ALL YOU CAN TAKE - cancelled

I've finally had all I can take and cancelled my weekly show at Apocalypse Lounge. This show started out okay and quickly nosedived once Time Out NY refused to list the show anymore, showing just how important it is to get your shows listed in NYC.

Joe Grossman, where are you? I miss the days of a fairer, more honest Time Out NY comedy listings, not to mention, simply decent writing. For example - read the page long article on Flight Of The Conchord, and one would have to be 100% idiotic to not notice the cock craving that went on in that "story." I saw FOTC at CBGB's, and they were there, alright.

Note to Jane Borden: Are you a total fraud? I'd like to give you the benefit of the doubt, but every interaction I've ever had with you has been disappointing, at best.

However, I can't completely blame Jane Borden, and all the Jane Bordens who write for magazines all over NYC.

The playing field is uneven and always will be. A friend and I were talking about this today, and yesterday and every day before that for the last two years or so. I wonder if it helps you as a performer if you are an executive at Comedy Central. I wonder if it helps you as a performer if you have a close friend who writes for the NY Times. I wonder if it helps you as a performer if you went to Harvard, Columbia, or NYU. I wonder if it helps you as a performer if your dad is a famous anything. Probably not. It's all most likely based solely on talent and drive.

or NOT!

Isn't it interesting how the sons and daughters of famous actors and actresses grow up to be famous as well? Genetics are amazing!

Fun fact: Did you know that you can buy fame? They sell it at the whore store.

Everyone has to struggle a certain amount in this business, but there's a difference between simply struggling and eating a daily can of shit flavored cheese whiz.

But this anecdote gives me hope: I sold 18 CDs at a show I did last night. I came home and did some heavy thinking. If I'd sold 18 CDs through Virgin Megastore, I'd get paid 30 cents per CD. But I get to actually touch every single CD that I sell. I get to look at every person who buys a CD from me and say "thank you." And then I get to put each one of those $5 directly into my pocket.

That's important to me, even if it is kind of gay.

So, I shall relish this time of anonymity, as I know I will miss it someday.

And I'll try not to hate shady writers and promoters, as I know that they are simply cogs in a machine that is more powerful than they are. Thank god I have managed thus far to avoid that machine.

Today's Jokes

Our first set comes from the dark, disturbing book of jokes for children:

What do you call a man who beats his wife?
Dad -- sometimes.

What do you get when you take a child's lolly pop away?
A free lollypop.

How do you catch a butterfly?
With a fly swatter.

AND in closing, one rape joke.

What do you call a girl who gets raped all the time?
A liar.

CRIMINAL MISCHIEF

Doesn't that sound like fun? Hey Adira, Hey Diane, Hey Liz...wanna come over and do some criminal mischief?

Criminal mischief is a pretty generalized, vague term, basically meaning causing trouble, but I suppose you already know that. Well, just yesterday, I saw an opportunity to cause criminal mischief rear it's handsome head, and I turned away...or did I?

As I came out of my apartment building in the morning (on my way to buy supplies to make french toast, for as you may or may not know, asians don't eat scones) and I saw it there, glistening ever so slightly underneath a layer of sludgy fish water. It was a NY state license plate. It made me think of breaking the law.

You see, my friend gave me a car a while back - a white cadillac. Right now, it's sitting in his yard in Long Island. It's a nice, older caddy with plush red seats and some rust around the tire arc thingys. He said I could just come and get it if I want to - but here's the catch - there are no license plates on it.

Now, the way my mind naturally works whenever any kind of opportunity arises is to go deviant, because obeying the law never did me any favors. As a matter of fact, obeying the law almost has always proven to be rooted in bureaucracy and hypocracy. So, now, my instinct is to do it whatever way I can, and as long as I'm not hurting anyone, the gamut of ways may or may not include breaking the law. I think that also may be a bi-product of growing up poor. (Though in all fairness to my parents, we were only poor sometimes.)

I left and got french toast supplies, and when I returned, there it was, sitting there, beckoning to me. Then, I heard it speak directly into my mind.

"Come on, Delfino. You know you want me. Pick me up."

"But you're covered in fish juice and some other black water and something dark and chutney like in consistency."

"Aw, come on, you pussy! There's no chutney to be had for miles. This here is oil, spit and rain water."

"But, I don't want to touch you. You're gross."

"Think of what I could help you accomplish. With me, you could get that car. You could get the car long enough to drive it to the DMV, or wherever you need to take me. You wouldn't have to tow me there. It could save you a hundred or more dollars. Think of what you could do with those dollars. Cocaine. Hookers. All the marshmellow fluff you can handle."

"License plate, stop it! Just stop it! I'm not picking you up!"

I walked past it and keyed myself into my building.

"You'll be back!" I heard the plate chuckling, a chance of demise appeared to be lingering in the forecast. I went inside and began to prepare french toast. I finished preparing the french toast. I ate the french toast. It was delicious. I did a bunch of other errands. I hooked up the two VCR / TV set-up in my living room. I tidied my home. I called a friend. I thought about the caddy. Later, as I came back out, I saw the plate again. It was even deeper into the muck than it had been before. The puddle seemed to have grown and almost enveloped the plate so that only it's very corner was still sticking out. This pleased me, because if any one else had designs on stealing the plate, they might be discouraged by the swamp-like sludge of the puddle. Or, they might have thought the plate disappeared. When you're into criminal mischief, you think that everyone else is zoning in on your crimes and plans of mischief.

