Note to Tim: It's pronounced "uh-SHOW-ken."

Curse the lack of a schwa on this keyboard.

Unless you're working with teenagers, in which case "Ashcan Farewell" works just fine.

Played in Back Bay; there was a man down there panhandling, as in just going up and (very softly) asking people for change. I think he asked me as I was getting off the train, but since he was behind me and very soft-spoken, I didn't really register it until a couple minutes later.

So I'm busking, and he's lurking around at the base of the stairs asking people for money, and I'm thinking this is probably hurting my income since people who aren't giving him money probably aren't going to be pulling out their wallets right next to him to give me money.

Then a guy comes up, and since I was playing, I couldn't hear him very well, but as far as I could tell, he was giving Mr. Panhandler a talking-to about responsibility and how, when I was asking strangers for money, I was earning it, and he should be ashamed to be upstaged by a woman (it was a guy-to-guy sort of talk, so I didn't take offense). Then he gave me a dollar and gave Mr. Panhandler the silver he had.

Then he stood there and listened to me intently until the next train came, and showed me a picture of his parents, and told me about how he just found out a couple months ago that he's part Irish, and ran through the mix of African, Native American, and European blood in his family.

Then the train came. Nice guy, really.

*~*~*~*

So I'm trying to figure out what T stations are favorable to busk at in the winter, since many aren't heated. North Station and South Station should be fine, Government Center probably, Back Bay will depend on the weather. Stony Brook will probably be right out (sorry, Stony Brookians; I've been gone for a couple weeks again, but I'll be back Friday, hopefully...I would have come this Friday, but I was accosted by a very friendly kitten). I don't want to go too far out on the Red Line, and I understand Harvard is quite competitive anyway. Park Street and Downtown Crossing just aren't comfortable places to fiddle. (Park Street Red Line might be OK, but it's almost always taken).

I'm open to suggestions, from those of you what might ride the T to places I normally don't.

The Fiddler Lives!

In case anyone was wondering, all is well in Fiddlerland. My non-fiddling life became very busy, for positive reasons, for a little while there, and during that time I got a respectable sunburn on my shoulders, which meant that playing was a little too painful for me to care to attempt. But it's healing nicely, and I'm resuming my fiddling schedule as of today.

Would be nice if it stopped raining sometime this afternoon, but that may be too much to hope for.

*~*~*~*

At South Station a couple weeks ago, a young professional male came down the stairs, glared at me, snapped "*something unintelligible* You're annoying!" and stalked off.

I felt bad for myself for a few seconds, and then I felt sorry for him that his day was already going so poorly that he had to insult a random stranger before 9AM.

Also a nice man who heard him said, "Well, I like it...um, sorry I don't have any money."

Incidentally, nobody should feel obligated to apologize for not having money or choosing not to tip.

You, sir, however...yes, the one who walked by me flipping through a money clip with at least a couple Ben Franklins, among smaller bills? That was just cruel.

The heat from Hades kept me off the streets and out of the subway most of this week, so I don't have a great deal to report. (My big boss at my day job basically told me not to busk. Not that he has any power over what I do in my off time, but it was kind of him to think of me.)

*~*~*~*

One woman said that my version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" was "the saddest I've ever heard." I wasn't really going for sad, but I do play it on the slow side and a little syrupy, so I suppose I can see that. It's a melancholy sort of song anyway.

*~*~*~*

I was playing on City Hall Plaza (incidentally, the garish blue 9/11 memorial panels are gone. Not sure of the backstory there) and a woman tipped me and said, "Thank you for making Boston a better place." That was a warm fuzzy.

*~*~*~*

Very small children are extremely cute in their tipping because they come toddling up and try to hand me the tip while I'm playing, which doesn't so much work, what with my hands both being busy. Their parents usually set them right.

*~*~*~*

A guy named Mark, who appeared to be in his mid-40s at youngest was telling me his sob story about having just gotten back from Iraq and as soon as he got back, his wife divorced him so he doesn't have a house anymore, and he hasn't eaten in a day and a half and so on. I ended up giving him three dollars out of my case because I'm a soft touch. (This is not a suggestion, because if this happens frequently, I'm liable to turn sarcastic, and that never ends well.)

Lovely day for busking today. Mid-70s, sunny, and the tree I often play under seems to have been trimmed a bit so it only hit me in the face a couple times.

