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.
