Work

Work has been going well. The age of my patrons ranges from 20yo up to 70yo, with the vast majority being in their 50’s and 60’s. As the week progressed I’ve garnered quite a few regulars who have made the job a lot of fun. They aren’t shy about requesting songs, and by now know what I can and cannot do. I find myself doing things like Blue Suede Shoes, Great Balls, Mustang Sally, Buttercup, Daydream Believer, Croc Rock, Killing Me Softly, Mama Don’t Dance, You Lost That Lovin Feeling and NY State of Mind. My two biggest requests here are Sweet Caroline and Piano Man. I’ve been trying to keep it upbeat, but many times they want to hear some mellow tunes like James Taylor or Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight.” So far I haven’t made very much on tips, which is not really essential since I am getting paid a decent wage. We are not allowed to have a tip jar out on the piano, but when someone does hand me a tip, I make a fuss over it on the mic and leave it sitting as conspicuously as possible on top of the piano. Last night I had already goine 30 min past the time I am allowed to stop and yet they wanted me to continue. Hoping to keep me playing, one of my regulars asked me what I was drinking. I told him I was drinking twenty dollar bills. Within moments there was a Dos Equis beer and $40 on the piano. That was worth another 20 minutes. But it’s tricky with the bar staff. I was told by my boss, who is the Cruise Director, that I should continue to play after midnight if I have a crowd. This is fair, as I am only scheduled for 3 hours. So even going into overtime doesn’t really strain me. But the bar staff would prefer I finish at exactly midnight, because they have been working all day and all night. Because of the red alert with the Noro virus, the staff hasn’t had a day off as they have been conscripted into disinfecting the ship when not working their normal stations. So I definitely feel for them and respect all the hard work they do. But it’s a delicate dance because they want me to stop, and yet I’ve been told to keep my show going if there’s a crowd and booze is being sold. And they will never actually tell me to stop because they don’t want to take responsibility for that; they want me to stop of my own accord so that if there is a question about who closed down the bar, they can say that it was the piano player that stopped.

The red alert for the Noro virus has been lifted so the crew bar is open again. During red alert, they had actually suspended handing out the bi-weekly cash wage (paid to non-American crew members) to the crew for fear of the virus being spread through the money. That made people pretty unhappy because most of the crew was expecting to send their pay home in St. Kitts and weren’t able to do it. The other thing that they did during red alert was not allow the crew to serve themselves (buffet style) in the crew mess, but rather be served by the stewards (think cafeteria lunch lady). As a result there was an unreasonably long line to get served. Because the crew has been kept so busy with cleaning tasks in addition to their normal duties, some of them were going hungry because they just didn’t have the time to wait in line.

I have heard that people are still getting sick, but I guess the Captain realized he might have a mutiny on his hands if he wasn’t able to pay or feed the crew properly. And really, I don’t know how effective closing the crew rec area was during the red alert, as the crew just had impromptu parties inside their rooms that spilled out into the hallways. One of these parties was going on two nights ago outside my door with the music staff. Life back in the crew area reminds me of my freshman dorm in college. It’s really not much different.

Cruise, day 2

Yesterday the Capt made a very sobering announcement over the crew-area intercom. Apparently there are crew members that are still getting sick from this “Norovirus” and so more extreme measures will be taken, namely the closing down of the crew bar, crew gym and crew internet. Additionally crew members are not to go into passenger areas unless they are carrying out of their duties. These rules don’t really affect me directly as I am technically a guest and am permitted to use the passenger gym, restaurants and bars. But it is a bit scary, and I’ve taken to disinfecting my hands quite often.

Here are the facts about the Norovirus: It is an extremely common virus, which causes gastroenteritis causing nausea, vomiting and diarrhea. Symptoms usually last between 1 and 3 days and generally resolve without treatment or long-term consequences. It is also highly contagious, which is the main issue on board a ship where everyone, especially the crew and staff are living in close quarters.

Because they have closed the crew bar the beverage quartermaster is selling bottles of alcohol directly to the crew members at cost in a sale called “cambooza.” I haven’t figured out the etymology of this word yet, but will report back to you if I do. I’m also going to see if I am allowed to participate in this. I think I am.