I decided it'd be fine for me to leave it there for a day or two, while I decide if it's worth the help it could be to touch it. "I could get rubber gloves..." I thought to myself, but I thought it too loudly, and the plate heard me.

"Get some rubber gloves, then," it said. "You better hurry. The street sweeper will come for me. Another criminal mischief maker will see me and want me. You'll come and look for me, sweet tits, but I'll be gone."

I woke up this morning with the plate on my mind. Inanimate object - one, Delfino - none. I dreamed about it last night. The same scenario. I was out there looking at the plate, but it was imbedded into rock, like King Arthur's sword. "What should I do?" my ghostly dream self asked the plate. All of a sudden, an angel of god ascended onto me, and said "Everything will be alright." I asked that angel of god his name, and he said, "Satan."

Sometimes criminal mischief is a slow boiling process. It doesn't have to be all immediate, tucked into a half hour special like on Magnum PI, or NYPD Blue. Sometimes, it has to stew.
But, who doesn't love stew?

I'm a gemini, meaning, for every emotion I experience, there is an equal and opposite re-motion. So it wasn't long before I thought about turning myself in. I enacted out the fantasy in my head, and it discouraged me from following through with my plan.

ME: Hello, my name is Jessica, and I'm considering stealing a licence plate.
COPS: Really? Well, we're working on 327 triple homicides right now, but wrap it up, boys! We've got a stolen license plate confession. We'll be right over! (sounds of laughter, phone clicking down onto receiver)

Sometimes, you have to not think about what's right or wrong, but follow your heart.

My heart wants a car.

NEW ATTITUDE

For the last year and a half, I've felt like a person who is not this one. I've been practically homeless, crashing in boyfriend's bed, or boss's couch, or buddy's bodega. It's been pretty depressing, and it's definitely affected my blog, because I haven't really had a steady place to write e-mail, or write anything for that matter.

I'm very thrilled right now to have found an apartment and moved into it. I feel like a completely different person - the one that used to exist like, two or three years ago, before Kurt and I split up. Back in those days, I had a home with a bed, and a dresser, and I had my stuff set up the way I like it, with my make up in a special container, and my towels on hooks and silverware in a drawer. Those are little things that you take for granted when you are essentially homeless. Though they aren't so important, they are things that make you feel settled, like, "This is my place." You can't have that kind of security from the front pouch of a back pack, or when you're wondering what that scuffy white spot is on your friend's comforter, when you already know god damn well what it is.

When people think of the homeless, they think of dudes with drawers full of feces, or people who live in Underground Caves, like in Demolition Man starring Sandra Bullock and Sylvester Stallone. But they don't consider the thousands of people in NYC who are crashing on friend's couches or floors, sleeping in rent by the week rooms, or hopping night to night into various assorted lover's beds. If you consider that, you actually are probably quite friendly with many homelesses.

So, it feels really great to be happy again. The way my bed is set up, the sunlight comes filtering through my huge windows all over me. It wakes me up every morning at 9:30 am, and that's kind of cool. I've been sleeping until noon or one for the last year, because I know that when I wake up, I'll be back in life again. But I have good reason to want to wake up early now, because I have lots of work to catch up on. My bed is so cozy, too, with a soft egg crate thingy on it, and tons of soft pillows and a huge comforter. My boyfriend is warm and cuddly, like a pet, until he speaks. There's a huge balcony in my apt. that is about twenty feet long. There's a space to put a swing, which I will do very soon, and at night all the buildings downtown glow and shimmer, as if my life is perfect. There's even an asian neon sign out my balcony view. Asian neon? How can life get any better than that?

Wor fay chung gao sing. That means, "I'm extremely happy," in Mandarin, Liam M.

I guess being happy isn't conducive to good comedy, but don't worry. Things are going so great, I know that something HORRIBLE is looming around the corner. Hopefully I'll live through it and bounce back to turn it into a musical hit, or a musical shit. But either way, hopefully there will be music involved.

THE ASIANS DON'T EAT SCONES

I woke up early on Sunday morning to see the sun shining in my windows with a glow reminiscent of a microwave oven in full blast, roasting a chicken pot pie or some other such tasty frozen treat to radioactive perfection. The analogy immediately made me hungry, so I stretched my slim, perfect body complete with the accompanyment of odd vocal squeals and crawled out of bed in a gangly, cat-like fashion.

I just moved into a new apartment in Chinatown, and in the past three weeks I've lived here, I feel like I've been on vacation in a small asian nation. All the signs are written in Chinese, all the employees at all the stores are Chinese. All the people who drive the cars, all the people who live in the buildings, all the people who walk on the sidewalks, all the people's dogs - all Chinese. The menus at the restaurants resemble something from a reality TV show eating dare - Fish Eye soup, Slimy Pig Tongue and other delicious treats that could fill you up, make you vomit, or whatever you're into.

So, I knew it wasn't going to be an easy feat when my stomach whispered to my brain "Scone..."

