My city-town is quirky. An entity unto itself, despite all of the claimed parallels I've heard of, with references to other areas I've yet to explore. And when I try to describe this little space to others, I find myself most often reminiscing about particular instances or events that seem to encapsulate what this city-town is.

The only problem is that it has so many funky sides to it that selecting one particular instance proves near-impossible. A simple answer to a seemingly simple question is one I've not yet found.

This afternoon, I parked my car in my downtown lot and walked down the slope of College Street to the waterfront. The lake was hazy, with humidity posing as fog that rose in front of greenery on the New York side. The heat weighed down heavy on my fellow pedestrians, who seemed envious of the bicyclists whizzing by. We rationalized that they were doing more work, but remained envious that at least they were generating a steady breeze for their travels.

The white tent was propped in the outcrop jutting toward the water, the faint sound of a mandolin growing louder as I approached. I felt a temporary relief from the heat beneath the shade, but quickly realized the difference in temperature was perhaps a couple of degrees. If we were lucky.

I found my friends on a grassy patch near the back and gratefully settled onto the ground to rest. The bluegrass was appropriately plucky but was countered with the female singer's smooth, throaty voice.

Applause after each song was difficult, as the grass that stuck to our damp hands (not to mention our sweaty legs) flew in small clumps mid-clap. But the music was worth it.

After some time, we rose to brush off and stretch our limbs. "I want ice cream," one of us said. We set off on the walk back into the heat and up the hills, stopping to stand in the mist of the ecological center nearby. It stopped just as we approached and resumed just as we began to leave. Maturity be damned - we ran back at full speed, laughing and splashing about in the small puddles.

When I think of Burlington, I think of Monday night Grippo performances in a smokey Red Square. I think of karaoke at Manhattan's, coffee at Muddy's and Uncommon Grounds and sunsets along the water. Street performers along Church Street or the spinning spheres in City Hall Park.

Now, I add to the list bluegrass along the waterfront, misters and summer treks for Ben & Jerry's.

Thus compounding the situation next time I'm asked to describe where I now live.
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In other news. JazzFest: enjoyable as always. Friday night was cosmos, "fine dining" and background ambiance at a corner bistro. Saturday wandered by in a heavy haze. And Sunday bluegrass amid the grass. Good times.

I feel an obligation to note that I did enjoy "Episode III."

"Wordplay" is slowly - and I mean ever so slowly - growing on me. Mainly because I find the video to be brilliant. Love it. Was not expecting it in the least. And the Billy-goat brings me joy.

And, finally.

the one person who really knows me best
says i'm like a cat
yeah the kind of cat that you just can't pick up
and throw into your lap
no, the kind that doesn't mind being held
only when its her idea
yeah, the kind that feels what she decides to feel
when she is good and ready to feel it
- Ani, "Virtue"