Awktoeburr Boiz

When you want to talk on your cell phone, chances are you seek out the solitude of a nice, tranquil New York City subway station, right?

I didn't think so.

Well, some lady tonight did just that, and brough her two year old kid along for the joyride. She didn't seem to mind telling her boyfriend/husband/whoever over the phone that I was "some nobodeeee playing cowntry music and sanging and -- ow! I am naht in da mood for dis shit!" My temptation was to play a little louder -- after all, what did she expect? Trains were zooming all over the place. Well, mostly on the tracks. Anyway, I let it slide and she eventually retreated to an corner where my dastardly "cowntry" music couldn't offend her senses.

Not much else happened tonight...somebody told "God Bless You" when they made a donation tonight. I was touched at first, then thought that perhaps my singing voice resembled a sneeze. Or that I looked like a bum again.

I also failed to provide any of the requests of a certain donor. She asked if I knew any Bruce Springsteen, or a bevvy of 90s artists including Rob Thomas, Goo Goo Dolls, or Creed (shudder). And I couldn't think of a single song by any them! I like Springsteen, but the other requests were just never anything I'd considered learning before. I heard so much Creed in high school that I think I may be ready to give them a shot by the time I'm 50 something. But hopefully never. Still, I felt bad that my inner library of 90s music + Springsteen was failing miserably in public (although, to her discredit, she didn't seem to know who Oasis, Travis, or Radiohead were...how could she call herself a 90s fan?!?).

Later, I enjoyed some tasty sausage pizza (with requisite hot sauce) with my earnings. Busking's totally worth it if only for making obsolete my ATM card.