Wednesday, February 21, 2007


You can't buy Led Zeppelin on I-tunes, but you can buy Jessica Delfino.

And since I left my signature gold suit in a taxi cab
last Friday night, I could use some cheering up.

I never take taxi cabs - I hate them - I only took one because
I was late and it was cold. Excuses! I always ride my bike. I was
on my way to Galapagos in Brooklyn for the play I was in, "Little Building".
I gave the driver directions, "N. 6th and Berry, please!",
and fell into a hypnotic taxi-relaxi state. When I looked up,
we were at N. 12th. "Hey!" I stammered, busting out of my head trip.
"N. 6th, man!" He turned that fancy Toyota SUV cab right around
and we sat in yuppie traffic for an extra $4. "Do I get a
discount on the ride since you screwed up the address?" I asked.
"Your fault!" he screamed at me in his clunky foreign accented
english. "Fine," I conceded, and handed him the pay.
I gave him a $2.30 tip, not the .30 cent tip that
crossed my mind. I scampered out of the taxi, steamed at the
thoughtlessness of the driver, and as it pulled away,
I had that nagging feeling in my head: "I feel like I'm forgetting something."

Five minutes later, I howled in distress when I
realized what it had been: my signature gold suit!

This awful photo shows me in my glorious signature gold suit. Notice how maniacal my hair looks and how pink my cheeks are? That's because I had just gotten off stage after full-throttle dirty folk rocking an audience at The Anti-Mall in NC, on my "Merry Shitmas" tour.

It had been beside me on two hangers, just back
from the dry cleaner. It's not replaceable. It was a sample
from the line Mille K in Denmark. A gold lame jacked and a
gold lame skirt, each on a separate hanger. I shouldn't have even
been able to own the suit. It was a very expensive ensemble,
that had been given to me as a gift after no one else wanted to
buy it. I mean, who the hell wears a matching gold lame suit? I'd
marveled at the amazing work the dry cleaner had done. It had been
littered with black permanent marker spots when my drunken boyfriend
had absent-mindedly flung a knock-off Sharpie "Sharpei" marker in
my direction. That dry cleaner had removed every single black spot.
I guess those markers aren't so permanent after all.

I called 311, the taxi commission and all that shit, but that suit was
so beautiful, it is certainly gone, gone, gone forever. Some gay man
squeezed his skinny little ass into that gold skirt and
is wearing my suit right now.

On the slim, strange chance that someone found the suit
and is googling lost, gold suit, and comes across this post, I am
offering a cash reward for the suit.

I also lost my digital camera in a taxi three years ago,
never to be seen again.


The moral of the story: Never take a taxi. Always ride your bike.


Smarmy Hobo said...

Caught the show in NC and it was a great show. Sorry about the suit, it looked great. As George Harrison said, "All things must pass."

Anonymous said...

I ride my bike everywhere too, taxis make me want to vomit.