Travelogue #13
$8 of Eastern-European Venture Capitalists in The Castro
"You're very good," said the two eastern-europeans. I performed a bunch of Beatles songs for them (by request), and they in return taught me some Russian songs--one about and by a 40 year-old man who leaves his wife in order to marry a 15 year-old girl. The old man dies en-route to statutory seduction. They shelled out dollar bills, generously, genuinely smiling, adding in semi-broken English that "there's more money in komputers, venture kap-eeet-al-ism than music." They were right, but I still made $20 in an hour.
At one point in the night but later, these homosexual Thai gangbangers asked me to strip, so during each verse of "Summertime Blues", off went a layer of clothing (jacket, Russian sailor's shirt, green XL army shirt), until I was finally shirtless. People wolf-whistled, but the gangbangers were disappointed by my body. I defended myself: "I lost 10lbs already!" They only tipped $2. Crime doesn't pay.
Zappa-Berkeley-Frisco Connection
We're Only In It for the Money would not be possible without People's Park in Berkeley, CA. "Who Needs the Peace Corps" would not be possible. But the Haight-Ashbury? God help us all if Zappa had written that now. Bums everywhere, spanging amongst scared tourists and sneering, moneyed townies. Expensive headshops! Organic produce sold by long hairs and hippie-queens. Across the street from where I busked, a homeless couple had gotten into an argument on how to join/form the Grateful Dead. "What the fuck is the 'oh-nah-oh-a-who' stuff? You're making it up! You just put that together! You'll never be in the 'Dead," chastised the male, bearded street urchin to his street-wife. She responded with a "you're so mean, why do you have to be so mean!," and a "it's true! You need 'oh-nah-oh-who'!"
Lost souls. A professor-looking individual leaned by my seated figure, dropping a dollar into my case. "You like John Fahey?" Down the streets, some guy banged a bongo on the filthy street.
$8 of Eastern-European Venture Capitalists in The Castro
"You're very good," said the two eastern-europeans. I performed a bunch of Beatles songs for them (by request), and they in return taught me some Russian songs--one about and by a 40 year-old man who leaves his wife in order to marry a 15 year-old girl. The old man dies en-route to statutory seduction. They shelled out dollar bills, generously, genuinely smiling, adding in semi-broken English that "there's more money in komputers, venture kap-eeet-al-ism than music." They were right, but I still made $20 in an hour.
At one point in the night but later, these homosexual Thai gangbangers asked me to strip, so during each verse of "Summertime Blues", off went a layer of clothing (jacket, Russian sailor's shirt, green XL army shirt), until I was finally shirtless. People wolf-whistled, but the gangbangers were disappointed by my body. I defended myself: "I lost 10lbs already!" They only tipped $2. Crime doesn't pay.
Zappa-Berkeley-Frisco Connection
We're Only In It for the Money would not be possible without People's Park in Berkeley, CA. "Who Needs the Peace Corps" would not be possible. But the Haight-Ashbury? God help us all if Zappa had written that now. Bums everywhere, spanging amongst scared tourists and sneering, moneyed townies. Expensive headshops! Organic produce sold by long hairs and hippie-queens. Across the street from where I busked, a homeless couple had gotten into an argument on how to join/form the Grateful Dead. "What the fuck is the 'oh-nah-oh-a-who' stuff? You're making it up! You just put that together! You'll never be in the 'Dead," chastised the male, bearded street urchin to his street-wife. She responded with a "you're so mean, why do you have to be so mean!," and a "it's true! You need 'oh-nah-oh-who'!"
Lost souls. A professor-looking individual leaned by my seated figure, dropping a dollar into my case. "You like John Fahey?" Down the streets, some guy banged a bongo on the filthy street.