*~*~*~*

A small boy named Jack asked in a very tiny voice if I would play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Of course I did. I hope he starts taking violin lessons; I should have thought to ask if he does or intends to. He's old enough for Suzuki.

*~*~*~*

I make it a point to try to thank everyone who tips me. I have discovered that it takes some time, while I'm playing, for the language part of my brain to kick in, especially if I'm trying not to let it affect my playing. So if I see a tip coming, I can get out an audible "Thank you!"

If it's snuck up on me, it can range anywhere from a very soft "thank you" to an overly loud "THRAWK YURGH!"

Perhaps the Fiddler needs to work on multitasking.

I'm starting to get recognized. Someone else on the Orange Line asked me if I'm the violinist who plays at South Station sometimes. I acknowledged as how I am, and she thanked me for playing so beautifully.

So far, I'm only recognized when carrying the fiddle, though. I doubt people really look at my face much, and that's fine.

*~*~*~*

A while back, I saw another violinist playing at Government Center, and he was barely audible. I was worried for a little that maybe I'm not very audible either, but then I remembered that one friend had heard me from downstairs at North Station when I was playing upstairs, and someone else said she could hear me from the dog area on the Common when I was playing by the duckling statues in the Public Garden, so that's all right.

*~*~*~*

I have found "76 Trombones" to be an excellent earworm. I'll hear people wandering away whistling it when I'm done. I almost had to quit playing it once though when I was in the Public Garden, and Professor Harold Hill came strolling by.

I still don't know where he was going, but nobody dresses like that unless they're in The Music Man.

*~*~*~*

Speaking of clothing, maybe the Fiddler is getting old and cranky, but who lets their ten-year-old out in public in a shirt that says "SEXY GIRL"? Seriously.

I'm baaaack. It's nice to skip town for a few days. I was in Seattle briefly, where I saw a trio of buskers outside Pike Place Market, with a sign that read something like "PHOTOS ARE OK, BUT IT IS POLITE TO TIP FOR THEM."

I can't count the number of people I've noticed taking my photo from a distance behind a tree and then scurrying off. I don't really care, but do they think I'm going to chase them down, waving my bow threateningly, unless they give me a dollar?

Hmmm...

*~*~*~*

I saw a gentleman in North Station whom I see about every time I play there; he usually tips. This time, he tipped, went a little ways away to make a phone call, came back, and held his cell phone up to me so whoever was on the other end could hear what I was playing. I felt like I should have been doing something a little more upscale than "Arkansas Traveler" (aka the Baby Bumblebee song), but whatever.

*~*~*~*

I was unpacking in the Public Garden, and a woman gave me a handful of change before I'd even started. I'm going with the theory that she's heard me before, because otherwise, it doesn't make sense. Not that I'm complaining about being handed money randomly.

*~*~*~*

Traveling on the Orange Line, a woman said to her toddler son, "Look, it's the violin lady!"

I'm becoming notorious or something.

Time keeps passing while I'm not paying attention, but I wanted to mention that the Fiddler will be out of town for the next few days, and busking may or may not occur during that time. I'll be back (and exhausted) on Monday; will try to post you a little something Tuesday.

Incidentally, I'm afraid I'm going to have to learn "My Heart Will Go On" from Titanic. I've had two or three requests for it, and it's not difficult; I'm just not particularly fond of the song or the movie.

I was working in retail when that movie came out; I did see it in the theatre, but my favorite discussion of it came from two of my coworkers. K couldn't remember which main character died (and if that is in any way a spoiler, I can't help you).

K: I liked it, but now I can't remember how it ends.
M: The. Ship. Sinks.

I was playing at South Station, and a woman came up and said, in a charming Latina accent, "You touch my heart."

*~*~*~*

In the space of a short time in the Public Garden, I saw a man wearing one of those traditional Chinese cone-shaped hats (he did not appear to be of Chinese descent), a young man with a large blond Afro wearing a bright orange stocking cap perched on top of it, and a small child run out in front of a motorcycle cop.

I'm not sure which of the three was the greatest cause for concern.

*~*~*~*

I committed a breach of performance etiquette and took a cell phone call while I was busking, during which two people tipped me. Um.

