Poetry Slam

Went to a poetry slam.  I went early because I was friends with some of the people I knew who were putting it on and I wanted to be helpful, but when I got there, I discovered there wasn't much for me to do.  I fooled around with the music that was playing before the slam.  Someone had made a mix CD years ago, but the intern couldn't get it to actually play on the laptop, and neither could I.  We tried to get last.fm to play, and it was playing, but we couldn't get any sound to come out. 
The poet they brought in was really nice.  He walked in with Freddy, who I hadn't seen in a few weeks.  Freddy said hi to me and then wandered off.  I actually didn't realize this was the poet, because he looked so different from his pictures.  He was shorter and his hair was neater.  He was really skinny and totally dressed like a hipster.  And he stuck out his hand and shook mine. 
He had lived in New York City and Portland, and was currently in Austin.  He talked to us about living there, and there was a part of me that was totally jealous. 
I then realized as we were getting seats together that I had no idea if Mark was coming or not and hadn't even thought of him.  Sacre bleu, I found myself thinking.  How could I?
I texted him, asking if he was coming.  A few minutes later he texted back, saying that he was coming, but was going to be two minutes late.  I laughed, but was totally surprised to discover that we have an injoke.
Mark sat with me, but he talked to one of the other inters, who he was in a playwriting class with. 
Stephanie introduced him, mentioning that slam poetry was often political and that was fine and good, but it was nice to have slam poets who saw the beauty in life. 
He's like the Mary Oliver of slam poets, I thought.  Stephanie loves Mary Oliver, for reasons that sometimes escape me.  I think she's an okay poet, but she always writes about the same thing, nature, and I've never read anything of her's that struck me as extraordinary, just fine.  Stephanie always talks about how Oliver is so interested in joy in her poetry.  Maybe I'm a miserable person but her poetry never makes me joyful and it frequently bores me. 
The performance was amazing.  The poet had all this amazing imagery.  I loved his voice, which sounded so ordinary but powerful.  I'm still not sure how he managed to do this, because usually when poets read they have their "serious poet reading serious poetry that is going to change the world" voice, and he just sounded like a storyteller from a mythical place. 
He told stories in between his poems.  He talked about how his Mom use to run a bookshop, which might be the best Mom job ever.  He would go there every day after school (again, so jealous.)  And that he loves to find new independent bookshops because of that.
He talked about how he read one of his poems once, which had a mermaid tattoo coming to life, and was interpreted to be about crack.  Which is really funny but kind of horrifying.  It sounds like the unnecessary freaking out of my own mother. 
He also talked about how much he worked and traveled and performed his poetry.  He said that if he was a musician he wouldn't have a chance in terms of making it, but that people were willing to shell out money for poetry. 
"Poetry," he said, imitating people.  "Yeah okay?" 
This gives me hope that maybe I could make it has a poet one day.  I always worry that there isn't really a market for poetry, because I swear to God that is the number one article I always read concerning poetry.  "No one reads poetry except poets, and not even them" type of headlines.  But maybe it's not all doom and gloom.  Maybe there are people out there who will listen and read. 
I realized as he began his last poem that I had heard of this guy before.  A while back, Austin showed me a video of this poem being performed, and I was totally stunned to hear it. 
I don't remember how, but occasionally Austin and I would hang out and talk poetry.  He showed me videos of slam poets.  He was always into slam poetry more than I am.  I think slam poets are amazing, but I have no talent for doing what they do.  Austin, however, did. 
Austin eventually left school, for reasons I'm still not sure of.  I was sad to hear he left, because he didn't say goodbye.  And it meant he didn't graduate. 
After the last poem, the poet took questions, and the first person asked:
"What do you dream about?"
"Seriously?" I said.  Mark laughed, but he was misinterpreting my words.  As crazy as that question was, it wasn't really that I was having trouble with: it was the voice. 
It was Austin's. 
As the poet answered (which was not terribly impressive.  I think he might have said something about fishermen), I scanned the crowd.  Austin was on the other side of the room.  It was too dark to see clearly, but I thought I could make him out.  He seemed to be wearing the same long black coat that he had always favored in the time I knew him and a knit cap, again, that he had always favored. 
No way, I thought. 
There were other questions, mostly about what the poet read and symbolism.  After he stopped answering questions, he sold and signed books and gave people hugs.  He came over to the side of the room Mark and I were sitting at and we sat there and talked.  Stephanie came over to tell us that she was taking all of us out for a late night snack. 
"Why not drinks?" I asked. 
"Not everyone can drink," she reminded me.  Oh yeah.  I forgot that she had interns to watch over, who were fairly young. 
Mark and I sat there waiting, and eventually I saw Austin.  One of us hailed the other, I don't remember. 
Austin came out saying right away that he was getting along again with a particular professor I knew.  I was sort of surprised because that was so not the first thing I was concerned about.  I mean, not that I don't want Austin to be picking fights or anything, but what I wanted to know was what he had been doing. 

