6 September 2003


Home again, badly in need of another shower.

Backtrack.

She remembers the knife, finds it, and we slowly make our way out of the parking lot. A very drunk man careens at us, dodging Cory's pants, saying "Girl, you got some shit goin' on there." Nod and smile. Onto 66, with all the other joyful souls. The drive home is quieter, punctuated by Eighties songs, which we sing to.

And U say, "Baby, have U got enough gas?"
Oh yeah

Little red corvette
Baby you're much 2 fast, yes U r
Little red corvette
U need 2 find a love that's gonna last

A body like yours
Oughta be in jail
'Cuz it's on the verge of bein' obscene (Prince)

and

Her name is Rio, and she dances on the sand
just like that river running through a dusty land (DuranDuran)


Cory will have driven over two hundred miles today, many of them on my behalf. Why don't we spend more time together? Because, she says, you have children, and I have a life. The two, apparantly, are mutually exclusive. She says no, she doesn't need me to drive, no, she isn't hungry and no, she doesn't kick in her sleep. Fine, she can share the waterbed, if she likes.

Backtrack.

They close with a sizable final set, the first song of which contains the following lyrics:

Realize I don't want to be a miser
Confide wisely you'll be the wiser
Young blood is the lovin' upriser
How come everybody wanna keep it like the kaiser

Give it away give it away give it away now
Give it away give it away give it away now
Give it away give it away give it away now
I can't tell if I'm a king pin or a pauper

Greedy little people in a sea of distress
Keep your more to receive your less
Unimpressed by material excess
Love is free love me say hell yes

Also included is Under The Bridge Downtown, which I have always loved.

the city she loves me, she kisses me windy
I never worry
now that is a lie

Backtrack.

When we make our way to the gate, we are checked by an Asian girl, who makes Cory get rid of the tiny pocket knife she carries with her keys. Cory hides it near a trash can, hoping she'll remember to look for it on the way out. We check out the absurd prices and decide to share a beer, some local microbrew. I have learned to drink at least a few sips of any nasty brew that happens to come my way, and I make a face at the first sip of this one, but after two more, quite like it. Cory compares it to a Sierra Nevada Amber, with more body. Nod and smile. In the beer line, someone says my name, greets me, remembers me from Motion Fest. I don't recognize her; her name is Ann and she does rope work, tight and slack. Nod and smile. Pretend to remember. Pleasantries are exchanged.

When the band starts, I wonder if the members are having an Ugly Shirt contest, and Flea refused to play, since he appears without one. Looks like the lead singer, Anthony, with the grunge hairstyle, won, as he gets to remove his ugly shirt after the first number. The seventies-haired guitarist with the lovely backup voice wears some longsleeved western-styled monstrosity. I wonder if he has particularly ugly tattoos, or arms and chest. Scars? Bad skin? But no, halfway through the show, he opens the shirt, leaving it that way the rest of the night. His chest and belly are perfect. Not okay, or pretty good, perfect. When he does a solo, does he make love to the guitar, or is it part of his body? With Flea, the bass is not only part of his body, it's his favorite part. We are on our feet at the start of the first song, and remain there, dancing, until the lights come up. I sweat more than I did working all day at the Faire. Good; I've needed to dance for so long, I hope I pull a muscle doing it. I will hurt tomorrow, in a good way.

Security firmly squelches cigarette smoking, so it's surprising to smell pot burning. Who would risk? Someone. Later during the show, the Sheriff and others show up nearby to eject a young man from the venue, and his friends as well. It may not have been a drug bust, but we don't smell marajuana anymore.

Backtrack.

Cory arrives just as I am ready to strip, wearing unreasonably loud pants. Orange and yellow daisies on a black ground. Almost, but not quite, tacky. Loud, very loud. After a quick shower and a hastily prepared dinner (that I take in the car), we are ready to at least go for coffee. Her, not me. We talk about dating and ages, and she says something that I find very funny. "I could never even consider dating someone young enough that I could have babysat him."

The drive down to Nissan pavillion is pleasant. Cory opens the moonroof. The sky is three dimensional, and the clouds are phantasmagoric. Some formations look like flocks of fish, schools of birds. By the time we get stuck in traffic on Route 66, there is a smashing sunset going on, plus Songs of the Seventies on the radio:

Gonna keep on dancin' to the
rock and roll
On Saturday night, Saturday night
Dancin' to the rhythm in our
heart and soul
On Saturday Night, Saturday night
I,I,I,I,I just can't wait,
I,I,I,I got a date (BayCity Rollers)


The sunset is brilliantly pink. Ahead, clouds that appear to have been furrowed by a rake. Beside us, streaked clouds of pink and gold, resemble (oddly) surf and sand.

Backtrack.

Leaving Garrett with Ginny, I help Ginny fix the tent (again!), then race home. Yes, a gorgeous day, still glad to get out quickly. I will stay late tomorrow, if all goes well. And for dinner with John and his wife Jen. I let out the dogs, and the dogs next door

Backtrack.

The day is gorgeous, and the bubble solution is particularly pliable. The storms during the week have smashed flat our tent, so we fix it. The grounds are beyond greasy into spongy and treacherous. We go out anyway. The new pink stiltpants are a hit, to judge by audience reaction. We have fallen into a rhythm, a pattern. There is structure to our days. Again, I miss seeing Ken. His assistant assures me that Ken's still here, having lunch somewhere. The crowds are large and friendly. David VanDervere, whose name rings with d's and v's, is performing in our village again, after being elsewhere for more than ten years. Funny. He looks the same to me. The mudshow folk are here, fresh from Canada, as is Tom, Canada's director, married to Mary Ann, who for as many years as I can remember, has portrayed one queen or another. Still, I do recall her, when I first started, as the Hawk Lady. Many years ago, many. Even the site was different all those years ago. It is such a joy to be alive in the village today that in no time at all, it's four thirty. Hurry home to meet Cory, to trek to Virginia, to see The Red Hot Chili Peppers. Bliss