*~*~*~*

On the Fourth, I played in the Public Garden with an emphasis on the American side of things, with folk songs and patriotic songs and American fiddle tunes. I'm not sure anyone else found it as amusing as I did, but "76 Trombones" lies surprisingly well on the violin.

*~*~*~*

I was playing "Chicken Reel" in Back Bay, and a woman came up and said, "I had walked by, but I heard that and thought 'This woman deserves a dollar.' You're funny."

At last, "Chicken Reel" gets its due.

*~*~*~*

Dear Fellow Performer:

I realize it's astoundingly bad etiquette to steal someone else's pitch. But when your pitch consists of a couple milk crates, a hat with a dollar in it, a CD, and what appeared to be a week's worth of Metros, and you didn't come back for half an hour, what did you really expect?

To your credit, you weren't mad, and we chatted for a while (although I could have done without the hot dog bun crumbs being sprayed at me while you talked), and I certainly understand that nature calls, but I waited for a good five minutes and was playing for another twenty before you reappeared. Anyway, you have my card if you want to contact me.

*~*~*~*

I was recounting this story to a friend, who asked me how many street performers are doing it as their sole source of income. I have no idea of the answer to this. For a while, I was considering trying it, but it's so unpredictable, and your income is completely dependent on the whims of other people. In the summer, I think it would be fine, but it could make for some hard winters, unless you're an ant rather than a grasshopper. I have been a grasshopper, which is why I need the busking money now, but I'm slowly developing more ant-like qualities.

*~*~*~*

I was playing on the Green Line platform in Government Center, and a family of four was dancing along. What a good way to distract the kids from the fact that they're waiting forever for a train. That was sweet.

*~*~*~*

An older lady with more bags than teeth came up to me, gave me a handful of change, and wished me Happy Holidays. I was thinking she was not entirely oriented in time, but someone pointed out that it's almost the Fourth of July.

I think this may be a regional difference, as where I'm originally from, people may say "Have a good holiday" for Independence Day, but not "Happy Holidays."

Or maybe she really wasn't oriented in time.

Often, people walking by will smile and give me a thumbs up. I keep hoping they're not Australian.

*~*~*~*

I'm identifying different types of tippers. There's the ones who try to surreptitiously drop their tips in my case as they hurry by, no eye contact please. There's the ones who make sure to show me what they're giving me, usually with a big smile. There's the ones who try to slam dunk their change into the case (subdivided into those who succeed and those who have it bounce back at them and have to retrieve it...or leave it for me to retrieve). Then there's the ones who make change.

Now all I need is catchy labels for them.

I don't think I've had any "dippers" yet (people who look like they're leaving a tip, but instead actually take money), and if I have, I'm happier not knowing it.

And then there's the very small children who just know that Daddy gave them a dollar and told them to put it in the nice lady's case, and they have no idea why, but they're thrilled about it anyway. They get their own special category of cute.

*~*~*~*

Dear Young Mother,

I know toddlers need to have their diapers changed, and I know Boston Common is a little shy on changing tables, and I appreciate that you wanted your kiddo exposed to music, but did you have to expose everything else on the kid directly across the path from me? You couldn't have moved about twenty feet either way?

In fairness, though, thank you for taking the dirty diaper with you. Not everybody would.

But still.

So there I am in Back Bay, playing something fiddly, when a woman in a bright orange Hawaiian shirt approaches me and asks, "Are you the Accidental Fiddler?"

"Um...yes."

"I love your blog!"

"Thanks!"

So hello there, friendly individual; I really liked your shirt, and if I seemed confused, it's because it takes a bit for my brain to switch from "playing mode" to "interaction with fellow human" mode. It was nice to meet a reader who wasn't someone I already know!

*~*~*~*

I didn't realize that, when Red Sox games are cancelled, they broadcast that in the T stations; I wonder if it's all of them or just the ones closest to Fenway Park?

All I know is I heard it about 97 times in Back Bay, and I saw a number of mildly disgruntled individuals in Sox apparel, and if you're not going to be spending the $4.50 on a hot dog, how 'bout dropping a bit of what you were going to spend in my case? No? Oh. OK then.

