What can I say?
One night I'm at the Oriental Theatre for the Star Wars poetry slam, reciting perhaps the worst poem ever written, listening to the flash-mob-marching-band-nerd-circus-Star-Wars-freak-show that is Boba Fett and the Americans, who totally rocked the house, by the way, and then I learn the hard way to never, ever, EVER, give someone a straight and earnest bio, because it might, just might, get read on stage as intro by bizarro emcee-slash-comedian Sid Pink, to my horror, the horror. (Incest jokes aside, SP was pretty funny.)
And then the next night, at the Flobots.org space, with Halloween streamers gently waving from the ceiling, I emcee a wickedly talented reading of four Lighthouse draftees--Tiffany Tyson, Tom Dufficy, Megan Nix, and Dan Frost. I heard about Nazis, traveling to distant South American countries, little brothers and sad communions, Reebok pump sneakers and flying 37.5 feet on a bicycle, and ate the best cupcakes I have ever tasted.
And then I slide on down to the Meadowlark Bar, and seemingly enter graduate school again--in a good, fun way, I mean. Lots of cool people, great energy, a dude strumming a guitar on a small stage. And a cold Fat Tire in my hand.
Phew. What a wild, wild weekend. Makes me glad to be hanging around this dusty old cowtown.
--mjh