On a similar note, I haven’t quite figured out how to get bottled water in my cabin, other than to buy it at passenger prices at the bar. So this morning I woke up at 5:30am extremely thirsty. In my fridge are two Bud Light bottles left for me by my predecessor. Of course they were not twist offs, so I spent the better part of 5 minutes trying to use my apartment key to pry off the top whilst not injuring my hands. Finally after spending way too much time trying to quench my thirst, I fell back asleep. I must say I am really enjoying falling asleep on the boat. The sea has been rather choppy and the back and forth motion of the boat just rocks me to sleep. I am on Deck 7 which is about 3 decks above the surface of the water so the movement is rather gentle. The higher in the ship you are, the more exaggerated the movement is. I found myself not wanting to wake up this morning, mostly due to the hypnotic rocking motion. But when I did, I used the rest of the Bud Light to take my morning vitamins.

I worked the piano lounge for the first time last night. Upon arriving, I couldn’t get the sound to work, so the bartender tracked down one of the sound techs who explained to me how to switch over from the canned music to my system—something he should have explained when we did the sound check on Sunday. As people began to fill up the lounge, I used a lot of the skills I’ve learned with dueling pianos to get them to participate, but it was a struggle. They seemed to want to listen more than anything, but I did manage to get them singing. The cruise director was pleased with my performance which is important. I found it exhausting, and to top it off, I realized I had left my room key in my room. So the night crew supervisor was tracked down for me at 1 am so I could get back home.

All aboard!

Sunday morning made it to Brooklyn where my cruise ship was parked. I will be working the piano lounge for the next 14 days. My arrival at the port and then again on the ship was full of confusion because my travel documents and contract were written out in my legal name, and the ship’s crew supervisor had processed my arrival with my professional name. Once the cruise staff in the port had found my welcome envelope with my room key/charge card, I was instructed to wait in a holding area with a couple thousand other guests while the ship was being disinfected due to an onboard stomach virus the last cruise. (The West Norton Virus, or some shit like that). Nice. After being permitted to board and after even more confusion I was shown to my cabin, whose door had been left open. So it was only after unpacking and then leaving my cabin that I realized my key did not work in the door. More drama.

I have status as a “Guest Entertainer” which means that I am treated as a guest and I have no actual crew or staff duties except to show up at the piano and do my show every night. I am, I’m told, the only member of the entire crew that is permitted room service. As a guest I am encouraged to use all guest facilities and I get a staff discount on all the bars, shops and spa on the ship, and yet I am also permitted to utilize the crew recreation area where I can get drinks for about $1.50, and internet for a quarter of the price charged to regular guests. My cabin is for all intents and purposes a passenger cabin with a large window and a bathroom, but it is located in the crew area. There is a steward assigned to the cabin that cleans it every day, changes the lines and takes care of my dry cleaning and laundry. I also just discovered that I am permitted to bring a guest with me to travel during the length of my contract. My predecessor, who is also a friend of mine, is convinced that the Guest Entertainer’s job is the number one job on the ship, even better than that of the captain or the cruise director. When I arrived in my cabin, he had just vacated it from the last cruise and had left me a couple beers in the fridge along with the vocal mic and the key to the piano in the drawer. It took a few hours for me to connect with the Cruise Director (my boss), so I had to figure out most things on my own. It was confusing, but after asking around, I was able to get my documents all sorted out, my room key corrected, my sound check done, the laundry situation figured out and finally track down the Cruise Director, who by this time had tried calling me several times in my cabin. He and his deputy both seemed very professional and easy-going. They were very clear about what they expected from me, which is something I always appreciate. I was told, sadly, that the ship is still on Red Alert, due to this gastro-intestinal virus and that due to cross contamination concerns I had to choose whether to eat and drink in the crew area or the guest area. As I had already had dinner with the guests, the decision was made for me. I’m disappointed because I was really looking forward to drinking with the crew. But now I must wait for the Red Alert to pass.

