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| WARREN AND HIS BABY GIRL |
After my last blog entry, BUSKING: IT AIN’T LIKE IT USED TO BE, WEDNESDAY MAY 31ST, where I expressed how disgruntled I was with guitar busking in Regina nowadays, I packed my pencil and sketchpad and headed to the Legislative Landing in WASCANA PARK, REGINA SK where the Harley riders gather. Among these riders was Warren, and he was with his daughter, Abby (pictured above).
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| HARLEY DAVIDSON MOTORCYCLES AT THE LEGISLATIVE LANDING (photo courtesy of WARREN pictured above) |
And then after that I decided to make a last-ditch
busking effort with my guitar and harp at the downtown REGINA FARMERS’ MARKET.
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| BUSKING AT THE FARMERS' MARKET |
Ne’er a dull day busking there, or anywhere actually, I’ll describe just two characters who seemed to want to join me in song at the market, though neither of whom would I ever invite to do so.
First, I’ll describe “Ron.” Ron sauntered over from
the midway crowd and stood in silence only inches away from me for about a
minute before he started blowing his harmonica into my songs. Cap-a-pie and
frowsy, he was, from top to bottom. On his head
he wore a New York Yankees baseball cap, and over his beer paunch he stretched
and pulled a long-sleeve woolen. It was plus 30 degree Celsius! For his bottom half he had on plaid short, short pants,
with his socks pulled up to his knees. As he blew, he danced about flat-footed
in his hiking sandals. While I kept
strumming my 12-string and blowing my blues harp. Saying nary a word but posturing in my rather
passive-aggressive nature, Ron eventually exited my space and returned to the
crowd of passers-by.
And then came “Dale.”
Dale coasted out of the crowd on his bicycle, complete
with an I-Pad attached to the handlebars which was connected to a speaker strapped
to his back. His sound system was
blaring. “Can you tell it’s me singing?”
he asked as he rolled up right alongside me. Ron had that ‘60s hippy vibe, the
stereotypical signature long unkempt hair and wild mustache. Wearing a wrinkled and dirty white t-shirt, cut
off jean-shorts, he pedaled over with flip-flops on his feet. Again, as with the similar discomfit of Ron,
in my practiced passive-aggressive manner I gave him an I-don’t-know look, as he rode back into the throng while gesticulating a thumbs-up in the process.
Immediately upon my arrival at the Farmers’ Market I paid
my ten-dollar busking fee at the Information Booth. Before securing a buskspot, I was instructed
by the market personnel to get permission from all the surrounding vendors
before unslinging my guitar. As luck
would have it, I secured a space between Rod, a drummer who had been a member of several
former Regina bands, and singer-songwriter guitar-slinger, Bianca, who was still
currently in a band. Seeking permission
to strum between these two vendors? NO
PROBLEM.
I strummed and chatted and chatted and chatted and
strummed from 11:30ish until exactly 1:00 P.M. when the market closed.
FACTOID: After my
last blog entry, BUSKING: IT AIN’T LIKE IT USED TO BE, posted Wednesday on my
birthday, MAY 31ST, where I expressed how disgruntled I was with
guitar busking in Regina nowadays, I could not have guessed that the very next
blog entry (this one) could take such a pleasant turn!
CHEERS TO THE REGINA FARMERS’ MARKET -- MY DEUS
EX MACHINA!
Marching in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week:
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| BIANCA: MY VENDOR NEIGHBOUR AT THE MARKET |
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| ALL MY VENDOR NEIGHBOURS AT THE MARKET |
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