*~*~*~*

The performer's area at Back Bay is right next to one of the giant trash cans, which doesn't bother me, except today when a disheveled individual came up, rummaged around in it, found a discarded beverage, poured it into his own cup, and drank it down. Dude. That can't be sanitary. Also, dude. *shudders*

*~*~*~*

Rain rain, go away
For farmers, you may be OK
But Fiddler wants outside to play
Instead of underground all day.

(I'm a musician, dammit, not a poet.)

I ended up playing outside Stony Brook because they were changing the lights or something inside. I didn't do quite as well as usual; I think it had to do with 1) being to one side of the entrance and therefore not catching everybody as they came in or out and 2) people coming through the turnstiles already have their wallets out.

*~*~*~*~*

I mentioned that new kid violinist who likes to play on City Hall plaza. I beat him out there yesterday and he went walking by looking slightly annoyed.

A couple people I know who could abuse their authority (but wouldn't!) have offered to "take care of him" for me. I told them they probably really shouldn't. If he gets there first, he gets the pitch, and that's fair. But it's nice to feel valued.

*~*~*~*~*

A young lady came up to me and told me it was her wedding anniversary, and "Ashokan Farewell" was her wedding song, and did I know it? I'm fairly sure it was the same woman who'd told me this a few weeks ago (minus the anniversary part), and I had just played it before she came down the stairs, but I obliged. It is a lovely tune.

This was unusual the first time it happened; now that it's happened twice, I really want to know what's going on...

I was playing by a fountain in the Public Garden, and an older Asian gentleman dressed in khaki shorts, a white T-shirt, and a cap or visor (I've forgotten which) got into the fountain basin, sloshed around for a while, and left. Same thing happened again a couple days later.

The first time, the basin was mostly full; the second time there wasn't much water in there. The only thing I can figure is that he was looking for coins, but do many people toss coins in those fountains? They just don't quite seem like wishing fountains to me. (Toss the coins in my case! In the case, people!)

*~*~*~*

Speaking of my case (look, a rare and elusive segue!), a disheveled man came up to me (waaayyy in my personal space) and told me I shouldn't have it open like that because there was "too much money" in it. Since I was playing at the time, I just smiled and nodded. Then he closed my case.

I stopped playing, flung the case back open, snarled "If it's closed, people won't put money in it!", and glared. He wandered away looking at me like I was terribly rude.

There were only about five dollar bills in it anyway.

*~*~*~*

Someone requested the Pachelbel Canon today (and if you don't know it by name, you do know it. It's played at every wedding anywhere ever). It wasn't really so much of a canon since it was only me, and for as many times as I've played it at weddings, I stumbled badly through a couple transitions, but my audience enjoyed it.

(For those of you familiar with it, yes, I only hit highlights.)

*~*~*~*~*

After I finished playing and headed to Starbucks, a nice Thai gentleman followed me there. He'd been sketching me and wanted to know (very nicely!) why I'd stopped playing. I told him I was expecting my ride, talked to him for a bit, he showed me the sketch, which was clearly not quite done.

I would have felt more badly if I hadn't recalled he'd been photographing me quite a bit as well.

One of my favored spots to play is under the overhanging branches of a tree in the Public Garden.

Somehow, I think there was less tree a few weeks ago, and that the tree is winning.

Also, I need to invest in bug repellent.

*~*~*~*~*

A little upper-middle-aged Italian-looking lady gave me $5 to play Schubert's "Ave Maria." I was glad she walked away as I started, because I recognize it on hearing it; I can hum it all the the way through, but darned if I can actually play the whole thing (hence it's appearance on my "To Learn" list.)

*~*~*~*~*

I may owe royalties to the Hill sisters' estates. A woman came up, dropped a dollar in my case, and asked if I'd play "Happy Birthday" for her son. Of course, I said "Sure." She called over this little seven-ish boy with blond curls and said to him, "Let's see what she plays next!" When I launched into "Happy Birthday", his face lit up and he beamed. How much are royalties on a dollar?

I was playing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow", and a little girl came running up, dropped a penny in my case, waited politely for me to finish, and said, "You're really good" before running back to her mom.

That just about made up for an otherwise seriously lackluster day.

At one point yesterday, I was being photographed, sketched, and videotaped, all at the same time.

I just hope I didn't have anything green in my teeth.

I spent the parts of the day in which I had to be outside wandering around in an oversized teal poncho. Hey, it kept my fiddle dry.

