave them my Town Hall slot (not
at all generously, since I didn't want it).
4. One of the major themes of the night was serendipitously
bonding with kind strangers. A
super nice family had come into the Fish earlier that day, then they
unexpectedly saw their waitress in Ptown that night. I was struck by the warmth of the lot, and the adult manners
of the kids. I also want to give a
special shout-out to Ally from Denver.
She and I both suffered through the adolescent-ridden bus ride up, so
she stopped to talk. She's here on
business, but was flying solo in Ptown that night. Too bad I couldn't join her! She was super outgoing and friendly, and I feel like I have
a friend in Denver now. Love it.
5. I had another nice talk with a girl around my age who is
lamenting her student loans as well.
We talked quite a bit, and she gave me a great idea to solve my piano
dress conundrum (that there's no more piano fabric to be purchased on the
internet): I can simply make a white dress then patch chunks of the old
piano dress all over it! Perfect!
6. I had an adorable conversation with a kid I know from
Wellfleet (Erica's Zach) in which I asked him “How are you?” and he responded
just “How are you too?” He told me
that he had fireworks from New Hampshire and that they drove over three bridges
and through a tunnel to get there.
Sounds fun.
7. Is “Good Old Boy” a band? Something like that?
A guy asked if I knew any of their songs.
8. Here's a bad one: a middle-aged man walked by and said
“Practice practice practice.”
What's that supposed to mean!?
I have many different monologues retrospectively scripted that I would
have loved to deliver to him had I processed it all in time. Yeah, maybe if you stop and watch
you'll observe how much practice my act takes and cut me some slack.
9. On a
more victorious note, my comeback was on time for another unpleasant
commenter. A [drunk] white man
stopped to watch and asked, “Why don't you get a white doll?” I did some quick thinking and told him,
“Because a white doll wouldn't dance very well, now, would she?” Touché! Crafts 1, that guy 0.
10. “You play in Northampton, right? Can I request 'The Final
Countdown?'” Why yes you can,
neighbor!
11. This family walked by a few times featuring an adorable
blonde toddler and a dad carrying a tiny guitar. Finally we talked, and the dad said he has another tiny
guitar with a hinged head so he can throw it in a suitcase. Good call. He suggested I play a waltz so the little girl would dance,
and after a while she finally did, in full ballerina grace. Super cute.
12. Speaking of dancing, I realized that “Tiny Dancer” would
be a perfect song for Flaca and me to cover. Too bad I hate it.
13. I saw my coworker-and-new-friend Louie walk by and
yelled his name, unsuccessfully at first. Later, I entertained the idea of
simply playing the “Louie Louie” riff to get his attention. Next time.
14. One of the fruits of the people-watching was an
urban-fashion dressed guy wearing a studded baseball hat. I chuckled to myself (and thought about
two of my best friends from high school who would agree) when I considered that
he must wear it so pigeons don't land on his head.
15. Inspired by some Swiss houseguests a few weeks ago who
are doing a US road trip and collecting state quarters, I decided to catch up
with the popular trend of sixth grade and start my own collection. It was
pretty easy to keep adding on since my employment brings in cash, but it took
me a while to get #50: Texas. But
tonight I got it. Phew.
16. Some guys noticed my student loan sign and shouted
across the street about the new decision to double student loan rates. We yelled some more, commiserating, and
I told them I'm already at 6.8%. One of them jovially yelled back, “So we're
equally screwed!”
17. This little subtle one might be my favorite busking
moment ever. I want to learn more
classic rock, so the other day I arranged “All Day and All of the Night” by The
Kinks. It wasn't nearly ready to
perform, but I brought the sheet music just in case. Once I was sick of all my other songs, I whipped out the
music and tried to play it. I
became aware of someone attempting to sing along, which was difficult regarding
the frequency with which I was screwing it up, and finally looked up. What met my eyes was a perfect
hippie-ish older man with long gray hair, wearing a hand-written “The Kinks”
t-shirt. Great, of course THAT guy
walked by right at that moment.
Love it.
Throughout the night I was interrogating folks I know from
Wellfleet on their plans to get home, since I had stayed past the last bus and
hadn't fully nailed down my transportation. I finally ended up going home with this super nice family
from Sudbury that was staying in Wellfleet. I met them because I waited on them Wednesday morning at the
Fish. And then I waited on them
Wednesday night at the Pearl. And
then I waited on them Thursday morning at the Fish. And then they saw me busking! We spotted each other in Ptown and just laughed at the
frequency of our run-ins. And I
hadn't gotten around to telling them about this third job. The dad, there with his wife, eldest
daughter, and their friend who has a house in Wellfleet, said a nice
sentimental thing about how he has three daughters and so he's inclined to look
out for other daughters as well.
He would want other people to help out his daughters if they were out in
the world. Something like that. Only very well-said and touching. And so they drove me back. There was a ton of traffic, since
everyone goes up to Ptown for the fireworks then gets stuck in the bottleneck
where Route 6 goes down to one lane, and the ride took an hour. As a result, these folks know all about
me, about my past and future and family and goals. I know all about them, about their work, the other
daughters, their summer plans, their trip to Scotland. I sat next to Katie, the daughter who
was my age, which was nice. I feel
like these are generally people I know now, and I hope our paths cross
again. I bet they will, since they
come to Wellfleet several times a summer.
I got home around midnight, feeling great. My body had been pushed all day, so I
felt all stretchy and oxygenated; I had made lots of money; and I was touched,
entertained, and amused by all that had happened this night. I felt really optimistic about busking
this summer. As I climbed into the
outdoor shower (illuminated by a secondhand Fourth of July glowstick) to wash
off that day's espresso, ketchup, sweat, sunscreen, ice cream, and colorful
mardis gras bead residue, I was really giddy, having one of those “what a wonderful
world” moments, as an amazing display of stars glimmered above me. I'm already looking forward to next year!