My predecessor and friend had negotiated Sunday nights off for me, so I was lucky to have my first night off, which is good, as I had been working the 4 nights prior to Sunday in New York. I spent the first night scouting out the ship, and the bars. It was extremely quiet after 11pm. I hope that was just because everyone was tired from traveling. I’m very excited to do my show tonight. The lounge is actually within a very central and open space, so everyone walking by (which should be most of the ship's passengers) will be able to hear me and have the option of sticking around. I did a sound check and the sound guy preprogrammed a memorized setting for me on the board. The piano is a Yamaha baby grand, and it is voiced very bright but I was able to soften it in the mix. I like the PA system. It works well with my voice.

a Zen sunday

I really love my new neighborhood, and on a normal day the A train takes me express to 42nd street in about 22 minutes. This weekend there was a lot of construction and rerouting in the D, A and F lines that caused my ride from Washington Heights to Soho to be 1 hour 25 minutes, where I was, incidently, going to a Zen meditation. But trying to get back uptown from SoHo to get my music for a rehearsal back in west midtown, and to change my clothes for a nice bar gig in east midtown proved impossible due to the trains. The C wasn’t running at all. The A was running on the local track and only at 20 min intervals. The D was only running up above 34th, and even there although it was supposedly an express train, it was moving maddeningly slowly. The F was skipping stops randomly…different stops depending on whether you were going uptown or downtown, and the rerouting instructions coming from the speakers in the subway cars were indecipherable. Needless to say, my Zen turned to desperation as I realized I would not have time to get home for my music and clothes for a rehearsal and then later a performance. After arriving to the rehearsal 7 minutes late and without my music, I called and asked a friend to come meet me at the rehearsal studio, get my apartment keys, go all the way up to Wash Heights, pick out an outfit for me, grab my microphone and meet me at the bar gig in 90 minutes. I muddle my way through my rehearsal, and travel, in my Zen rags (jeans, ragged t-shirt and open toed sandals), to the fancy French restaurant with the fancy east-side clientele. Within 15 minutes my friend arrives with my outfit, and within moments I change into SUPERpianoMAN, paste on a happy grin and begin my first set with the Charlie Chaplin song, “Smile.”

The Hood

I am now moved into my new apartment in Washington Heights, which is a Latin section of Manhattan, way uptown. Most of the people in my building and in the neighborhood are real families, mostly from Dominican background. (In midtown and in my last neighborhood in Queens there are almost no children.) It's a very colorful neighborhood with lots of small interesting businesses that cater to the hardworking Latin men, women and the children that live in the many 6 and 7 story residential apartment buildings in the area. The rear of all these buildings face towards each other and so you can hear everyone living their lives through their kitchen and bedroom windows, listening to their music, talking to each other, shouting, laughing, singing. It's not so noisy to be intrusive, but the evenings are energetic to be sure. One of the residents of the block is a very accomplished opera singer. She practices in the evenings and is better than most of the singers I've heard at the City Opera in Lincoln Center. I hope I get to meet her one day. When I practice my own music I am well aware that many people on the block can hear me if I have the windows open. Living around monied white people, I was always self-conscious of leaving the windows open while practicing. But in this neighborhood, somehow it seems natural and right. It's just one more contribution to the vibrant symphony of life that is played out every night here.

Many of the store owners and employees here don't speak English. Now it's been 4 years since I last took Spanish lessons, so I'm pretty rusty, and thus seem to provide a continual source of amusement for the natives here as I stumble through my botched Spanish to ask for a laundry pickup or pizza delivery. But it's nice to be able to buy a laundry bag that would cost $7 in Bed Bath and Beyond in midtown, for $1 in my neighborhood dollar store. One of the most interesting sights in this store was an impossibly large pile of pregnancy testing kits behind the register. That, coupled with the fact I've seen many young nubile latin girls, and almost none of them visibly pregnant invites some interesting speculation. I've been trying out a gym nearby and unlike the gyms in midtown, most of the men are busy building muscle mass with the free weights and couldn't give a damn about cardio exercise or body fat. There's loud salsa music everywhere, and huge avocados and mangoes are for sale on the sidewalks next to taco carts and knock-off DVD's. Outside the clothing stores live plastic mannequins with ghetto butts that generously fill out $7 pairs of women's jeans. Amid all this activity I found a very peaceful, quiet Japanese restaurant that I've already visited twice.

