While playing in Back Bay, I became the subject of a BU student's photojournalism project. She said she'd e-mail me some of the photos she took (and she took a lot). I'll see if I think any of them are shareable. I got interviewed.

*~*~*~*

While I was walking out of my home T stop the other day, one of the T workers told me to keep playing, because music is the only thing in this world that's real anymore. I'm not sure I agree that it's the only real thing, but I appreciated the sentiment. I think music, of whatever genre, does give a lot of people a way to feel grounded when not much else seems stable.

*~*~*~*

I played my standard "Pop Goes The Weasel" for a couple little ones today. It's so cool to watch them listening politely to something they don't know, and then as soon as I play something they recognize, their little faces light up and they turn to their caretakers to share the moment.

*~*~*~*

Anyone want to buy a viola? I have one I'm selling for a couple grand. (It's not my Very Good Viola, obviously; I need that one, but it got me through my undergradute degree.)

I feel like a terrible slacker. I have been busking regularly (I'm back at Stony Brook, hurray!), but not much interesting has happened.

I do hesitate to wish for interesting, because it puts me in mind of the Chinese curse "May you live in interesting times", and I don't need thinks to be that interesting.

I did find out the fiddle needs a good cleaning and probably a new bridge. Such are the perils of playing outside and in subway stations, neither of which is the cleanest of all possible environments.

Oh, I did get asked for my permit at Government Center by a T inspector for the first time since Red Line guy harrassed me about playing during rush hour, but it was no big thing.

*~*~*~*

Incidentally, "can you play this piece?" is a different question from "do you know this piece?" I do have a passing familiarity with "Flight of the Bumblebee", but I can't actually play it. Yet. It's in the queue.

*~*~*~*

I'm afraid I did, in fact, kill this nice elderly man, since I play at South Station about once a week, and while I've seen many other people repeatedly, I haven't seen him since this incident.

I'm sorry, nice man.

At South Station, an elderly gentleman tossed some coins into my case and said "You're just what I needed this morning."

*~*~*~*

A family consisting of (I think) Mom, Grandma, and two small boys, hung out in the Public Garden for probably about half an hour, listening and dancing, and an unrelated woman videoed the very small boy dancing by himself.

And by "dancing", I mean "bouncing up and down in place with a huge grin." Very cute.

*~*~*~*

I started busking in April, when the weather was still fairly raw. I'll be interested to see how long I can stay outside until my fingers start freezing too much and I'll be driven underground. I have a friend who can knit hand wraps, which leave the fingers free, and I don't think they're too bulky to play in, but I should have her make me a pair and see how well they work.

Grasshoppers fiddle the spring and summer away and starve in the winter. Ants work all summer so they have food in the winter. Fiddlers keep all playing the year 'round to bring music to you, the people of Boston, whether you want it or not.

Dear Stony Brookites:

I'm sorry I haven't been around much lately. It's not you, it's me. Remember how I reappeared a couple weeks ago, and a few of you said you were pleased? I was glad to be back and all, but then the next week was spent with out-of-town visitors, and the week after that, I was just too tired to get up that morning.

This week? I tried, I honestly did...but the T kicked me out.

After I'd been playing for half an hour, a T courtesy officer came up and (very courteously) said that they thought my playing while electrical work was going on was a safety hazard, and would I mind stopping?

What could I do? I had to leave.

(She said she thought they'd be done next week, but I'll probably give it another week after that to make sure.)

I do still love you, and I'm trying to change.

Yours truly,

Fiddler