Teenage Hookers Slay the Crowd
Today my spacing is back. How wonderful--I can now write in paragraph form, just as I was taught in third grade. Or maybe fourth, I can't remember. It's funny how much you miss your spaces when they cannot be implemented. There's some funny Javascript going on that's always plaguing at least a few pages when I go online--if it's not Yahoo, it's Hotmail or this blog.
Last night I read at this little jazz club called Zebulon's. They have a weekly series of readings, and this was my fifth or sixth time there. Every time I swear will be my last--the reading starts at the totally geeky hour of 7pm. What kind of arts event begins at 7pm besides an elementary school play? 7pm is usually when we eat dinner, and it takes us an hour to drive to the venue, so nights when there are readings screw up mealtime badly. And the alcohol at the jazz club--which is indeed a swank little place--is out of a lowly writer's price range. You gotta be an investment banker to afford putting a drunk on at Zebulon's. But perhaps that's beneficial for me, as there's the hourlong drive home after the event.
The other glitch is the clientelle, the reading series regulars. While kind and responsive and supportive, they are mostly Sonoma County hippy-ish types in their 50s and late 40s who seem to prefer bland poetry to biting and insightful prose. And though I keep on getting invited back to read, I'm always curious who it is--outside of my friends who make the trip up, holla!--that wants me there.
Well, in the case of last night, it was our friend and co-conspirator Matt--who is, incidentally, performing our wedding ceremony next month. Matt had arranged the lineup for the evening, and it was 3/4 really engaging (the remaining 1/4 was good-natured but limp in his delivery, plus I was ditracted because I was on next). The evening totally defied my expectations. I always get grumpy at the thought of reading at Zebulon's and spending $15 on a glass of wine and being hungry because we missed dinner and gettign cornered by some talkative and slightly fawning 'Noma Countyite who appears somewhat imbalanced. It's flattering, but I think sometimes aspiring writer figure a little of you will rub off on them. And it's not like I'm all that successful, anyway. People ask how to get things published, and I say to just read a lot and make very focused pitches. I learned how to pitch from reading books at the library and just writing for free a lot--it's not hard to figure that out, but I guess people need person-to-person encouragement as well. So I'll tell them this, that all they need to do is put their noses to the grindstone, but they never seem to absorb it. I think what they want me to say is "I'll get you published! Just leave it to me!"
Anyway, last night was good. Matt read about going to Albertson's with his young son. No one writes about grocery stores better than Matt; he's very good at capturing the everyday horror we all take for granted. Our friend Schuyler(and future best man; 3/5 of the wedding party read that night) read this drunken rant he'd scribbled out a few years ago. On paper it failed to engage me--the fate of most drunken rants, especially my own--but Matt saw the piece's potential and encouraged Schuyler to go live with it. Schuyler's soft-spoken voice proved to be the perfect foil to the profane verbosity of the ting, and the audience was right there with him. Oh, and a mystery novelist read an amusing chapter from his current project, a selection that involved porn mags, buzz cuts, chain smoking, baby mice ("pinkies", they are called) and zoo caretakers.
Before leaving, I committed to reading in October at Comedy Improv Night. I guess some of my pieces were funny--most poular was "Mary Magdalanes at the Christian Bookstore" (available in unedited for on this very blog's archives!) People laughed mainly during the hooker passages, which I suppose are funny, but mostly they are sad and tragic; those girls were so young--teenagers, basically. I guess finding the humor in teenage hookers makes it an easier pill to swallow.
So check Sneezy & Tacky in October for another bitchy rant about reading at Zebulon's, which I hope will turn out to be fun after all, just like last night.
Last night I read at this little jazz club called Zebulon's. They have a weekly series of readings, and this was my fifth or sixth time there. Every time I swear will be my last--the reading starts at the totally geeky hour of 7pm. What kind of arts event begins at 7pm besides an elementary school play? 7pm is usually when we eat dinner, and it takes us an hour to drive to the venue, so nights when there are readings screw up mealtime badly. And the alcohol at the jazz club--which is indeed a swank little place--is out of a lowly writer's price range. You gotta be an investment banker to afford putting a drunk on at Zebulon's. But perhaps that's beneficial for me, as there's the hourlong drive home after the event.
The other glitch is the clientelle, the reading series regulars. While kind and responsive and supportive, they are mostly Sonoma County hippy-ish types in their 50s and late 40s who seem to prefer bland poetry to biting and insightful prose. And though I keep on getting invited back to read, I'm always curious who it is--outside of my friends who make the trip up, holla!--that wants me there.
Well, in the case of last night, it was our friend and co-conspirator Matt--who is, incidentally, performing our wedding ceremony next month. Matt had arranged the lineup for the evening, and it was 3/4 really engaging (the remaining 1/4 was good-natured but limp in his delivery, plus I was ditracted because I was on next). The evening totally defied my expectations. I always get grumpy at the thought of reading at Zebulon's and spending $15 on a glass of wine and being hungry because we missed dinner and gettign cornered by some talkative and slightly fawning 'Noma Countyite who appears somewhat imbalanced. It's flattering, but I think sometimes aspiring writer figure a little of you will rub off on them. And it's not like I'm all that successful, anyway. People ask how to get things published, and I say to just read a lot and make very focused pitches. I learned how to pitch from reading books at the library and just writing for free a lot--it's not hard to figure that out, but I guess people need person-to-person encouragement as well. So I'll tell them this, that all they need to do is put their noses to the grindstone, but they never seem to absorb it. I think what they want me to say is "I'll get you published! Just leave it to me!"
Anyway, last night was good. Matt read about going to Albertson's with his young son. No one writes about grocery stores better than Matt; he's very good at capturing the everyday horror we all take for granted. Our friend Schuyler(and future best man; 3/5 of the wedding party read that night) read this drunken rant he'd scribbled out a few years ago. On paper it failed to engage me--the fate of most drunken rants, especially my own--but Matt saw the piece's potential and encouraged Schuyler to go live with it. Schuyler's soft-spoken voice proved to be the perfect foil to the profane verbosity of the ting, and the audience was right there with him. Oh, and a mystery novelist read an amusing chapter from his current project, a selection that involved porn mags, buzz cuts, chain smoking, baby mice ("pinkies", they are called) and zoo caretakers.
Before leaving, I committed to reading in October at Comedy Improv Night. I guess some of my pieces were funny--most poular was "Mary Magdalanes at the Christian Bookstore" (available in unedited for on this very blog's archives!) People laughed mainly during the hooker passages, which I suppose are funny, but mostly they are sad and tragic; those girls were so young--teenagers, basically. I guess finding the humor in teenage hookers makes it an easier pill to swallow.
So check Sneezy & Tacky in October for another bitchy rant about reading at Zebulon's, which I hope will turn out to be fun after all, just like last night.
posted by Lefty at 9:54 AM
3 Comments:
I'm intrigued by this mystery novelist.. Danny Maff maybe?
"Holla"??? you mean like "hola" as in "hello" in Spanish? I hate when people use that word (holla) in the context of "holler" as to call to somebody, draw attention. Why does everyone want to be a wannabe gangster, G, etc...all of a sudden?
Ola, at least that is how I thought it was spelled. I am also Ohiofornian, grew up in The Gem City. At least it was called "The Gem City" until a certain used-car salesman crashed politically and road into the dusty sunset with his side-kick crack-ho.
...
Tonight they shot the ashes of HST right out of a cannon of his own design. We didn't have any reason to feel sorry for an old crippled diseased fool, only an opportunity to celebrate.
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