I feel sorry for the Scooper Bowl, though...they gave up early today. I hope they're around tomorrow because I want ice cream, and it's for an excellent cause.

It's raining in Haymarket and Government Center; I didn't go to State Street today, but I imagine it's raining there too.

*~*~*~*~*

The little elderly gentleman on oxygen I see at South Station came up to me today and said as how he hasn't seen me in a while. I knew people were starting to recognize me; I didn't expect anyone would actually miss me. I felt incredibly guilty though, since when he came up to me, I was playing "Isn't It Grand Boys", which has a refrain of "Isn't it grand, boys, to be bloody well dead?" and I'm not sure how much longer this gentleman has for this world. I highly doubt he was familiar with the song, but I haven't quite outgrown my magical thinking phase, so I'm going to make it a point to go back to South Station and look for him. It will assuage my conscience.

*~*~*~*~*

A nice woman and her friendly and plump chihuahua sat and listened to me on City Hall Plaza. She requested "Amazing Grace", and I obliged. It's not a tune I have in rotation, but it's simple, pretty, and easy to embellish. I'm not quite sure how I feel about playing it regularly though; I don't want people to feel they're being preached at, and I think most people who grew up in this country would recognize it.

Similarly, I'm just not very comfortable playing "Dixie", for different reasons.

I do play "Simple Gifts" quite a bit, but that seems more folky and less preachy to me. I suppose people will take things however they choose.

I was considering a "Redemption" set however, consisting of "Devil's Dream", "Amazing Grace", and "St. Anne's Reel". These are the things that the Fiddler alone finds amusing, on account of being slightly warped and very dorky.

*~*~*~*~*

Speaking of slightly warped, I made it a point to play "Devil's Dream" several times yesterday. Nothing untoward happened.

*~*~*~*~*

And speaking of very dorky, I may be the only one who gets this, but I had just played "Hunter's Chorus" from the opera Der Freischuetz by Carl Maria von Weber. A distinguished gentleman approached me and asked me what it was; I told him.

"By who?"
"Weber."
"Ohhhh, not Webern."
"*laugh* No, not quite."
"I don't suppose Webern would play well on the T."

Um...OK, it was funny to me.

So a couple days ago, I played at Stony Brook after work for First Thursdays. I was going to go down to Centre Street and play outside there, but then the heavens opened, so that plan was negated.

I was talking to the woman who'd asked me to play in the first place, and she started telling me about this blog she'd found by a Boston violinist and how the blogger was talking about not touching the fiddler, and I said, "Uh...is that the Accidental Fiddler?"

"Yes!"

"Um...that's me."


The whole evening was a little surreal, especially when I found someone I knew from a previous lifetime working at Emack and Bolio's.

Also during that evening, someone asked if I could play and dance at the same time, like Natalie MacMaster. I can barely walk and breathe at the same time, so I laughed and said, "Not quite." He said that by the time I'm her age, I'll be able to.

I checked, and she's younger than I am. So much for that theory.

*~*~*~*~*

I was playing on City Hall Plaza on Thursday, and I had to quit early, not because of the weather or anything, but because Dashboard Confessional was doing their sound check.

*~*~*~*~*

A man started talking to me while I was packing up, and something about him just presented as a little off. He turned out to have some trouble understanding appropriate inhibitions in interacting with strangers. He asked if guys hit on me all the time, and I told him not really, and anyway, I was taken. He said he'd ask me out in a heartbeat; I thanked him, but I'm taken. He said he thought girls with stringed instruments were automatically erotic, and I could play scantily-clad for my boyfriend, and were my measurements 36-24-36?

Then the train came. I'm often happy to see the Orange Line, but I was even happier to see it at that moment.

*~*~*~*~*

I was playing "Red River Valley", and an older woman came up and started singing along with tears in her eyes. People have told me I made them cry before (usually with "Danny Boy"), but this is the first time I've actually seen it happen. I've been so involved in music for so long that sometimes I lose sight of how it affects people.

*~*~*~*~*

A man hopped off a Green Line train and took my picture. He had a digital camera, and he showed me the result, and it just proved that my concentrating face looks like my mad face. That's why I try to remember to smile while I'm playing; I don't want to appear unapproachable.

Except maybe to guys who think all chicks with stringed instruments are erotic, because that's just a little creepy.