I am here.

Really. Well, not HERE, but in Buffalo, doing Jesus Christ Superstar. And being way too effing busy to blog, even though I have a gazillion stories to tell, such as the banjo story, and the celebration of Farris's birthday. I'll get to it soon, I swear! But now, I have to go to bed, even though it's only 11:30, but I have to get up early, and we all know how I hate that.

Still, there are some fun stories, and some possibly very good news that I won't even discuss until it's an actuality, and not just mere possibility.

Anyone want to give me a mini-van?

I'm a computer goddess

So it all started with my NEW digital camera. My old one took a crapper but had a 4 year Best Buy warranty on it - hello new camera! I installed the new software for it...and goodbye operating system. Windows ME, whaddya expect. It was only a matter of time. I'm surprised it lasted 4 years before I had any problems with it.

Called Dell and for sure the tech dude made it all worse. So I decided to take matters into my own hands, and not follow the advice of some dude halfway around the world. At least his English was good.

Went to the store and bought a new Hard Drive since mine is only 20GB and only had about 4GB left. Got me a big ol' 120GB. Scared of me, ain't ya? Installed it - didn't work. The BIOS didn't recognize it. Decided to change the bus cable that came with it and put the old one back in - sure enough - bad cable. Then we were up and running. My mom got a new computer in June so I grabbed her reinstallation disc of Windows XP and loaded it up. Saved meself 200 buckos there!

Spent all day Wednesday loading up all my software and updating the drivers to all my peripherals and hardware. Everything I have was for ME, XP wasn't around yet. Then I spent all day Thursday retrieving all the old files off my old hard drive. I piggybacked my old hard drive to the new one (The Master/Slave configuration, for you S&M types) and spent all day transferring data and setting up a new directory structure. By far my biggest moment of triumph was being able to retrieve my address book and old e-mails. It took forever to figure out where they were stored in the first place, then how to actually import them. They don't function like data files.

I still have a bunch of programs to install, but they aren't as crucial. The biggest issue I had was being able to retrieve my inventory spreadsheet because my sales taxes are due! I spent a good 4 hours working on those yesterday, and they're ready to go. Always happy to toss money at the NYS government. They spend it so wisely, taking care of bums and trash (and I don't mean garbage) in New York City. What does Western New York need? We're used to living by the skin of our teeth.

I know this was a boring post, but I had to log it. I've been dreaming about hard drives and software and computer stuff for the last two days. Making me crazy!

Cheesy diners and American Chopper

So last night's concert went really well. Whew! Except for that little cocaine remark I made...but that's another story.

Today I left Ithaca to head to Buffalo, and I wanted to find a little diner to have breakfast. Ya think Ithaca would be swarming with them, but not so. Ithaca is filled with politically correct health conscious eateries, or ethnic cuisine. I just wanted greasy spoon fare.

Along route 96 there are many nickle-and-dime little towns so I thought I'd find one along the way. I had to go about 4 towns north before I found a diner that didn't have a "bud light" neon sign in the window. And there it was in a town so dinky I could throw a snowball end to end. So small, I didn't even get the name. But Carolyn's Diner looked promisingly cheesy.

You walk in the door and there's a long hallway, and then a separate door to enter the diner. Strange design - it looked like a box within a box. The hallway was "under construction", meaning it was just drywall and 2X4 studs, no paint, no flooring, an old water heater against the wall, and crap everywhere. I went into the diner itself and it was about as big as your living room. All the locals are there, no one under 60 except the waitress and cook, and they all take a quick look at me because I clearly don't look like them, if you get my drift.

The waitress asks what I'd like to drink. "Large OJ, please". She brings it to me and asks "Do you want breakfast?" Avoiding my natural tendency to say "what the fuck, d'ya think I came her for the ambience?", I simply said "Yes, please." "What would you like?" she asks. Again, fighting the urge to be condescending, I said "A menu."

Not that I needed one. You can have eggs, homefries, toast, and pancakes. Oh, and two omelette styles. I could have just put in my order without looking at the menu. So I put my order in, and I ask for hot chocolate. "Whipped cream?" she asks. "No, thank you", I reply.