I got on my shiny blue bike which wears a duct tape dressing to keep people from stealing it and rode around to all the stores in the neighborhood. There were dried fish stomachs, there were bottles of ginger and infinite boxes of teas and spices. There were Chinese people. But there were no scones.

"I'll try the bakery," I said. In the bakery, there were puffy breads full of pork and bean sauce. There were rice balls. There were cream rolls. There were Chinese people. But there were no scones.

"I'll try a JEWISH bakery," I said. At the Jewish bakery, a few blocks east of my actual neighborhood, there were rugalahs. There were bagels. There were cookies. There were Jewish people. But there were no god damn scones! "No scones," said the lady behind the counter, who I assumed must have been Jewish, but she looked mighty Puerto Rican to me. "We're not selling them during Passover. Try back in three weeks," she said. "But I want them now!" I yelled, throwing a temper tantrum. I jumped up and down, fists in balls at my sides. "Now! Now! Now!" I yelled. I pushed over a cart on wheels, loaded with trays of freshly baked jewish treats, sending kosher goodies sprawling everywhere. Two men playing cards looked up at me with blank expressions. A nice man with payos asked me to leave. I did as he said.

I eventually had to give up and go to the true outskirts of the neighborhood, almost to the ghetto, to the actual grocery store. At the grocery store, there were bottles of juice. There were loaves of bread. There were containers of cream cheese. There were tons of Mexicans. But there were no jesus fucking h christ scones. I began to cry.

I left the store and settled on bagels at a nice Jewish bakery around the corner. On the way back to my apartment, bagels in bag, I rode by a tiny hole with a sign that said "Baked Goods." I KNEW there would be scones in there. How could there not be? After I'd already bought bagels? There was no way in HELL that they wouldn't have scones. I parked my bike and walked inside. Two old men were eating soup. A Chinese man cooked grilled cheese sandwiches behind the counter. They had cheesecake. They had burgers. They had fish sandwiches. "Do you have any mother fucking scones?" I asked. "Ching chang chong," he said.

I went home and ate bagels.

JOKE

Q: How many popes does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

A: Well, normally only one, but the pope died today.

SELF-PROMOTION COMING UP -

Jessica Delfino plays the KNITTING FACTORY at 74 Leonard St.
A NIGHT OF PERFORMERS who are both comical and musical.

TONITE!!! Friday, April 1st.

8 pm show starts (I'm the first act)

Tickets are $6

Old Office (All the way downstairs in the basement - comedy's natural habitat)

also featuring:

Sharon Mama Spell
Stuckey & Murray
Tickle Dracula

AND ALSO TONIGHT:

Haunted Pussy at Tonic - 12 MIDNIGHT
with
COOKIE MONGOLOID at 1 am (from Seattle)
$5 - Norfolk St. between Delancey and Rivington

Come out in celebration of all this wierd, multi-genred fun (with a beat)

Little Inanimates TM Morsels

(Little Inanimates Morsels are stories with morals based around inanimate objects or creatures which do not exist. Yet, you can learn something from them!)

Hiddy The Walnut With Wings

Hiddy was a walnut with wings. But poor Hiddy was in a wheelchair. It would make Hiddy so sad to see all the other nuts - playing, jumping, running around getting all saturated in their own oils, while he was stuck in his un-fun machine. It made him feel like he was forced to sit in the bad seat, like they had at school. What he wouldn't give to get up and walk over to sit in the bad seat now.

To make things even worse, Hiddy didn't even have wheels on his wheelchair, as his parents were poor and could only afford cinderblocks. So, day after day, Hiddy would sit in his chair in the front lawn, like a broken down car or a flamingo yard ornament.

Hiddy knew he had the capability to do great things. He dreamed of someday being an astro-nut, or a jar of Jiffy brand peanut butter, while all his friends only had aspirations of being a generic brand. He would always say, "I am the walnut! Goo goo ga chew!" After his favorite Meatles song. The Meatles were his favorite band, and he dreamed of even having one half the nutmeat that the Meatles had.

His mother and guidance counselor and physical therapist would always tell him to be strong and brave. "Be strong and brave," his guidance counselor said every day. "For you may grow up to be anything. You could even be Jesus, if you put your mind to it."

He thought about that - "Hm. I could be Jesus." But he decided he'd rather work on being someone else. Like himself, but not in a wheelchair.

So, he decided to start exercising. Every day, he'd pump vitamins and nutrients into his little nut body. He'd put his little nuttles on top of the cinder block and push himself up and let himself down out of the chair, the way you've seen people do when they work out in prison films. He'd do sit downs, which are like sit ups, but you lean down instead of up. And he'd wish and hope.

Eventually, one day, his arms were so strong, he was able to lean over and push himself and his whole chair up into the air and walk on his hands. He realized that his arms could be his new legs, and immediately "ran" inside to put shoes on his hands.

His mother was so surprised to see him moving around, she dropped the dishes she was washing and started jumping for joy.

"Mother, don't cry!" he said, wishing he was strong enough to balance on one hand so he could wipe her oily eye discharge away from her eyes. "I'm a man, now," he said. And mother nut knew it was true.

