poetry soup
Last night, I went to a poetry reading on the westside, which is so out of character for me. I was afraid that it would be a night full of pretentious, self-indulgent crap. But it wasn't, for the most part.
The evening consisted of poetry readings and soup, hence the name. The house was warm, beautiful and inviting, filled with interesting photography and artwork and lots of books. I didn't know anybody there except for the two friends who invited me. They had never been to a poetry reading before so they had no idea what to expect and didn't have anything to compare it to. We had dinner beforehand, which was a good thing because the soup selection was limited to brown or green soup.
The crowd was friendly, and the copious amounts of alcohol consumed helped that along tremendously. Most of those reading belonged to online poetry groups and were familiar with each other's poetry. There was this one guy who was Joe Pesci-esque and I was more amused by his resemblance to the man than by his poetry. One woman who read frequently was a riot - she had a very distinct lisp and her poetry didn't take that into account. But she read from a Hello Kitty binder that was bursting at the seams with paper. There was a baby grand piano and a guy nicknamed Frankie Fingers got up, to much fanfare, to tickle the ivories. I kept looking around the room while he played - didn't anybody else hear him hit the wrong keys with increasing regularity? Was he drunk? Was everyone drunk but me? He was jocking me most of the night and during the intermission, he finally gave it a shot. Jokingly, I asked if he took requests. Frankie took himself so seriously, going on as to why he didn't, that he was also a poet, blah blah blah. I cut him off, suggesting that he ask for requests, but go on to play whatever he damn well pleased, making sure that he played the first few notes of the request first. I guess he didn't get my humor because he didn't even look my way the rest of the evening.
Through most of the night, some guys would approach, try to chat me up and one asked for my number. I was about to oblige when I saw his teeth. Was that green I saw? I wasn't sure, but I let out an involuntary shudder. It must happen to him a lot because that didn't seem to faze him and he soldiered on. I focused my attention on the woman who was up reading. She was reading an article from the NY Times. What is the definition of poetry again? Green teeth guy kept going and now he was trying to touch me. If I didn't want this to continue the rest of the evening, I would have to do something drastic. So I asked the hostess if I could read. And so I did:
Raucous laughter breaks out all over the room. As I looked around the room, I noticed the guys who had been jocking me, hitting on me, or held on to my hand a little too long when introduced sitting up or adjusting themselves in their seats. My claque in the back went wild, cheering loudly.
At which point several in the crowd ask me to read that number back again. One woman who was kinda nasty to me earlier said in a loud stage whisper, "914 isn't Jersey, is it?"
I continued:
It is important to note that "love your friendly astrologer, vik" is not necessarily read as a sign-off but rather, a command.
Afterwards, some of the other "poets" who read that night as well as the guys who had been hitting on me weren't as friendly. This just goes to prove what I have always believed, humor in a man is an attractant. In a woman, it is a repellant. I don't think I'll be invited back.
The evening consisted of poetry readings and soup, hence the name. The house was warm, beautiful and inviting, filled with interesting photography and artwork and lots of books. I didn't know anybody there except for the two friends who invited me. They had never been to a poetry reading before so they had no idea what to expect and didn't have anything to compare it to. We had dinner beforehand, which was a good thing because the soup selection was limited to brown or green soup.
The crowd was friendly, and the copious amounts of alcohol consumed helped that along tremendously. Most of those reading belonged to online poetry groups and were familiar with each other's poetry. There was this one guy who was Joe Pesci-esque and I was more amused by his resemblance to the man than by his poetry. One woman who read frequently was a riot - she had a very distinct lisp and her poetry didn't take that into account. But she read from a Hello Kitty binder that was bursting at the seams with paper. There was a baby grand piano and a guy nicknamed Frankie Fingers got up, to much fanfare, to tickle the ivories. I kept looking around the room while he played - didn't anybody else hear him hit the wrong keys with increasing regularity? Was he drunk? Was everyone drunk but me? He was jocking me most of the night and during the intermission, he finally gave it a shot. Jokingly, I asked if he took requests. Frankie took himself so seriously, going on as to why he didn't, that he was also a poet, blah blah blah. I cut him off, suggesting that he ask for requests, but go on to play whatever he damn well pleased, making sure that he played the first few notes of the request first. I guess he didn't get my humor because he didn't even look my way the rest of the evening.
Through most of the night, some guys would approach, try to chat me up and one asked for my number. I was about to oblige when I saw his teeth. Was that green I saw? I wasn't sure, but I let out an involuntary shudder. It must happen to him a lot because that didn't seem to faze him and he soldiered on. I focused my attention on the woman who was up reading. She was reading an article from the NY Times. What is the definition of poetry again? Green teeth guy kept going and now he was trying to touch me. If I didn't want this to continue the rest of the evening, I would have to do something drastic. So I asked the hostess if I could read. And so I did:
This is called, "Text Messages from My Astrologer on New Year's Eve".
Raucous laughter breaks out all over the room. As I looked around the room, I noticed the guys who had been jocking me, hitting on me, or held on to my hand a little too long when introduced sitting up or adjusting themselves in their seats. My claque in the back went wild, cheering loudly.
I am testing your phone's txting capabilities. I hope u are doing well. Happy new years!! love your friendly astrologer, vik
12/31/04 12:15AM
do u know where 2 get pot in jersey? :-) love your friendly astrologer, vik
12/31/04 4:16pm
I text him back: 914-***-8190
At which point several in the crowd ask me to read that number back again. One woman who was kinda nasty to me earlier said in a loud stage whisper, "914 isn't Jersey, is it?"
I continued:
I've been txting that #, no reply. Is that Leon? love your friendly astrologer, vik.
12/31/04 4:30pm
I text him back: that's my ex sugar daddy in connecticut. i was kidding. like i know dealers in jersey? you're a funny guy vik.
i'm a funny everything. guess what, i found pot. dude no joke, i'm so blazed. i'll forward u what i've been txting him. btw, do u ever do oxycontin? love your friendly astrologer, vik.
12/31/04 4:45pm
hey, how r u doin? my name is vik, do u want to b frenz?
12/31/04 4:55pm
that was the message i sent him. maybe he'll txt me back and offer to be my daddy. were u being sarcastic or r u really amused? btw, do you ever do oxycontin? love your friendly astrologer, vik.
12/31/04 5:03pm
i'm high again. here's a list of things i did while high: made a sofa bed. love your fried astrologer, vik.
12/31/04 7:22pm
so 4 my 1st time 2 nyc 4 ny's eve i'm getting on the train right now and its raining. i don't know anything about the subways and i'm f*$#ed up and totally alone. i hope its not boring. vik
12/31/04 8:03pm
u know u want 2 rite me back coz i want my phone's txt message sound to go off i'm w/my relatives & need to look cool. vik
12/31/04 8:22pm
A PAYMENT IN THE AMOUNT OF $65.15 HAS BEEN MADE TO YOUR ACCOUNT.
CUSTOMER CARE - AT&T WIRELESS
THERE IS LESS THAN $7 IN YOUR ACCOUNT. PLEASE REMIT PAYMENT IMMEDIATELY TO CONTINUE SERVICE.
CUSTOMER CARE - AT&T WIRELESS
Thank you, tip your waitress!
It is important to note that "love your friendly astrologer, vik" is not necessarily read as a sign-off but rather, a command.
Afterwards, some of the other "poets" who read that night as well as the guys who had been hitting on me weren't as friendly. This just goes to prove what I have always believed, humor in a man is an attractant. In a woman, it is a repellant. I don't think I'll be invited back.
posted by celia at 4:02 PM
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