It's now 5:20am. Time for this musician to go to bed. After all I have to be in work at 9:30. (ummm...at night).

Tipping the Piano Player

These last two weeks I have been working a piano bar gig in Midtown for a friend of mine. Now in the beginning of the night, I'm playing dinner music for the dining crowd, but after 10 or so, I kick it up a notch and begin a more interactive show. Last night I was reminded of how different people tip or don't tip the piano player.

First there are the people who leave the dining room and walk right past the piano without so much as a glance. The same piano which they have been listening to (and dare I presume to say, enjoying) throughout out their entire dinner . To these people, as they go by I make it a point to personally address them, smile widely and say "Thank you!" I don't specify what I'm thanking them for, of course. (Thanks for dining with us; thanks for the tip you are about to give me; or, thanks for nothing you cheap bastards.) Of this first group, about 25% of them will realize that they have forgotten to tip me (because my tip jar is right there as they turn around to respond to me) and they may continue walking out but come right back with a tip and a smile. Another 50% will turn to me and give me some version of a tight lipped smile and maybe say thank you back, but continue out the door, their precious purse change in tact, and then of course there are the 25% who don't even acknowledge that I have addressed them at all.

Then there is the second group: the ostentatious tippers. They are divided into two categories. The ostentatious BIG tippers (think bond traders out with their girl du jour) and the ostentatious CHEAP tippers (many times drunk middle-aged women). Now the first category has paid a large part of my rent for the past 12 years. They are the ones who will make damn sure you know that they have tipped, and exactly the amount of their tip. Sometimes they will bypass the tip jar entirely and put their $20 or $100 bills in your hand, and give you knowing look that says, Look at me, I want you to know that I am tipping you and it's not insignificant. These are not the people that are giving anonymous donations to the red cross after a major hurricane, but I still appreciate them nonetheless even though they sometimes make me feel like a well paid whore. Italian wannabe mobsters that want to sing My Way, or New York, NY for the entire bar fall squarely into this category. Then there is the second category. The woman who will do a little rain dance in front of the tip jar with their $1 bill in hand, waving it around as a banner of their graciousness so that not only do i know they are tippers, but the world knows. They think if they bring attention to the fact that they tipped, the actual penurious amount will be overlooked in a fit of gratitude on my part. Wrong! I hope there is a special section of Hell where these people end up waiting tables at a greasy spoon for all eternity and getting under tipped in such a spectacular fashion.

Then there are the ones who will tip $10 or $20 with no fanfare at all. These people are saying yes I appreciate what you are doing here, and we don't need to remind each other that you are dependant on my generosity to make your living. These people allow us pianists to retain our dignity and still pay the rent. The archangels of this group, which is the rarest of rare, are the $50 and $100 tippers who actually try to hide the amount of their tip so as not to bring attention to themselves or their tip. There is nothing as sweet as counting your tips at the end of a long night of New York, NY and Piano Man, and finding an unexpected $100 bill folded in four among all the other bills.

Finally and most humorously are the cheap tippers that try to hide their cheapness. These are the ones that tip a single dollar but will push it deep in the (clear glass) tip jar so that they think it's impossible for me to discern the tip amount. What they don't realize is that I've been doing this for too long am too dependant on the amount of their tips to be fooled by such an amateur move. The biggest clue is when they hide the bill in their palm and reach their hand down into the jar, past the lip of the (clear glass) jar as though they were about to draw out the winning number for a reverse raffle. And no matter how much they attempt to hide their faux pas, I can usually tell when they remove their hand, which bill has been added to the (did i say it was clear glass?) jar. It's almost always a single dollar bill, but sometimes, it's actually coins and they are hoping that the coins will be soundless as they fall to the bottom of the glass jar, which is why their hand goes so far down into the jar. If I catch people putting coins in, I will first determine if its a dollar coin. If it is I will begrudgingly leave them alone. But God and the host of Angels help them if it is not. I will shamelessly draw attention to the fact that this gentleman just tipped me 55 cents, and sir, no I'm not the crosstown bus, thank you very much! Now there is a special subsection of these discrete cheap tippers. These are the ones that later in the evening try to tell me that they have tipped me $10 or $15 or $20 throughout the course of the night, and for that reason I should play New York, NY for their overly mascaraed girlfriend. It is rare, but it happens. Invariably they are the most demanding patrons.