The moral of this story is, if you're in a wheelchair with no wheels, you have to try to find some other way to get around. Also, if you have wings but you can't use your legs, you should try to fly.

TRACHTENBURG FAMILY SLIDESHOW PLAYER REVIEW

....and a little about Jessica Delfino, too.

This was from a show we did in Richmond, Illinois - the place I found my gold lame' fancy shoes in a thrift store for - watch out - ONE dollar.

They don't grow deals like THAT in NYC. The last time I bought something for a dollar in NYC, I became a mother.

Womp womp womp...

This was written by the adorable kid college newspaper writer who gathered up all his courage and waited till the end of the show to tell me that if he was my boyfriend, HE'D have sex with me. (Based on a joke I told about my college boyfriend never having sex with me.)

Hey, everyone. I just got back from being on tour for a week and boy is my vagina tired.

I should be a stand-up comedian for a living.

EASTER All You Can Take

My show is on for tonight, Easter Sunday, March 27, 2005. We will be having Easter Dinner Chinese style from the Chinese place on the corner of B and 3rd. It's good and cheap. The show starts at 7 pm and I'll be taking orders at 7:15. It shouldn't cost you more than $5. There are cheap beers and wine at the show, too.

Apocalypse Lounge
E 3rd between A and B aves
7 pm - 9 pm
sign up at 6:50 pm. Show starts at 7.

I encourage odd acts to show up, but any acts are welcome, especially acts delivered by intellectuals. I love smart dudes.

Also, I'll be performing at the KNITTING FACTORY on Friday, April 1st - 74 Leonard St. Tickets are $6 each and you can buy them here online or at www.knittingfactory.com.

Show details here.

It's a night of comedy music, featuring ME on first at 8 pm, Sharon Mama Spell, Stuckey & Murray and Tickle Dracula, who I like very much.

Hope you can make it...

Finally, I'd like to say this.

I got an email a few weeks ago from Celia Bressack promoting the show "Mariajuanalogues". It said if we went to the box office and said we had tickets for "Marty Wanna" we could get in for free. My bf and I rode over there today on our bikes a half hour before show time, and tried to get our free tickets. The guy at the box office, who said his name was Sam, was so rude. He cut me off, yelling, "The promotions over! Go away! Get out of here!" I said, "I have an e-mail here which says it's good until today's date." I took it out to try to show it to him, and he just started repeating rapid fire, "The promotion is over. If you want to buy a ticket, they're $35" which alternated with "Get out of here if you don't want a ticket." He said that about ten times while I stood there looking like an asshole in front of ten or so people who were also waiting for tickets.

I was very embarrassed and pretty irritated at this dick for being so rude on top of having a FLAMING gay accent which definitely didn't make him seem any less like an overly melodramatic f-ing a-hole.

I went and got on my bike, defeated, and rode away.

IT'S FUCKING EASTER! Jesus wouldn't have wanted that.

Remember, friends - Easter or not, it's never a good idea to scream at strangers. They could be crazier than you.

As I peddled away on my bike, I thought of ways to get even. I could get a bucket of water, I thought, and splash it into the box office hole all over the guy. I could throw a rock through the box office window tonight after the place is all closed down. I could wait for Sam at the end of the day and spit on him. Finally, I decided to eat a piece of pizza and get over it.

Though not as fulfilling as spitting on him or dumping water on him might have been, at least now I understand why they call the West Village gay. Because whether or not it's gay in a homosexual way, it's definitely fucking gay. I can't wait to move to Chinatown, where gayness doesn't exist - but there's a plethora of cheap food and rent, which is decidedly UN gay, if you ask me.

MY BLOG FUCKING STINKS

I haven't written anything on here in like, four years, and I have pangs of guilt clinging to my insides, but not quite executing themselves into full blown guilt. Just when I swear there's no way my life could get harder, it has to go and prove itself to me that it can.

My bf who I won't mention by name got evicted from his apartment of 14 years by his slumlord landlord Paul Stallings, who the Village Voice called one of the ten worse landlords in NYC. I was living with him, but he didn't know that. I just kept my things there and slept there every night. I had another place to crash, too. But I loved living in the LES. Even with the high risk to white actresses in the neighborhood. Not that I'm a white actress, but I could be one with a little bit of fine tuning.

I've never seen a person with more boxes of shit than said boyfriend. We carried literally 100 or more boxes out of there, down five flights of stairs, not to mention about ten guitars, ten keyboards, and half his roommates clothing which she gave me when she left, as well as food and other crap. My boss kindly allowed Chris to stay with me at his place in the West Village where I was set up for living already. That was the home I never stayed at. But we can only stay here for a month together, then bf has to go.

So, we have been looking for a place in Manhattan to move into together, which is very exciting for me. Finally! My boyfriend and I are moving in together! How trite. And affordable. When NYC said they were going to make more affordable housing, I think they meant they were going to do more to arrange for couples to live together.

I think we found a place we like in Chinatown. It's pretty reasonable - a 2 bedroom convertible for $1300. To someone who isn't from NY or hasn't had to find a place to live for awhile, a convertible is a car. But here, it's an apartment with a living room that could be turned into a bedroom. Every 2 bedroom in NYC was a 1 bedroom at one time, it seems, and many studios are now 2 bedroom apartments thanks to capitalism.

