Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Time in a Bottle

It's been over two years since I wrote a blog post.  Why?  No idea.  In the height of my blog, I wrote down interesting things as they happened in a little notebook, then wrote a post that night.  In Edinburgh, in 2012, I used to stay up till 4:00 AM Saturday nights just writing, while it was fresh.

On December 13, 2014 I wrote the account of a long marathon busking day in Northampton, in full elf regalia.  Then what happened?  I guess I hit a slump.  I still busked, but that's all I did.  I didn't blog.  I didn't record Youtube videos.  I didn't implement new puppet features or arrange new songs.  Was I not arranging songs because I was over it, or was I over it because I wasn't arranging songs?

I'm not sick of busking itself.  I'm just sick of my repertoire, and the interpersonal challenges.  I'm sick of interactions like this recent one:
          Man: "Can I take your picture?"
          Me: "Sure, I just appreciate a small donation for photos." (Only said because I was worried about not making money that night.)
          Man: "I might or I might not.  Give me a smile anyway."

I have drafts of blog posts saved.  One from an exciting day in Northampton in April of 2015.  One featuring comments from religious zealots in Canada, September 2015.  A long draft about busking in the subways in Boston from February of 2016.  I really think I just forgot to finish and post these.  And there were the big epic holidays that I never documented: Halloween in Toronto.  Elf Season #6.  New Year's Eve.  Fourth of July.  Not to mention the infinite one-liners.

But this isn't the post where I catch up.  This is the post where I pledge to catch my reader(s?) up on my tricky months living in Northampton, an autumn in Ontario, moving to Boston, that super-exciting first New Year's Eve here, playing in subway stations, etc.  My goal is to catch up by the time I start grad school at the end of June.  But I'm afraid that most of the content is lost, since I no longer take notes while I perform.  My inactivity compromised the output potential.

On December 31st, 2015, I sat in a living room, exhausted from busking for hours, and coaxed my friends into cheesily sharing goals for 2016.  Addressing my slump aloud for the first time, I told them how I hoped to be more of a busker that year.  To give it my all.  I awoke the next morning to find my image on the front of the Boston Globe.  Good sign!  But the rest didn't follow.

And so I'll end this prologue to the posts to come with the anecdote that provides context for the title of this post:

It was the 4th of July, 2016, and I was playing on the Boston Common.  At nine hours, it was my longest marathon ever.  Towards the end, an old man wearing pants with fireworks patterns on them approached me with what was unmistakably ballon twisting materials.  We had a nice chat, since I, too, was wearing Independence Day apparel and hoping to make money off of celebrators.

This man, for some reason, assumed I was wet behind the ears, and advised me to develop a large repertoire of popular music so I could play people's requests.  He told me about a time that he requested "Time in a Bottle" from a busker who could play anything.  After we said our goodbyes and the balloon guy started walking away, I launched into "Time in a Bottle," for the first time.  I was hoping for a smile that said "Aww, I was wrong, you CAN play songs on the spot and now you're playing the one I just mentioned that I like!"  He didn't turn around.

This post sounds sad, but really it's hopeful.  I am happy with the role busking has in my life right now, even if I wish I was more motivated, and I am above all grateful for what I have already accomplished.

If you're so inclined, stay tuned.




Friday, February 3, 2017

John Dumas: In Memorium

Earlier this week, I was saddened to hear about the death of John Dumas, manager of Ted's Boot Shop in Northampton, MA.

Throughout my busking career, certain people have stood out as incredibly kind, supportive, and welcoming.  John was one of them.  The grandson of the original owners of Ted's, he has been the manager there for decades.  I wouldn't have pegged the gruff marine veteran as someone who would get excited about elves and puppets, but he certainly proved me wrong.  John and I are as different as two people can be, but shared a mutual affection.

Photo from The Republican/Don Treeger

The busking pitches are few in Northampton, especially with the [aggressive] addition of Thornes' planters, so the sidewalk across from Ted's became my go-to pitch whenever I was in the area from about 2013 through 2015.  Sound wafting through doors and spectators blocking store entrances are inevitable issues that cause many businesses to complain about buskers, but John and his staff showed no signs of distress.

In fact, John routinely invited me inside to use the staff bathroom.  On cold December days, he demanded I come inside to warm up.  He coaxed his new employees into stepping outside to check out my act, and during his frequent cigarette breaks encouraged passersby to stop and watch.  If a crowd had gathered, he came outside just to make sure they had noticed my marionette's and my matching outfits.

In December of 2016, I returned to Northampton to busk after 18 months away.  John warmly greeted me and welcomed me back.  I occupied my mind that day thinking about my lovely relationship with Ted's, including the fact that I can see my reflection in their window, reminding me to smile.  I took this picture of exactly that.

Checking out my elven reflection
That day, I decided to ask John to take a picture with me, because I wanted to write him a shout-out on social media to commend him for his warmth and generosity over the years.  I chickened out, figuring I'd be back someday and would have other opportunities.  But no.

John was only 59, and seemed perfectly healthy (except for smoking) when I last saw him.  I don't know why he died, but I do know he was too young.  My heart truly goes out to his family, some of whom I knew from the shop, and friends.  I didn't know John well, but his extraordinary support went a long way.  He was truly a patron of the arts, and Northampton won't be the same without him.

Obituary: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/gazettenet/obituary.aspx?n=john-theodore-dumas&pid=183729073&fhid=15489