Wednesday, August 11, 2004

and some things that happened over the past weekend


I went to Vermont this past weekend to attend and perform at an all night hippie dance birthday jam at a commune in a town called Quarry Hill. The town was surrounded by lush, green mountains in every direction and contained several Green Mountain marble quarries, hence the name Quarry Hill. The commune we stayed at was not at all what I was expecting. I was prepared to bunk in a large, dilapidated farmhouse with dusty shutters and overgrown trees along the front entrance, shading a plant-ornamented "No Trespassing" sign. I planned to party with several hippies who were purportedly friends of Wavy Gravy or Ken Kesey. But, no. Instead, I was treated to a lovey attic room in a cozy bungalow amidst a collection of lodges and nestled in the heart of a bouquet of mountains.

I took the trip up there to perform at the party, but instead, ended up dancing and overeating thanks to massive amounts of marijuana and alcohol consumption. (They forgot/sort of blew off having a show.) That's one thing I love so much about hippies. They just roll along through everything. "Should we have the show now? Dude, let's just smoke some more pot and we can think about it later." (Cut to: 7 am, fire is dying down, I'm asleep and dreaming of walking down the rickety stairs into the Icy-Heat (TM) colored water of the quarry...chip crumb children cling to the sides of the bowl where their parents had once lived...)

So, in closing, I didn't get to perform, but I did get to do these things:

- Go on a nature trail walk through the woods, carrying my guitar and playing it like a minstrel.
- "It", in an open field beside a pond with mountains in the background
- Explore a Green Mountain marble quarry, throwing rocks into it, marveling at the amazing sounds the well of the quarry created
- Stay at a lovely, hospitable hippie commune
- Write a song (which is sure to become a hit!) about how happy bears love to eat chubby hippies
- Get paid even though I didn't perform (nice!)

I stayed with my friend Vid, who was a more than amiable host, he was amicable, too, and his house was lovely. Accompanying me were friends Robert and Sarah, and my boyfriend, Christopher.


This is really sad: My bike got stolen on Thursday night outside of the Bowery Poetry Club, where I'd been in attendance of "Jolly Ship The Whiz-Bang: Tudley's Reef Variety Show".
I was treated to a special evening featuring the O'Debra Twins (who were shafted by always rotten traditional comedy club management that evening who bumped them from the show for not having 'brought' enough people, even though they said they were going to be able to perform) and Nick Jones daughter who played the violin, also, Haunted Pussy rocked it. I came out after a totally great evening and my bike was gone. I almost started crying until I remembered that the breaks were gone, the wires were frayed and rusty around the gear shifters which cut my hands almost daily, and the regulator (I think it's called) had been blocked broken with a rock by my boyfriend, who believes that regulators are trouble, rendering me stuck in one gear when riding - the hardest one. Good riddance, and I hope whoever stole it gets that disease you get when you touch rusty metal to your blood. Tetanis? Is that the one? If not, then, tetanus also.


I won the Songslam 8 last night at the Bowery Poetry Club. I was up against Touching You, Letitia Veloria, David Leopold and a few others whose names have fleeted from my brain. In the end, it came down to David Leopold and I, but I won. I was a bit surprised to have won, because David got really high marks all the way through and I thought that would have made him win in the end. I was awarded with guitar strings and a strong sense of pride that comes with the feeling of having beat out your lessers in society. I will be in the finals in December.


This was a particularly boring entry of Jessy Delfino's blog, I'd have to say. This reads like a community newspaper. Please print out this entry and line your cat's litter box with it in a show of disapproval of half-assed writing everywhere. But the truth is, I'm too overwhelmed by the trappings of being a lower class member of society to even be able to revel in the charm of my tragic life. I've got every kind of trouble you can imagine - boy troubles, computer troubles, family troubles, health problems, money problems, etc., etc. If a person is drowning in a pool of sorrows, how are they to choose but one sorrow to focus on, creatively? I could write a thousand sonnets about my broken laptop. I could produce a short film festival based solely on my money problems. I could make ten one woman shows starring my boy troubles. Used to be, when I had a problem, I'd take it to the blog and write it out. But what with having a broken computer and a half-hour time limit at the library, and a bible-thick stack of horrors in my life, how then, am I to focus on but one? I do know how much the world loves to read my graphic entries detailing all the specifics of my life's woes, but please understand. How can I love any one of my children better than the rest?

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