Now, we have to convince the Asians that we are decent people and aren't going to try to hurt their apartment. If they knew us better, they'd realize the chances of us hurting the apartment versus hurting ourselves or someone else instead are very slim. We aren't door kicking, wall-smashing people - unless provoked by a really, really good provoker.

It's been fun though, going through all my old stuff in this move - I found some great junk that I forgot I had. I have a few old issues of STAR LORD which I'll be selling on E-bay, and I also found an old interview with Jim Norton from a while back. It was funny. I was thinking of putting it on this blog, but I decided I might try to sell it, instead.

I've been trying to be more money oriented lately. I asked my rich Jewish friend, "Can you please tell me the secret to why you and many other Jewish people and many other people who aren't Jewish are so rich?" He said, "It's easy, actually. You just have to make decisions about money with no emotion in them. Just look at which choice will make you more money, without thinking about who it will be hurting or who it will affect." Spoken like a true capitalist. I found it to be slightly inspiring, but mostly sad. I've been bringing more CDs around with me and trying to sell them at my shows, which I am pretty lazy about doing usually. Honestly, I'd rather the CDs were in stores so I didn't have to peddle them. But while I was on tour with the Trachtenburgs, I realized that you can make a living off the merch table. A living that doesn't involve cutting so and so in on the profits. A fat extra chunk of cash, every gig. So, I've been dragging the merch out with me and actually trying to peddle it. I feel like a hermit or something, but people have been buying the CD, it's only five damn bucks. They probably feel sorry for me.

Speaking of feeling sorry for me, please come to see my show at the Knitting Factory on Friday, April 1st - APRIL FOOL'S DAY. (I think they mean me.) It's a night of musical comedy in the Old Office, and starts at 7:30 pm. The show features ME as the opening act, Sharon Mama Spell, Stuckey & Murray, and my friends Tickle Dracula. I think their website is www.captainhilarious.com. Or there's at least more info about the show at that website. The show is $6. Cheap fun. And I do mean cheap - there will probably be tons of vagina jokes. Most of them made by me.

As usual, my weekly collection of rabblerousers is held every Sunday at Apocalypse Lounge from 7-9. It's an open mic, but I only take ten performers and the order is arranged by me. I also pick the line-up according to who I think would be the most interesting to watch. So, it's not one of those shows where there are ten brand new comics in a row trying out the worst, unfunniest material you ever heard. It's true pros trying out unfunny material. Ha ha.

I wish I had something interesting to write, but my life sucks too much for me to be good at things right now.

Check this shit out - my laptop - the new one I just got about five months ago or less - BROKEN, unusable. I hired a friend to come and fix it and he didn't fix it but now wants $100 for trying!!! What do I do? I mean, besides kill myself?

Bye...

JESSICA DELFINO at the KNITTING FACTORY!!!

Hey there everyone. Life is very hectic right now, because Chris got evicted from his apartment of 14 years. I've been helping him move and I'm also helping my boss move into his new place as well. But, I've got some very exciting news (for me...) - I'm playing at the Knitting Factory on April 1st at 8 pm!!! Doors at 7:30 pm. Tickets are only $6. I'm also playing with Tickle Dracula, who I like very much. Stuckey & Murray and Sharon Mama Spell are also on the bill. So come on down and boogie with us, won't you all?

In other news, I'm trying to be nicer to my fellow man. I've been holding doors, saying please and thank you a lot, and smiling randomly at people. These are things I normally do anyway, when I'm not writing jokes about how badly the homeless smell, but I'm trying to make an effort to do this even more now. Part of the reason why, is because when I was on tour with the Trachtenburgs, I noticed every rest stop we went to, people would POINT at Tina so overtly and laugh at her. It was like being back in high school, with out the failing grade in Spanish class. It didn't seem to bother her at all, she'd laugh really loud. She has such a great laugh, the people would normally start laughing with her...a little human compassion would take place and before we knew it, we were all chit chatting - where ya from? Whatcha doin' here? That kind of stuff...

It was magical, at times, to see people's personalities change in a second, with just a laugh or a smile. I thought that was something I wanted to bring back to NYC with me. It's so easy to get wrapped up in calling people assholes and staring jerky bitches down - it's so fun! And sometimes so deserved. But it's just as easy to say hello to a stranger, put a quarter in a homeless person's cup, and hold a door for a person with their arms full.

When the nuclear bomb hits this city, we'll all burn together - the poor, the rich, the fat, the pretty. I'm not suggesting we all try to love one another, but I am suggesting that it wouldn't hurt us any to be kind to one another, especially people who are assholes. Probably the reason they are assholes to begin with is because people have been mean to them so much with such regularity that they are trained to expect it, and then trained to give it back.

Try it if you can - do one nice thing for someone every single stinking day. Even if you hate your job. Even if you hate your boyfriend. Even if you hate yourself. This world sucks enough without you being a dick, too.

