Safe and Non-Poisonous

October 20

I read a review of one of my poems today, that said my piece was "full of wit and humour but in the end it approaches the saltiness of the tears of a clown." That's me, yo. God's own weeping clown poet. In the next sentence, the reviewer used the word "ekphrastic" (which is a fancy way of saying "a poem about art."), thus demonstrating a remarkable range of reviewing skillz from the banal to the esoteric...

Still, review coverage is rare as hell when it comes to poetry, so I guess I shouldn't complain.

So I did my reading last night, first one up on stage at Cafe du Nord. I read "Annabelle's Alphabet" mostly because it's one of the few pieces I've written that can be read in its entirety in 15 minutes, and because people like it, by and large. The performance space is in the back room, very shadowy -- just candlelight and stage lights. Later, every chair was taken and there were a lot of people standing in the back, but I've got no idea how many people were in the audience for my reading. Charliegirl introduced me well (using his customary amusing made-up-craziness approach to an introduction), and I was up. There was a lectern, which I found extremely amusing, and when I got on stage behind it I welcomed the audience to Abnormal Psychology 101; "If this isn't your class, please check your schedules." After some brief babbling front matter and an attempt to hold the pages of my story in such a way that light would actually fall on them, I read. And, as in the best readings, I soon fell into the rhythms of the story, and my initial nervousness bled away, and before I knew it, I was done, and people were clapping, and all was well.

Thus freeing me to enjoy the rest of the show! My companions were my darling Heather (of course), the lovely Susan Marie, the multinymous Pete, sweet Jen (fu!), and later Teddy, who assures me he is not actually King of the Ants. They were great company, and I'm pleased they were all there. As for the performers -- Nina Arnelli was quite funny. Cas McGee does beautiful work -- the poem about jambalaya was particularly wonderful. Joel Schalit read articles/essays about Judaism and politics and his personal experiences with same -- fascinating, though a bit heavier than anything else anyone read. Greg Wharton read a hilarious piece of smut, and then an ass-nasty piece of smut. I didn't think either one was particularly erotic, but they were entertaining and very well-written. Lynn Peril read very funny essays about the scary intersection of advertising and female biology/"hygiene."

Then we got hustled out, and stood milling in the front of the bar for a while. Daphne Gottlieb approached me (I didn't recognize her at first -- she's taller than she looks on stage!) and told me how much she loved "Annabelle's" (she loved it a lot; this wasn't mere politeness), and it was all I could do not to dance around with happy-happy. Her work means so much to me, and I respect her so much, that her good opinion set me afloat, and made me grin frequently throughout the night.

Our little group decided not to join the general pizza-directed crowd, given that we'd just end up sitting and talking to one another anyway, and we went instead to a lovely California/American/Various restaurant, which was damned yummy. We talked. I consumed beer. We had dinner, and then dessert. After, we were too poor to barhop, and decided instead to go to Jen's apartment to hang out. Which led to some interesting logistics, given that there were six of us and only Teddy's car, which can fit three people fairly comfortably. So Teddy went off with Jen the native guide, and the rest of us piled into a cab, which took us to the wrong place, so we wound up walking a long way anyway, with a brief bathroom foray into the lobby of a nice hotel that featured large globes and winged lion-dogs and giant baseball-glove statues. Surrealism is alive and well in the cracks of the world...

At Jen's apartment (which is small, yes, but I could see myself happily living in a similar place, if I lived alone), we unsurprisingly wound up playing at length with the adorable, somewhat slow, cutely fanged cat. It's amazing how much fun you can have with six people, a cat, and some feathers on a stick... we hung out until midnight or so, then Teddy kindly gave Susan & Heather & I a ride back to the East Bay. I borrowed The Amazing Maurice by Pratchett from Jen, since it's the only Discworld book I've not read. Which means I am now simultaneously reading that, A Scattering of Jades, The Straw Men (bought it yesterday, it rules, it's the new thriller by Michael Marshall Smith, only he's writing as Michael Marshall for various reasons), and Night in the Lonesome October by Laymon. And I should read the last bit of Wizard of the Pigeons, too, since Heather's done with it now.

Lots of books.

Good thing I'm going on vacation next week.

Words written since February 1, 2002: 175,900

Words written since last entry:
Move along. Nothing to see here.

Magic feathers.

Tim Pratt
P.O. Box 13222
Berkeley, CA 94712-4222

Look into your heart, Tommy. Look into your heart! (I think this one's funny. I'm not going to change it today.)