She brings me my hot chocolate. With whipped cream. Ahhhh....how comforting. This was the diner I was looking for. The kind of diner where the waitress doesn't listen, doesn't bring you the basic amenities like a glass of water or ketchup. The kind of place where the cook has only 7 teeth in her head, looks like life has ridden her too hard, her boyfriend probably beats her, and has two illegitimate children with different last names. The kind of diner where you have to wipe the silverware before you use it, and you have to check the rim of the glass for lipstick. The kind where you hope you don't get food poisoning or hepatitis when you leave, but a full breakfast only costs $3.45 plus tip.

I was wearing my Orange County Choppers T-shirt. The logo is on the back and "orange county" is on the top half, and "choppers" is on the bottom half, so when I'm sitting in the chair, you only see "Orange County". The cook brings me my food and says "Are you from Orange County? I saw your t-shirt." "No", I said. "It's a TV show on the Discovery Channel." Blank stare. "It's a TV show about motorcycles." "Well, ya lern somthin' new every day", she says. "I bet Butch knows about that show."

I swear to God she said "Butch". Her woman-beating boyfriend's name is Butch.


About 5 minutes later another woman comes over to me. "I see you're wearing an Orange County shirt! I'm from there! Are you?" So I have to explain the shirt all over again to her, that it's a TV show. "OOooh", she says. "Are you in television?"

At that moment I'd been given a glimpse of their perception - what type of people they're used to seeing in that town, and that I clearly must not look like that. I'm wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but I have a nice long coat on, and my hair is highlighted and flat-ironed. I'm clearly mediterranean looking. While I've always thought of myself as one step away from white trash, I must not look like it. At least to them I look like I could be on TV. Strange. I'm pretty sure that if I was in the television business, I wouldn't be eating at this disgusting diner, as much as I loved it. The eggs were cooked just right, the potatoes had the right greasiness, and the english muffin was perfectly cooked. Even the little jam packs they give you weren't all dried out and congealed.

And so far, no food poisoning.

I hope I don't suck.

I have a gig at Cornell U. tonight. A full show by myself, and I don't have to tell you that's it's been a loooooooooooong time since I did a full 2-hour solo show. And have I practiced? Are you mad? With all these summonses I'm buried in? I think not. Work work work work. All work and no practice makes Bitter a bad folksinger.

Anyway, I'm outta here for the weekend. Two gigs. And for once, really good money. 'Bout frickin' time. Er...that's my way of saying, "Gee thanks, universe, for validating my passion with abundance because I really deserve it!"

It's a small world, after all...

One of the women who works in Kelly's clinic happens to live with a guy I went to Grammar school with. He wasn't in my class, but his sister Brenda was. Brenda was this really pretty girl who always acted snooty, even though she lived in the same white trash neighborhood as the rest of us. We always knew Brenda would use what she had to get what she wanted, namely using her beauty to snag a filthy rich husband. She brings her snooty dog to the clinic wearing a mink coat, and I wonder what the poodle thinks when she's wearing it: "Mon dieu! Eef I don't behave, madame weel make ze muff out uf me!" But really, I digress.

This same woman who works in the clinic also happens to be BEST FRIENDS with another woman I went to grammar school with. Her brother Jack and I were in the same class. The irony of it all is that Jack was the boy I supposedly had a crush on in 6th grade. I distinctly remember all the girls naming the boys they had crushes on, then they looked at me. I'm all like a deer in the headlights! I couldn't very well say that my heart was set on Mary Ellen Varrenti, could I? It was Catholic school, for god's sake! It was 1975!!! So I was quick on my feet and picked Jack, because nobody liked him or had dibs on him, and he sat at my table anyway. He was convenient. Of course, all the girls said "eeewww" because Jack was considered gross.

So then I had to pretend that I had a crush on him, and the girls would pressure me to talk to him, or go somewhere with him, or just do all that obnoxious, annoying girl stuff you're supposed to do to snare a guy, and Jack just avoided me, thank god. I decided the best course of action was to pick a girl to whom I could confide and ask advice about how to get Jack to like me, so they'd think I was at least trying. The girl I picked? Mary Ellen Varrenti, of course!