This Sunday at Apocalypse Lounge, 7 pm to 9 pm, my dear friend Claudia Gross will be hosting. I'll be there for a bit, but then I have another show to go to at the Living Room called "East Side Oral" where I'll be doing a reading. Come on over, won't you, to either show, or both?

back to our program...

so, where was i...

currently, i'm at bard university in new york. we arrived about a half hour ago. it took us about 15 hours to drive here from indiana. we stayed at the shittiest hotel i've ever stayed at, and it cost 70 smackers. it was a super 8 - more like suck-ass 8. this entry will be written with no caps, special characters or exclamation points because i have no shift key at this student computer i'm sitting at.

the show in indiana was so terrific, besides it being little sibs weekend. jason joked that little sibs sounds like a disease you get...ha ha. little sibs are like a disease you get.

my set started out good and dirty, and within about ten minutes, the show director approached the stage and told me to knock off all the dirty stuff. so, i didn't, and the audience loved it all. the kids, too. when i got off stage, an 11 year old in the audience told me she loved me. awww.

the trachtenburgs were so terrific. jason was extra charming and funny on stage, though rachel seemed tired. it was a late show, it didn't even start until ten pm. they forgot the mountain trip slides, so the audience was bummed about that, but rocked it out with all their other hits, so christmas was saved.

at the end of the night, zak, a writer for the school paper approached me. he told me he enjoyed my set, bought a cd, had me autograph it - a first for jessica delfino on her own cd - and then he told me that if he was my boyfriend, he'd have sex with me. awwwwww, exclamation exclamation exclamation.

- i have a joke i tell about a boyfriend who'd never have sex with me.

all in all, the evening was a total success, even though jason and tina were briefly worried that they might get shit for me being so dirty. dammit, if they'll subject their own daughter to it, it couldn't be that bad.

this trip was pretty fun, though i hacked and coughed non-stop the whole time, and started my period mid-trip.

apocalypse lounge is still going on tonight at 7 pm, all you can take...abby rosen is hosting. get there at quarter of 7 to sign up. if you miss the sign up, you can always do the speed round at the end. everyone gets two minutes in the speed round.

bye...

ON THE ROAD with the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players

Richmond, Indiana is remarkable in its unremarkableness. However, this town has a Salvation Army, a Goodwill AND a no-name Jesus Loves You thrift store. I bought a fucking drop dead beautiful pair of old lady gold lame shoes at the no-name Jesus Loves You place for - ready? - ONE dollar. You can't even buy directions in NYC for a buck. Brand new. Some old lady died and left me her shoes.

This town has no vegetarian restaurants at all, and Jason and I are vegetarians, Tina doesn't eat much meat, and Rachel is trying out vegetarianism for a little bit. So, the most obvious answer then, would be Mexicano. We found some little place called El Chimichanga or something and ate there TWICE today. Good food, cheap, and get this - they CUSTOM MADE food for us off the menu! I ordered the chicken rice soup sans chicken - and like magic! No chicken.

More later...

Earlham College and More

I'm on a mini-tour with the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players. We are staying at a super fat Holiday Inn, if you can imagine such a thing. Heated pool, jacuzzi, mullets galore. I got my own hotel room to myself last night because the college set it up that way.

Fancy!

I totalled my room, in real rock star mode. The TV is in the garden, six stories below - towels and vicodan littered among the fresh, new carpet - two huge double beds - one for me and one for my shoes.

Who wants to host my show at Apocalypse while I'm gone? I'll be back late Sunday. E-mail me immediately!

I'm excited to see how Indiana does Delfino...

ALL YOU CAN TAKE - This Sunday

I'm going to Connecticut to do a show and will not be hosting my show this Sunday. Please see Dan, who will be hosting and arranging the line-up, if you're interested in performing at my weekly, always free semi-booked open mic at Apocalypse Lounge, E. 3rd bt. aves A and B,
7 pm - 9 pm.

After my show, Neil Medlyn will be hosting his own show at Apocalypse. He's a terrific performer, and if you've never seen him, get your ass over there around 8:50, get a good seat and get ready for his unique brand of odd fun. I love him...but not with my vagina. He's funny and subversive, smart and strange. Check it out, you all!

Next week, I'll be doing the Heckler's Ball at ALL YOU CAN TAKE, which I'll describe in more detail soon. If you'd like to perform on the Heckler's Ball ALL YOU CAN TAKE show, please e-mail me. There will be prizes, awards, etc., and tons of no-holds-barred heckling. How much can you TAKE?

ELK BOY SINGS THE BLUES

Uh, oh - I have a feeling this is going to be the next huge book series, a la Harry Potter:

It's a blog written from the perspective of a boy who was raised by Elk. It's funny, cute,
and skewers dumb things humans do.

Check it out here: www.elkboy.blogspot.com

My friend Marc Hartzmann, who used to write a terrific zine called "Backwash" for several years (which I contributed to often) is the writer of said Elk Boy blog. He got married not too long ago, moved to New Rochelle (out of this shit hole) and is expecting a baby soon. Congrats, dude. If it's a girl, please name her "Palm Frond" and if it's a boy, please name him "Peter Palm Frond".

Palm Frond is my new favorite word. I am going to use it for a lot of different things now, like, if I drop and break something, or hurt my shin, I'm going to from now on, say, "God Palm Frond dammit!"

And, if I am in a hot moment with a boy, I'm going to be like, "You wanna Palm Frond?"

