Forgotten Glockenspiel

There's been an eminent lack of tips lately. I've always admitted to my pursuit of busking being purely for the purposes of catharsis, practice, and providing entertainment. But hey, the money's a plus. And it sucks when people are super stingy just because they're in a super bad mood as a result of every single summer blockbuster this year being a load of codswallop. (Even that might be generous for DaVinci Code).

Maybe it's the heat, the recent life woes, or the inevitable feeling of going through the motions....at any rate, I've been noticing that I'm trying almost too hard to get tips from people lately. This desperation is, of course, exacerbated by the fact that everyone seems to be as miserable as I am. I'm not going all-out with mugging for my "audience" or anything, but I've been doing this weird thing where I kinda close my eyes when I'm singing, as if I'm channeling the Great Spirit or something to prove how well I can emote in the 59th Street Station. I mean, I do close my eyes sometimes, but this is way overboard. Luckily, I have all the aforementioned excuses as well as the ultimate one: this heat is freaking disgusting. After checking out Gore's documentary, I'm half-tempted to shut off my computer right now and pretend that I can feel the world's overall temp increase by some infintessimally small percentage.

On the ever-present upside, I rediscovered my love for the ole classic song "Mr. Bojangles." I know tons of folks have covered it, but I'm principally familiar with the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band's version. For anyone not already familiar, "Mr. Bojangles" is a melancholy little 3/4 tune about a preternaturally-gifted dancer who tours the fairs and the like in the South, impressing people with his deft moves and impossibly high jumps. I remember my dad used to love the song, and the first time he played it for me (in the car going somewhere...Abu Dhabi perhaps) I got a little choked up in spite of myself when Mr. Bojangles explains that he made his dancing rounds with his dog for 15 years before the latter "up and died."

I've always been a little too sensitive for my own good.

As a side effect from this obsession with Mr. B, I've had a sharp stab of homesickness, probably because of the delicious chain of Bojangles fried chicken restaurants that are studded around my hometown in NC.