I send them publicly to hell.

I explain over the microphone that no, they have not tipped me $20. They in fact only tipped me $1, and I specifically remember. It was 25 minutes ago, they came over on their way to the bathroom, reached deep into my tip jar just like this (I demonstrate), and placed a folded $1 bill on the left side of the jar where they thought I wouldn't be able to see it, and this is their tip (I withdrawal their bill with a David Copperfield-like flourish). Sometimes they will fold immediately and reach into their tight wallet and quickly try to remedy the situation with a belated cash penance,...and then sometimes they will try to argue with me. If they do this, I ask them exactly what denomination they tipped in, and then proceed to explain to them how that is impossible because the only $20 bills in the tip jar came from John standing over there and Felicia sitting right there (I point) and I saw them being put in. (Thanks, by the way, Felicia and John.) It's quite a show I put on!

Then there was the well-heeled gentleman who tipped me with a Metrocard that he swore had an $18 credit on it. I reluctantly gave him the benefit of the doubt as there was no way of verifying it at the time, of course, but when I got in the subway I found out, not suprisingly that the prick had given me an expired unlimited card. He then came back the following week and tried to tip me again with another Metrocard then pretended to forget that he had done it the week before! Big Mistake. By the time I was done with him, he had paid me off $50 in shush money. It's ugly work, this piano playing stuff!

Update

Finally, I am moved into my new place in Manhattan and yesterday the internet arrived. I can finally log into my bank accounts and all that stuff with a secure connection, instead of leaching off someone elses wifi. Does anyone know what the "fi" stands for? I don't. This week I got back to my meditation on Monday night. I have not seen the inside of a gym in over 3 weeks due to my cold which is now finally 95% out of my system. Today I got the "joining letter" for my cruise gig in 1.5 weeks. Last week I ran into my favorite NYC realtor, Dennis, on 5th ave and he told me that his (very sucessful) business has dropped to nothing in the past month. Oy! The stock market, which I follow daily has been taking me (and everyone else) for quite a ride. I very timidly bought a teeny tiny position today in an oil services ETF which is at a third of what it was three months ago. I'm trying to look at this crash as a buying opportunity, although I wish I had more cash to buy these "bargains". I'm eyeing Apple stock. It's been beaten down over 50% in the past 4 months. Don't know if my tennant will renew in January, but I'm committed to continuing to rent out my apartment for the forseeable future. I was offered a job back in MO, at the same place I was let go of, due to my "inexperience" 3 months ago. I turned them down.

One of my piano bar patrons in NC

Holding on

I finished my month long NC trip and now I'm back in New York. The last week I was in NC I was fighting off a cold throughout my work weekend. The night that I returned home it finally got me. For the past 5 days I've been down with a stuffy head, a low-grade fever and a sore throat, but I am finally feeling a bit better now. In addition to being ill, I am moving my apartment next week so I have been dealing with piano movers and utility companies, landlords and leases. On top of that I finally submitted my taxes while simultaneously watching the stock market spasm into worthlessness as it took congress too damn long to finally get their act together with this rescue plan. Now it may be a little too late, I'm afraid. I am worried that the next 5 years may be really difficult economically. I think I'll be ok, because in times of economic strife, the bars always seem to do better than most other businesses.

I watched the VP debate last night along with 70 Million others, hoping for a gaffe-filled circus show. What I got instead was two great performances from each of the two candidates. I was impressed with Joe Biden and there were moments in the debate that he showed real strength and charisma. Sarah Palin, who I have come to believe is smart, sharp and also highly ignorant about things she will need to know as a VP, put on a masterful performance last night considering the limited time she has had to prepare for this candidacy. It wasn't nearly enough to actually help the floundering Republicans, but I doubt anyone could have hoped for any better.

I move on Wednesday into my new digs in Manhattan and begin a 3 weekend pianobar gig in the city.