And if I get hungry, I'm going to say from now on, "Boy, I sure am Palm Frond."

And if I have something really important that I can't forget, I'm going to make sure I jot it down in my Palm Frond Pilot.

I think that word has become popular thanks to the tsunami, because this week I've heard four different people say "palm frond". See? Good things can come out of disasters. Now, I know a new word. It's too bad that so many people had to suffer so I could learn a new word.

I'd rather have just looked it up.

OBLIGATORY VALENTINE'S DAY ENTRY - PLUS!

This Valentine's Day, start a tradition and continue it for the rest of your life. MAKE something for your sweetie. Make them a card, write them a love letter, cook them dinner, take them to a special place and make something special happen there, make them a mix-tape (AND cd), anything. Something. Use your hands, put your brain to work, find that one, lone, creative amoeba hiding out among the multitude of other, uncreative amoeba and put it to task. What can you do? What can you make? Think, dammit! What?

People used to make stuff for people all the time. People still do. My boyfriend in high school made me a desk for Valentine's Day. I still have it. I wouldn't trade that raggedy old desk for all the Gucci purses in the world.

You might argue that someone had to make the first Gucci purse. Shut up, quit making excuses and dig up some markers.

Last night at ALL YOU CAN TAKE, I brought art supplies and forced everyone to make home-made Valentine's for lovers or a stranger in the room. The result was awesome - everyone made Valentines for ME! And some of them are really beautiful. I feel like a princess this Valentine's Day, and it's not because of Hallmark or Whitman's, or Gucci.

SHOW N TELL open mic TONIGHT
10 pm sign up - Show starts very shortly thereafter
$3
Bowery Poetry Club (just north of Houston)

Where else can you perform in front of 60 people who actually give a shit what you're doing on stage? Where else can you watch 60 people perform on stage who are actually interesting, unique and talented? Maybe they aren't all winners, but a lot of them are really great performers. It's my version of TV.

Happy Valentine's Day. Don't get VD on VD. (How embarrassing that'd be...)

END NOTE: Did anyone hear about the kid who had his I-POD stolen at knifepoint and was instead given an older musical device? AWESOME! The world's getting FIGHT CLUB on our asses! Join, or be forced to at knifepoint! Come on, kids - let's fire up this revolution. And it doesn't have to run on fossil fuel.

ONE SMART-ASSED CHRISTIAN'S OPEN LETTER

I have always been confused by the delicate specifics of the bible's demands and an avid hater of the Republican god. (One of my favorite songs is a (Liquid) Tapedeck song that goes:

Adam and Eve had sex. (guitar rumblings) And Adam and Eve had Cane and Abel. (guitar rumblings) And Cane and Abel had sex...with...(spoken)Wait...who did Cane and Abel have sex with? Does anyone know who Cane and Abel had sex with? Did they have neighbors? Did they have any sisters? They must have had sex with their mother. Because who else was there to have sex with? --- CHORUS/CODA thingy: It doesn't matter anyway; 'cause we're all inbreds anyway...

(Unless God made neighbors for Cane and Abel to have sex with. Which would mean that the whole population only came from two families. Which means there is no way that the bible could be true. Or else, we'd all be complete inbreds. As we've all witnessed on Jerry Springer, you see what happens when relatives do it after only one or two generations - it leads to little baby retards. Granted, most of the population of the world is fucking retarded, but not literally actually retarded.)

So...Doctor Laura Schlesinger is a US radio personality who dispenses advice to people who call in to her radio show. On her show recently, she said that, as an observant Orthodox Jew, homosexuality is an abomination, according to Leviticus 18:22, and cannot be condoned under any circumstance. The following response is an open letter to Dr. Laura by a 'God-fearing Christian.' I wish they'd just sent it as is, without the PS, to see if he'd get a response.

Dear Dr. Laura:

Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination ... End of debate. I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some other elements of God's Laws and how to follow them.

1.Leviticus 25:44 states that I may possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?

2. I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

3. I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness - Lev.15: 19-24. The problem is how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.

4. When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord -Lev.1:9. The problem is, my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

5. I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2. clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself, or should I ask the police to do it?

6. A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination - Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this? Are there 'degrees' of abomination?

7. Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle-room here?

8. Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev. 19:27. How should they die?

9. I know from Lev.11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

10. My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev.19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? Lev.24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair, like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)

I know you have studied these things extensively and thus enjoy considerable expertise in such matters, so I am confident you can help. Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging. I remain a concerned but very confused GOD fearing Christian

PS Dr. Laura can you direct me to a source for those nude photographs of yourself that were making the rounds some ten years ago? I would like to get a set of 8" by 12" glossies to be used as a visual training tool to prepare my Grandchildren for a life of having to understand all the hypocrites they will have to deal with in their lives.

THE GATES in CENTRAL PARK

The Gates are up in Central Park - Thousands of feet of gates with saffron colored fabric blowing throughout. It's like the Halley's Comet of expensive art projects, brought to you by two super rich white people who had nothing better to do with what...20 billion dollars? Then take over the park and plant laundry.

