What do American Idol and poetry slam have in common? A little bit of irony to set it up first. As a kid, I was notorious for always being late. Not a few minutes late, either, but often an hour or more. Because my mother was pretty strict, I knew 5 minutes was as bad as 5 hours and so always pushed it past its limits. After I became too old for the belt, I spent a lot of time on punishment. One of the more extreme came two days before I was supposed to take my road test for…
Today's navel-gazing missive about the meaning of life and the fallacy of the American Dream will be pre-empted for in-the-moment coverage of some late-breaking news: my main man Eric Guerrieri is leaving town. :-( He just called me a little while ago with the news that he's moving to Colorado...in two weeks! It's a great, if bittersweet, opportunity for him and I'm simultaneously happy for him and selfishly pissed. If Bassey is my little sister from the poetry scene, Eric is my twin brother. From those first days when I wasn't sure where he was coming from to the present…
They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself. --Andy WarholThanks to the new and improved Blogger, say goodbye to the angry pumpkin and welcome pragmatic idealism! Kind of like the sad women on The Swan, the changes here are all cosmetic; the ugly "insides" remain. Unlike their nose jobs and breast implants - that The Swan's doctors should have their licenses pulled for performing - I'm liking my new look. Blogger now has its own comments function so the tag board and guestbook are history. Since it went down over the weekend and is…
1. Call me a sap but last night's Survivor catapulted the show back to the top of my favorites list. Rob proposing to Amber, before the winner was declared, was one of the coolest TV moments ever. EVER! 2. There was more drama, humor and energy in last night's three-hour finale than in the last three seasons of Friends. 3. For all those complaining about reality shows being bad for TV and being of lesser-quality than its scripted counterparts, Survivor is the George McKibbens that shoots that theory down. 4. Speaking of George, the Urbana trio has appropriately dropped out…
Between my internet connection at work being screwy all day and Blogspot.com seemingly on the blink, the post I started writing earlier was lost. It was about the difference between Batman and Superman and a comment director Wolfgang Petersen made about it. Petersen was apparently attached to a Batman vs. Superman movie that was scrapped in favor of separate movies. Can't say I'm disappointed. Petersen's also the director of the new movie, Troy, with Brad Pitt lamely delivering one of the corniest lines ever: "Immortality! It's yours. Take it!" No thanks, Brad. Between Gladiator and Return of the King, I…
Dear you,
Since mid-1997, the New York City poetry slam scene has been more or less at the center of my life. Though more right-of-center these days, and considerably less significant in the bigger picture, there’s two things I will always cherish about the experience: founding a little bit louder, and the Friends I’ve made. While the reason for the former should be pretty obvious, I make a specific distinction in referring to Friends.
When I got married in 1998, there was a healthy contingent of poets at the wedding, including my best man. A year on the scene, I was still in the initial glow of finding a community of similar-minded people bound by poetry and, transient that I was, they became the majority of my friendships, practically like family. If I picture that day now, picture the table where they all sat together, the fact that I can’t quite remember who they all were suggests none of them remain friends, never mind Friends. [After checking with Salomé on who was there, I’d say I consider a couple of them acquaintances these days, as opposed to those I’ve simply cut off or lost contact with.]
I first heard of you in 1999 from Al Letson. He emailed me, saying you were cool people and were either visiting or had just moved to NYC. As I remember it, he’d told you about louder and encouraged you to come through. In my book, if someone I respect vouches for someone – personally and/or artistically – they’re good with me until they prove otherwise.
Al was right on both counts.
What's worse? A) An asshole boss who is extremely good at his job. B) A nice boss who doesn't know shit about her job. It's a tough call but I'll have to take option C: C) I work for one and my wife works for the other. Headed to the gym to work out the frustration on the treadmill. I really need to get back into shape so I can take a boxing class again. I need to pound something bad. Grrrr...