Friday, July 16, 2010

Gypsies tramps and thieves-Brimfield in July




Stuck on the highway near Scranton, PA. Found Aerosmith on the dial and a few contraband comforts in the car. Benefits of making the long ride home with Rick F. Tailights ahead just went off, Yeah! We sing along to "Pinball Wizard." Doesn't take much to make me happy. Don't miss the scenic overlook as you get on 80 from 81. Dang! sure is pretty out here. The segue from carnival life, the four days of hot and sweaty endless shopping, might be improved if there was a good rehab to check into after. The people at home know to give me a wide berth for a few days. Any possible pleasure to be had from the quick weight loss got smacked down when the face in the mirror reported the theft of all remaining collagen. F… it. I loved every ridiculous minute. Ran into those pals I told you about 20 blogs ago that I met at the Chelsea Garage Flea in the NYC. There's an aspect of corporate convention to these shows, combined with dirt, weather, and an absence of any facilities and respectable attendees. A front of lawlessness is in the forecast. I secretly hope I'll be voted queen of this convention. I force myself to focus on the real job in between song and dance numbers. I love everything I bought (this will pass, more about that later) and don't want to sell anything. I had more fun than anyone has a right to. Went a little crazy buying some weird stuff. My friend Jim would say, "signs of mania, quick get the lithium darts." A banner that says something like "watch a baby being born, Original Sin in action!" I'd love over my bed. Oops, too much information? A surgical table with "tools," will make people so happy when they see it, I guess I won't put it in the living room. Giant chunky puke green letters spelling "Rodney" would look cool on my…ceiling?A 6" model of an eyeball will make the brain and ear I have so happy. I lie and promise to adopt them out together. Fingers crossed the commercial-sized chemistry glassware makes it back on Rick K's truck whole, I have a fantasy about distilling liquor in it. 20 minutes before my ride is honking to take me home, I score a series of copper vases that look like intestines. Part of love is letting go. I hope the memories will sustain me. Come January I will need it. How incredible the end-of-the-day corona felt sliding down my throat. Sneaking a nap when the rain came, under the tarp and the radar on Adam's lounger. Some delicious eavesdropping there. I stopped in my tracks to listen to the guy playing a french horn seated on the ground in his crowded booth. Signs of enlightenment abound, if you are looking. Too hot to eat, little sleep, I gorge on the running gags in our gypsy encampment. Part street urchins part geniuses, I marvel at how this business draws fascinating personalities. They could be professors or composers monday through friday, but you can't always tell from the dirty t-shirt. The man selling all that lab equipment wrote a brilliant song called the Antique Dealer Blues and sang all ten+ stanzas for me. I take a break on the recliner in front of a big fan and sing the refrain while his philosopher friend tells me the true meaning of life. I stay for a 50 minute session. Finding the Messiah felt more important somehow than being first when Mays (show) opened. I tell everyone about this "church" in John N's booth (and jot Joel the philosopher's number down for any call-in questions I will later have). I believe all this powerful energy is now in every item I bought and I will continue to get to do this weird and wonderful job that wants to kill me. I probably won't score that big money-maker ever nor have my own reality show, but man do I have fun. Maybe it all sounds like bs, but be a little curious and stop by the store and then tell me it doesn't look like a good time.