Why not send that money to the Tsunami, or build 'The Houses' - an art project that gives homeless people a place to live. I mean, they built the frame of one wall, and already threw in a curtain. Why not add a door and a heater and call it a worthy cause?

I appreciate art, and I like the fact that these two people can afford to do whatever they want, whether this city's gov wants them to do it or not, but I don't condone spending 20 million dollars on anything ever.

Money should be illegal.

BRUSH WITH A BRUSH WITH GREATNESS:
Super Diamond - The Neil Diamond Tribute Band

Just to show you all that I'm not making it up when I boo hoo on my website, check out this little 'diamond' of a story: This is how my life is, every single day.

This lady from Clearchannel called me today, and asked if I could open up tonight and tomorrow night for two sold-out shows at Irving Plaza for this Neil Diamond tribute act called "Super Diamond." I think my actual response was, "Shit, yeah!"

We worked out the details, pay, etc., and confirmed it. She called me back a few minutes later and said, ahh, never mind. Super Diamond doesn't want a comedic act to open up for them.

Now if that isn't a shit sandwich, I don't know what is.

Well, guess what I ate for lunch today? A shit sandwich. Guess what I ate for lunch yesterday? A shit sandwich. And the day before that? You got it - shit sandwich.

I guess by now, I should be used to shit sandwiches.

Mmmmm. Shit. Sandwich.

DREAM GIG??? Call and find out...

Are you an interesting person who lives in NYC? Do you have trouble dating for some reason? Maybe because you can't find the right one? Maybe because you're crazy?

If you are interested in being filmed for a documentary about interesting people who live in NYC who have trouble dating, please call this phone number:

212 -481-9501

...and ask for Michael. Tell him Jessica Delfino sentcha.

Alrighty, kids, I'm off to choke myself with a belt like that guy from INXS did.

TELEPHONE BAR SHOW REVIEW and WEEKEND FUN DETAILS

I performed last night in a bar at 2nd? and 9th called "Telephone Bar". There's a show in the back room (the location of many comedy shows in NYC - either that or 'downstairs' - why is comedy always kept in the back or under the ground?) and it was pretty nice. It was packed, and only a buck to watch.

On the show were Patrick Borelli who I love and just think the world of, comedically, then there was Abby Rosen whom I've known for several years, she had some great material, Aziz Ensari (I'm not sure if I'm spelling his name right) but he did some cute anti-stand-up (playing songs on his I-Pod that he recorded for this girl he has a crush on who's dating someone else) and the show hosts, whose names I mostly forget. There were like, three of them! But each of them had their own adorable qualities, and were even quite proficient on the funny stage arena.

And, they were very nice and even PAID me to perform! I made a fat $6. Hey - I'll take fat six bucks to a skinny no bucks anytime.

My mother called me early (11 am) this morning to inquire about my blog comments from the Opie and Anthony show. Thanks a lot, you dumb O&A shit head geeks, now you've done gone and upset my momma. The last thing I need is for my moms to be concerned, because when she becomes upset, she often gets all vocal about it.

Some assholes owe my moms an apology. Probably their own moms, too. Get on it, oh fat ones.

You can e-mail all apologies to me, and I'll forward them to my mom.
jessdelfino@yahoo.com

THIS SATURDAY is the long-been-hiding DEEP DISH CABARET. It got written up in this week's NY PRESS, and is hosted by my favorite, Patrick Borelli. Am I stalking him, you might wonder? Am I just finding out about every show he's performing on and then trying to perform on them, too, you may find yourself asking the monitor as you read this? The answer is NO. We just happen to keep coincidentally being booked to perform on the same shows. It's a small pool, and after awhile, the randomness of it wears out. To find out about DEEP DISH, google it. It's a great, weird variety show, and every time I go, I see truly amazing acts I've never seen before. I first saw Mike Albo there, Adira Amram, Quincy Newton, and Michael Portnoy, all who have become favorites of mine. I saw Mike Albo's show at PS122 this past weekend. It was a rainbow of wisdom and wit. See it, if you can.

DEEP DISH CABARET
Junno's Lounge
64 Downing Street - that's a short block North of Houston, and 30 steps East of 7th Ave.
The show is $10 I believe.
Show starts at 10 PM and goes until about 1 am. There are often about 8 acts, with a short break in between for optimal alcohol consumption and schmoozing. And the audience is always hot, too! Always attractive chicks and sexy dudes, filling up those seats with fine, round asses.

THIS SUNDAY is going to be the ALL YOU CAN TAKE Valentine's Edition. We will have spontaneity and more, but will also be having a special guest who will read PRISON INMATE personals ads aloud, in case any of you are lonely, and other special, romantic, red and other typical Valentine's Day cliche-related surprises. 7-9 PM, Apocalypse Lounge, E3rd St. between aves A and B. And it's free, in case you're poor, cheap, or skeptical. **I ENCOURAGE ALL PERFORMERS*** to do something heart-themed.

AND THEN AFTER MY SHOW is a Reading Show I'll be participating in at 21 Bleecker Street, West of Bowery. It's at 10 pm. I don't know too much about it, but it's at a place with a weird, long name, like the Hyperbolic Literary Institute, or some other three-worded upper-crust insinuating nombre. Sounds like it could be a fancy fun time.