AndNotDayVille
A certain busker I know did very well, indeed, during the Grey Cup Sunday just past.
So much so that, at the end of the night, the guitar case was filled to bursting with all manner of bills, many of which ended in zeros.
All of which totalled up to something approaching the second of the four words in the title of what some consider to be Wes Anderson's best Hungarian movie.
.
So.
Given all that, I, for one, had been very keen to see how things would go during the Swiftian invasion of downtown Lotusland this weekend.
Alas, the take from the first of the three nights that will finally end the interminable era was much reduced compared to that generated by those who revere a game with just three downs and the ghost of Annis Stukus.
Why?
Well, one credible hypothesis put forward by said busker is that, unlike Grey Cup fans, the Swifties were not bombed out of their minds when they exited the venue and poured into the train station.
It also turns out that a great many of Ms. Swift's fans prefer to spread joy and prosperity by dropping friendship bracelets into the proverbial hat rather than cold, hard cash.
Go figure.
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Earworm in the subheader?...The transit cops in the station where the busker was working last night said that they hoped to see her again tonight as they think her singing helps calm the madding crowd...Which brings us, of course, to...This!
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4 comments:
When I lived in London (the real London in the UK), I became friendly with several buskers (I was stuffing containers with wormy antiques for the American market and was a sort of go-for working in a "back bar" at pub) and was astonished at the "coin of the realm" they made and the odd US dollar or two.
The "balladeers" tended to make 30 to 50 quid a day, depending on the weather and the chalk artists (chalk artists made lovely murals on the pavement) tended to make more depending on the subject matter, location, weather, and tourist traffic.
I soon found out that the common Brit understood that a good busker was good for the soul of the city and was rewarded likewise. Being a busker was deemed just as important as a good "puller of beer" and one always tipped for good service.
Sadly, in Lotus Land, tips are expected no matter what and quality of service or quality of livability has been forgotten.
As the holiday season ramps up, I have saved my rolled quarters, and dimes (I save throughout the year) and will leave them in the tip jars of the few places I frequent for a quiet coffee, mostly listening to canned music, yearning for those days some 45 years ago when real music, good music filled the air, from the balladeers, who would be amply rewarded for their soothing songs.
This begs the question, will A.I. soon demand to be tipped? Bitcoin you say?
Given what some of them payed for their tickets and hotel rooms, I'm not surprised!
Go Figure ? To clueless to realize they are clueless immediately springs to mind.
The end of an era.
Thank heavens.
Thanks for your great and thoughtful comment EE--
Have fun disbursing all those coin rolls!
And, if you can bring yourself to enter them...While the quality does vary, there is some excellent busking happening in the train stations these days.
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GarFish--
Apparently, there were some cheap behind the stage tickets to be found in the beginning, but even those were going for hugely inflated prices by the time the weekend arrived.
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Keith--
While cluelessness most definitely abounds across our modern life, E tells me that, in this specific case, it was just too many kids in too small a space who were in too much of a frenzy to stop and listen to anything as they rushed on by.
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