A Friday Night for Myself and Others

One of the reasons I feel weird about being the center of attention for partying is that I'm apparently meant to make decisions for our own fun.  I don't like making the decisions and in any case, most of them get ignored if they don't make people happy. 
Anyway, so we were at our favorite restaurant, and we were thinking of moving on to somewhere else.  But I'm not much of a partier, so I didn't know where to go.  Claire was being particularly annoying about it.  Finally, Jenny stepped in and saved the day and was nice enough to suggest a particular place. 
When we got there, Ruth and I used the bathroom, and we both got a drink from the bar.  We were perfectly happy to just talk to each other.  Ruth was leaving for a while, and I know that I'm going to miss her dearly.  It was our last night together. 
Two men approached our group.  Neither of them were particularly attractive.  The first guy, who has a beard, was a jerk.  When I talked to him about my current employment situation, he was totally judgemental and unkind.  And then he also berated a recent decision I had made.  Part of wished I could explain my decision, but how to even begin?  All of my decisions reach back into my personal history; even deciding where the genesis of a decision came from is hard to decide.  I could have explained about all the reasons, but it would be a long story, and he had already demonstrated a lack of care for my personal feelings.  No thanks.  No way was I going home with this guy.
His friend seemed sweet enough, though a bit naive.  I liked him alright.  If he didn't have such a crap friend, I might have been willing to give him more of a chance.
They were both in finance, which later on made Ruth just cringe and complain.  "Ack!  Finance.  So boring."  I had to concur.  What could girls like Ruth and I have in common with someone like that? 
Jenny and Claire were both really liking these guys for reasons I never quite figured out.  The guys bought us cheap beer, which was totally crap. 
As I was standing there, finishing the beer up, so man at the bar told me I could have a drink that had been left there next to him.  He felt the need to tell me no one had taken it and that it wasn't drugged, which made me disinterested. 
Eventually, Ruth and decided to go home, and off we went, leaving Claire and Jenny.  We walked down the street, Ruth leading the way, as I wasn't totally sure I knew where we were going.  Ruth wanted to get some McDonald's before we went back home, and I reluctantly agreed.  The only time I seem to eat McDonald's is when I am with Ruth, who seems to prefer it as "drunk food." 
This time, ordering wasn't nearly as painful.  Ruth got herself some burger and fries and a massive drink, and we trooped back home.  We went to sit in the lounge.  Ruth didn't want to wake Hayley, her roommate, up, and we ate out there. 
There was a Norwegian girl sitting there when we came in, which surprised me because we usually are left alone there that late on Friday nights.  She talked to us about how much she hated old women, which actually sort of bothered me.  There was nothing about this young woman that I found all that impressive, and why she felt the need to hate on old women and things about them I don't generally find that terrible, really confuses me.  Ruth and I exchanged some of our patented looks. 
Eventually, we went our separate ways to go to bed.  It was around three in the morning before I finally went to bed.
I got about around nine fifteen the next morning, and I was surprisingly okay.  In fact, I felt almost great.   The only thing that wasn't so good was that I was possibly still drunk.  When I first woke up, I still had that swimming feeling that comes with being drunk. 
I had breakfast with Hayley and Ruth.  I couldn't seem to stomach my omelet, so I gave up on it.  Ruth informed me of what had happened to Claire and Jenny the rest of the night.  Apparently, Claire and Jenny went to another bar, and Jane tried to buy pot from someone.  Claire would not allow this to happen and dragged Jenny home.  Apparently Jenny refused to talk to Claire the rest of the way home.  They got home sometime between five and six. 
(Even later on, Jane would claim that she didn't remember any of this, though Claire certainly did.  She also was so drunk that she didn't get up all Saturday.) 
I had to work Saturday.  I usually don't, but as I was walking to work, I was struck by how nice of a day it was shaping up to be.  I walked down the street, admiring the sunshine and the warmth and the air, which felt strangely clear and fresh and almost as if it had never been used before.  It was relatively quiet, but there were people around, already out enjoying the day like I was. 
I ended up at work way earlier than necessary.  It took me a while to figure out where I needed to go, but once I did, seeing my coworker wasn't around, I sat down and waited for him.  As I sat there, being awkward, two other people at the table next to me were setting up.  A few even talked to me, saying nice things. 
One of the nice people was named Craig.  He came over to talk to me.  He said he knew my coworker, that he had seen him the night before.  "He had an empty bottle of wine." 
This particular coworker doesn't strike me as the kind to drink wine, but it sort of put an interesting image in my mind.  Sounded like he a Friday night similar to mine. 
Anyway, that's why he was late. 

Forget This

One of the biggest reasons I hate this whole open window controversy is that I notice a distinct set of problems when I don't have enough sleep.  Nina doesn't see this because she isn't around, and it's part of the reason she's completely unfair. 
This morning, I left my bag somewhere.  It took me about four hours before I noticed it was gone.  I realized it was gone and then forgot again for another two hours before I finally went and got it.  It was sitting at the desk, waiting me, and I thanked the man there for keeping it.  I didn't have much of a panic because I realized it was probably safe, and even if it wasn't, there wasn't anything valuable in it. 
But what if I had left something valuable?  And it had gotten stolen? 
Later on in the day, I went to church, and I forgot to bring money.  It ended up being not a big deal, but it's not like me to forget things (and when I do, it's usually because of stress), and it's not like me to forget two different things within a few hours of each other. 
I don't think appealing to her will really work, but I wish it did. 

Techno Logic

I was in the car with my Mom tonight, which happens to have one of those satellite radios.  I got onto a techno station and she was like "Oh, I really like this."
Really? I thought.  I mean, I like most techno, but my Mom is not really the type.  Also, she's really old. 
But after thinking about it for a while, it does make some sense.  My Mom really likes Earth, Wind and Fire, and funk in general, and techno has lots of funk influences.  So I guess it does make sense, though I suspect it's the sort of thing I could tell people and they would be surprised.  Kind of like my Dad's love of My Sweet Sixteen.  It doesn't make sense, until you remember how much he likes to hate on ungrateful children.  Which is probably related to at least one of the many reasons we don't get on.